“I don’t know anything about anything. I was out for a walk. That kid almost hit me. The end.”
Cart shook his head. “You’re not lying to me again?”
“I swear to God.”
“This is weird, Theo.”
“Am I . . . I don’t know, should I get a lawyer or something?”
“For this? Come on, Theo. I’m pissed because you lied to me, but this is just somebody dicking around. Some weirdo edited together a few clips and posted an ominous message. It’s not a serious accusation. It’s just weird.” Then Cart blushed, a trace of red in his cheeks. “I follow you, so I get alerts whenever anyone tags you. I saw it, and I got worried.”
“Why would someone do something like this?”
Cart shrugged. “Maybe it’s just some shithead trying to stir the pot. Maybe it’s a kid who doesn’t like you. Was there a third person in the car? Who could have filmed you fighting with that kid?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone else.”
“What was the name of the one who was supposed to add your class?”
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“Calm down, Miss Marple. What was his name?”
Theo dug through the satchel, found his roster, and saw the name scrawled in blue ink at the bottom. “I forgot—he didn’t show up on the printed one, so I had to write his name here.”
“Is that important?”
With a shrug, Theo said, “Maybe he had changed his mind and already dropped the class.”
“It’s probably nothing, but it’s weird. I want to check it out.”
Theo passed over the roster, and Cart folded and pocketed it. Then he sat there, staring at Theo, his thumb chasing condensation around the rim of the Blonde.
“I don’t want to get a call to scrape you off the road,” Cart said.
Face heating, Theo focused on the wall behind Cart. “I told you: it was just a walk. I had a couple of beers and stumbled.”
Cart let a moment pass and then another. Then he stood and said, “No more late walks, Theo. No more drinking alone. No more mixing shit with your pills. No more stumbling. No more, ok? You find yourself suddenly needing to go for a walk, you find yourself swimming in Bud Lite, you find yourself wobbly and liable to have another accident, you call me. Understand?”
Theo raised both hands.
Cart grunted and tossed his can in the trash.
As Theo walked Cart to the door, he said, “You’re sure I don’t need to worry about that video?”
“Did you kill someone?”
“Not yet, but it’s only the first day of classes.”
“Then I think you’re ok.” Cart stepped out onto the porch. “But I’ll look into it anyway.”
“Cart, uh. Thanks. I know Ian would really appreciate this. He liked being your partner. He liked you. I know this would mean a lot to him.”
Cart ran one hand back and forth over the stubble on his scalp. Then, his eyes locked on Theo’s, he said, “I’m not doing it for Ian, dumbass.”
7
Damage control for the murder video—as Auggie was now thinking of it—had been surprisingly effective. wroxall_deepthroat hadn’t made any additional posts or comments. Auggie had apologized to his followers for the bad language, explained that it was an early cut that someone had leaked, and spun a story about a Halloween video he was already working on. Reactions ranged from mild reprimands—nobody liked internet Auggie to have a foul mouth—to frustration on his behalf that someone had leaked an early video.
As soon as the damage to internet Auggie had been contained, Auggie pushed the video from his mind. He didn’t like thinking about what it meant. He didn’t like thinking that someone had been filming him. He didn’t like thinking about the words at the end: you just saw a murder. So he did what he did when his mom and Fer fought, or when his mom and her flavor of the week fought, or when his mom came home wasted, or when his mom came home with a Tinder hookup. He went online.
On Instagram, Auggie’s feud with Chan was heating up. His ex-girlfriend had been a total bitch ever since she had broken up with him at graduation, but until this morning, she’d limited herself to nasty texts. Now his phone was blowing up with notifications, and it didn’t take him long to find out why: Chan had reposted the video of the so-called murder, and she had tagged him again and added a single comment below: bad boyfriend. psycho. murderer. bye bye.
After that, shit got real.
Internet Auggie didn’t get involved in trolling or flame wars. He let his followers do that. Instead of responding to Chan, he cleared a spot near the window, got a picture of himself looking out at campus, his face sad, and the caption: u can love someone, and somehow they still keep hurting u. no h8.
Chan lost her mind.
Auggie, now on the bed, squirmed to find a more comfortable spot against the pile of pillows. It was late Friday morning, the end of the first week of classes, and Shakespeare in the World had been canceled today. Orlando had left already, which meant Auggie had a few solid hours by himself to watch that bitch get eviscerated on social media. Messages kept rolling in on his own post:
ur perfect, don’t listen to that cunt
ur so sweeeeeeeet
i luv u A, don’t ever change
He scrolled through the messages a few times; he felt loose, relaxed, a hot pool of satisfaction in his belly. On his laptop, he pulled up an episode of Community, the one with the trampoline, and he half watched while keeping an eye on the shitstorm. Chan was going berserk, and Auggie’s followers were coming back at her even harder. He wished he had popcorn.
The knock at the door startled him.
A couple of the guys on the floor had come by for autographs, and a lot more of the girls on the floor above. Auggie paused the video, arranged his face in an expression of sadness, and opened the door.
The guy standing in the hall was ancient. He had to be in his fifties at least, and he was short and squirrelly, wearing a summer suit shiny at the cuffs and knees. Two features dominated his face: an enormous gray mustache, and equally enormous glasses in yellow plastic frames.
“Yeah?” Auggie said.
The blow wasn’t a punch. It was a slap, but the combination of physical violence and surprise made Auggie stumble back. The man followed him into the room, kicking the door shut and setting the lock, and then he kept coming, hitting Auggie again, another slap, and then another, and then he knocked the phone out of Auggie’s hand.
Auggie shouted something, he didn’t know what, and took a swing.
The guy stepped back, pulled back his jacket, and put his hand on a gun.
“Think really carefully about what happens next, kid.”
Breathing hard, Auggie tried to process. His brain kept skipping, though, and all he could input was the flurry of blows, his phone, the gun.
“Sit down,” the man said.
“Who the fuck are you?”
“Sit down, or I’ll break your nose.”