Page 34 of The Wicker King

August took one more drag of his cigarette and looked at Jack suspiciously. “When was the last time you hung out with any of your other friends?” he asked.

Jack looked nervous. He picked at Rina’s carpet awhile and looked out the window. “I don’t remember. I’ve been phasing them out slowly. I can’t deal with it, you know? The pretending. It does my head in.”

“It would do mine in, too, if I had to do what you do,” Rina said. “You’d probably make a good actor if this ever gets fixed.” She started heavily powdering over her makeup.

“Rina, could you do me next?” August joked, putting his cigarette out on a nearby plate.

“No, you tart, I’m busy. I have a reading in fifteen minutes.”

“At that same shitty café?” He laughed.

Rina pushed him playfully and kissed them both good-bye before she left.

BOLT

August lit another cigarette in the gloom. He looked over at Jack, who was sitting very still. The curve of his head was round in the light through Rina’s cracked, yellowed lampshade.

Sometimes they waited for her to get back from work or from reading poetry at the café. Just passing the time lying on the carpet or playing cards or watching crap TV on her tiny fifteen-inch box.

Jack picked at his jeans nervously, then went still again. He was like this marvelous creature. It was impossible not to scrutinize him if given the chance. Jack was like a deer now, poised as if about to run. August wondered what would happen if he touched him—just reached out and dragged his finger up the side of his neck …

Before he could even make real contact, Jack spun around lightning fast and gripped August’s wrist hard. Grinding the bones in his fist. August made a sharp sound of hurt and pulled back.

He’d forgotten his place.

Jack loosened his grip and peered at him curiously. “Sometimes I don’t understand you, August. You’re very bold.”

August swallowed, but didn’t look away.

THE BEGINNING

“So. The trip. When is that happening?”

“I’m thinking we could go out during winter break. Of course we’ll be back by Christmas, but I think we need at least a day or two.” Jack headed down August’s street with his headlights on dim.

“What are we getting?”

“Something that I think will help us. I’ve been talking to her—”

“Rina?” August asked.

“Oh my God, yes, stop interrupting. Anyway, she explained things a bit more succinctly, and I have a pretty good idea of what we need to do now.”

August looked tired. “And what is that?”

Instead of answering, Jack bit his lip and turned smoothly into August’s driveway.

“I’m not going to like it, am I?”

“Probably not.”

August sighed.

KEEP WARM

August went downstairs. He didn’t do so very often because he didn’t like it—the stale smell of old, decaying furniture, stifling muggy air, the tinny buzz of the Game Show Network. But she was down here and he needed her permission.

“August?”