Page 8 of The Wicker King

Jack took them to the woods.

When they got out of the car, August put his hand on the back of Jack’s neck and rubbed his thumb gently on the top of his spine. Jack was a few inches shorter, but he never seemed it. He was always so big, so bold.

“I’m not mad.” August said. “I just … don’t like … being a burden on somebody.”

Jack didn’t look at him. He let the words hang in the air awhile, then he began to walk.

And like always, August followed him.

STEEL

Jack liked tinkering.

He made little machines and sculptures and collected interesting parts. And though he looked like a jock, he was definitely more of an intellectual than August could claim to be. He spent a lot of time at the library and was thinking about going into engineering.

It wasn’t something a lot of people knew about him. Just his teachers, his parents, and August, probably.

August would sometimes break into the toy factory and go exploring alone. Bring back oddities that he would slip surreptitiously onto the ledge of Jack’s bedroom window.

Like a gift.

Or a tribute.

THE ARCHITECT

August was eating lunch alone on the bleachers. He was trying to get through Rand’s The Fountainhead, but that prospect was looking bleak.

He was already two hundred pages in, but there was no character development and he didn’t like a single character anyway. He was mostly reading it just to be able to say he did. You’d be surprised how many people did that with the classics.

But what was most terrible was the sound of Carrie-Anne sitting down next to him, uninvited. He side-eyed her and frowned.

“Jack is sick because you took him wandering in the woods,” she said frostily.

August rolled his eyes. “He’s the one who took me into the woods. Either he straight-up lied, or your relationship has communication issues. You might want to look into that.”

Carrie-Anne folded her arms. “How am I supposed to enjoy my boyfriend when he’s always with you or damaged in some way because of you? You’re really irresponsible.”

“One: I’m not his mom. I don’t have to take care of anyone but myself. And two: Your relationship problems are not my problems.” August closed his book and turned to face her. “So please stay away from me. I’m busy.” He got up and walked down the bleachers away from her.

“Busy doing what? Selling drugs?” she shot back.

“Bite me!” he shouted.

ASSEMBLY LINE

Actually, he was going to do just that. It wasn’t very hard, and a tall, skinny dude like him was unassuming. Plus, he needed the money.

He walked up to the senior lockers on the fifth floor and followed the instructions to locker 0365. He tucked the small packet through the slit and then made his way down to the third floor.

He passed by a sophomore who raised his hand to high-five him. They grasped hands and chest-bumped, and he felt the other boy slip the money into his pocket inconspicuously with the greeting.

“Thanks, man. See you later.”

August nodded and smiled.

Then he went into the bathroom to cut the cash: 30 percent for him and 70 percent for Daliah. It was a good deal. He generally got a higher percentage than most other runners because he moved the most material. And he was reliable, never siphoned off his supply, and most important, he never got caught.

He found Daliah on his way down the hall from the bathroom and pulled her into a dark corner. He kissed her hard, tucking the cash between her tits.