Page 5 of The Wicker King

August couldn’t think of a good counterargument, so he just went to sleep.

TUESDAY

Gym was jogging, mostly. Their teacher wasn’t particularly invested in making sure they had a well-rounded physical education experience.

They just ran around and around the gymnasium as the coach sat in a foldout chair in the middle, with his whistle at the ready to startle any walkers into running.

Gordie came up on August’s left side and fell into step with him.

“How ya doing, space cowboy?”

“Satisfactory. How are you?”

“Better. I broke up with Jordan.”

August tossed his head back dramatically and groaned. “Fiiinnnnnally. Wasn’t he that jock with the mullet?”

“Shut the fuck up, it wasn’t a mullet. It was just a little long in the back.”

“Whatever,” August panted. “You can do better.”

Gordie looked him up and down. “I have done better.”

“Unusually … forward … for eight o’clock … in the morning,” August gasped. “But … I’ll take … what I … can get.”

Gordie snorted. “Maybe if you didn’t smoke so much, running would be easier.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” They grinned at each other.

She punched him on the arm.

RATM

She was his favorite girl.

Before Gordie transferred to their school, everyone August knew had pretty much just accepted their boring small-town fate and resigned themselves to hanging out in the woods, on the field, or at school under the bleachers. Then, one day, she’d dragged him and Alex and the twins a mile out to a better town that they hadn’t even known existed. They even found a store that sold cigarettes to minors—which was pretty much the highlight of his freshman year.

August had dated her that year, but had spent more time getting playfully (violently) punched than much else. They worked better as friends, in August’s opinion. He went to concerts with her these days.

Gritty things with shouting and mosh pits and rage.

It was more her scene than his, really. Gordie dove into it, war paint smeared across her face while August just leaned against a wall and watched, or closed his eyes and listened.

Afterward, he’d take her out for ice cream and tacos. Then they’d split and he’d go home to his empty bed.

He would dream of tattoos, piercings, and warm thighs and try to decide if it was worth giving them up just to avoid the punches.

GRIDLOCK

August usually ate lunch with Alexandria Von Fredriech, Gordie, and the twins.

Alex was brilliant. She was extremely condescending, but useful if you needed practical advice or someone to critique your papers. She was short and round and covered in freckles. Gordie was a riot grrrl with a shaved head, stomping boots, and suspenders. She was pretty, but very, very agro.

Then, there were the twins. They were odd. They preferred to communicate in glances and gestures, finished each other’s sentences, and generally reveled in being really creepy. They liked to dress alike and were difficult to tell apart, but one was definitely meaner than the other. One of them was named Roger and the other one, the meaner one, was Peter. But everyone just called them “the twins,” because why bother with separate names if they were literally never apart from each other?

Once, August even caught one waiting outside a bathroom stall for the other. Just leaning against the wall and looking annoyed.

He couldn’t really remember when they’d decided that hanging out with him, Gordie, and Alex was all right. They just sort of showed up one day and no one told them to leave.