The Wicker King Read online

  They’d been ten or eleven. He remembered running and the sound of Jack’s sneakers hitting the ground. If they’d gone fast enough, it would have felt like they were riding horses. Galloping through the underbrush with crows at their backs. Jack tilted his head back and screamed at the sky, and August screamed with him.

  When August closed his eyes he could practically hear the beasts snarling behind them. Three-tusked and woolly, with piggy snouts and cloven feet. They’d learned about wild pigs in class a couple of days before, but Jack couldn’t get them out of his mind. He’d been drawing them over and over in his notebook, each one bigger and fiercer than the last. Finally they’d crashed through the thicket and stumbled down the bank, sliding in the leaves and mud.

  “They can’t cross the water!” Jack had shouted.

  “But I don’t know how to swim,” August had argued. He repeated the words now, whispering into the darkness of his room.

  “We’ll just go in a couple of inches. I won’t let you fall.” Jack had glanced back over his shoulder at him, smiled, and held out his hand. It was cold, but the water that filled up his shoes and socks was much colder. His Converses had always had holes. August remembered being worried about his mom and dad finding out. There had been too much fighting and yelling in his house back then for him to bring his wet shoes into it.

  Suddenly, Jack turned back toward the trees and pulled out his sword, holding it high above their heads. The boars and crows and things with fur and talons clawed at the shore’s edge, angry that they’d been outmatched. August couldn’t see them—he never could, no matter how many times they played this game—but he knew they were there. By the quiver of Jack’s hand, he knew to fear the shore.

  Water dripped off the branch and glittered in the setting sun, and August gazed up at the Wicker King. So fierce and proud, chin jutting out so bravely, that August couldn’t help but lift his branch beside him. Jack had grinned at the sight. They were stronger together; they were always stronger together.

  Suddenly it was too bright—the sun glittering off the water, glittering in the air, glittering off the razor-sharp edges of Jack’s teeth. It was too much.

  August had gasped, taken a step back, slipped on a rock, and plunged beneath the surface.

  EARTH SPACE SCIENCE

  “Would you like to borrow my pen?”

  August looked over at the guy sitting next to him in surprise. They’d never spoken before, but here he was offering him a pen while August had a writing utensil in clear view on his desk. “Um. No, man. I’ve got one.”

  The boy looked frustrated. “You really need to borrow my pen,” he demanded, jabbing the pen farther in August’s direction, eyes flickering nervously over to the front of the room.

  August sighed and took the pen and peered at it closely. There was a bit of paper wrapped around the ink cartridge. August disassembled the pen and unrolled the paper.

  Meet me in the locker room at 11 a.m., near the supply rack.

  Huh.

  Weird.

  This wasn’t Jack’s handwriting.

  August glanced over at the boy who’d lent him the pen. The kid shook his head and mouthed, “I didn’t write it.”

  “Where did you get this?” August whispered, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

  “Mr. Bateman, do you have something you would like to share with the class?”

  “No.”

  “Then kindly keep quiet until you do.”

  PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN

  Of all the people he assumed could have sent him the note, he never would have guessed it was one of the twins. Neither of them played rugby and therefore had no reason to be in the locker room.

  Peter leaned nonchalantly against a locker. “Good. You came.” He looked terrifyingly pleased to see August.

  “This is going to sound rude, but this is a bit weird for me,” August said suspiciously. “I’ve never actually heard your voice before. I don’t think you guys even answer roll call … What’s going on?”

  Together the twins were harmless, but he’d never been alone with Peter before and he was learning that it really gave him the creeps.

  “Are you friends with Jack Rossi?” Peter said, ignoring August’s question.

  “Yeah, I’m not telling you anything until you explain what’s going on. Where is Roger?” August narrowed his eyes even further.

  Peter laughed. “You’re so touchy. Well, we all have our secrets … but if you must know, Roger’s out running errands for me. I sent him away because I wanted to talk to you privately.”

  Sent him away? Huh.

  “I have other shit to do that doesn’t include standing around with you in the locker room playing twenty questions while you’re being unnecessarily foreboding.”

  “Of course,” Peter said smoothly. He didn’t look impressed with August’s outburst. “But I’m certain that what I’m going to tell you will be of interest to you. I know I’m not particularly nice. But niceness and kindness are two different things, and I am nothing if not kind—regardless of the methods I use to achieve such a thing.”

  August just stared at him and waited.

  “My mother is a psychologist, did you know that? I know it sounds non sequitur, but I swear to you it’s relevant. It’s just…” He paused. “I noticed something about Jack and thought you might benefit from some advice. I’m offering you use of my mom’s services, in our home, of course—and free of charge, should you ever need it. Something about Jack reminds me of someone I used to know. And if my assumptions are correct, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  August was both suspicious and very annoyed now.

  “What did you see?” he demanded.

  Peter narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” he replied flippantly. “But you should be glad I’m even offering. I promise I won’t be the only one to notice something, if it gets worse.”

  August didn’t like how vague he was being. “Okay … first of all, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Jack is fine. He’s always been weird, but he’s fine. And second, I’m not so sure I want to be in your house. No offense, but you kind of creep me out.”

  Peter scowled ferociously at that.

  “But,” August continued gently, “I’m not stupid, and I know you wouldn’t make the effort unless it was a big deal. Especially without Roger. So thanks for the advice, but I’m sure you don’t know what you’re talking about. On the off chance that I’m wrong about that, I’ll take you up on your offer … but only if things get especially dire.”

  “Good,” the other boy said tersely. “See that you do.”

  BLUE

  August watched him closely.

  He couldn’t see anything wrong with Jack. Peter was probably just being an asshole and trying to freak him out for fun or something. He followed the angles of Jack’s profile with his gaze, resting on the delicate curve of his ear and the bump on the bridge of his nose.

  Jack sighed. He paused Mortal Kombat and glanced over at August. “Why are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking at me like that. Are you thinking about changing your mind about visiting Rina again tonight?”

  “No … no. It’s not that. I was just worried about something.”

  “Worried about … me?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Oh.” Jack sat there for a while. “I like it,” he admitted. “You can keep doing it if you’d like.”

  “Doing what? The staring or the worrying?”

  Jack just smiled and unpaused the game.

  BALL AND CHAIN

  They leaned against Jack’s car and waited in front of the diner. August pulled his jean jacket tighter around himself. It was beginning to get cold. “We don’t even know if she’s working today,” he griped.

  Jack just shrugged and checked the plate of cupcakes to make sure none got crushed on the drive over. “I just want to get these to her. T
hen we can go off and do whatever.”

  August scoffed and leaned his head back onto the roof of the car. Honestly, if this took any longer than ten more minutes, he was going to get back inside the car and go the fuck to sleep. Protecting Jack from Rina’s potential wrath be damned.

  “Oh, hey!” Jack said excitedly.

  August opened his eyes to the sight of Rina walking toward them at top speed, brandishing a metal spatula.

  “Wait, wait!” August called out frantically. “He just came to bring the cupcakes he promised—then we’re leaving!”

  “What? You brought me cupcakes?” she asked, surprised but no less angry looking.

  “Yeah.” “He doesn’t really go back on his word often,” Jack and August said over each other at the same time.

  Rina paused for a second, then held out her free hand.

  Jack glanced at August quickly for assent, then took one off the plate and handed it to her. Rina held it up to the streetlight and looked it over critically. “These are really messy.”

  Jack blushed. “I made them myself.”

  “Really?” she deadpanned.

  Both August and Jack shrugged.

  Rina sighed and started walking away. “You coming or what?” she shouted over her shoulder.

  They scurried after her.

  PATINA

  Rina lived in a tiny apartment with cracked linoleum and peeling paint. Jack put the plate of cupcakes down on a foldout table and looked around. His lips were drawn into a thin line. He was apprehensive.

  August placed his hand on Jack’s shoulder to squeeze away some of the tension.

  “Do you want some tea?” Rina stood awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen with a kettle in her hands.

  “Yes, thank you,” August said. “For both of us.”

  Rina disappeared into the kitchen.

  “Do you still want this?” August asked quietly. Jack nodded.

  They ate cupcakes and drank tea in silence.

  “You’re not a terrible baker,” Rina admitted.

  “I’m sorry we bothered you at work,” Jack blurted.

  “No. You’re not,” Rina said, licking icing off her fingers.

  August grinned.

  BRUTUS

  It was a Thursday, so after visiting Rina they broke into the toy factory.

  “We haven’t explored the offices. Do you want to do that tonight?” Jack asked.

  “Sure.” Without missing a beat, August picked up a piece of wood from the ground and smashed the window. He shoved his arm through the hole and unlocked the door.

  Jack whistled.

  The factory smelled like industrial oil and old paper. It was strangely warm inside. Most of the stuff had been left untouched, like the owners had left in a hurry. Half-completed toys littered the floor, some still lined up on the conveyer belts. Every step they took echoed loudly, and at the back of every breath was a cough from the dust. The main room where all the machinery was led to several offices and back rooms. The hallway Jack chose tonight was long, with rooms on either side. They went through the offices pilfering things. Little gadgets. Paperweights. A couple of them were still fully furnished, plush chairs and beautiful cherrywood desks.

  “We should bring Rina here. She might like some of this stuff for her apartment.”

  “Don’t talk about her right now,” August said, chucking a beautiful fountain pen into a box.

  “Someone’s feeling possessive,” Jack murmured.

  August sneered, but didn’t rise to meet the accusation.

  SPARK

  They left the car at the lot and walked home.

  August pulled out one of his last cigarettes. He checked his pockets for a lighter but came up empty.

  Jack raised an eyebrow, then dug one out of his pocket. It wasn’t one of those plastic ones you could buy from a gas station. It was metal and heavy. Expensive.

  Jack leaned in and lit the cigarette while August cupped his hands around it, protecting the flame from the wind.

  “Thanks.” August took a long drag, then tipped his head back and blew the smoke up at the trees.

  He looked over. Jack was watching him.

  “Why do you even have that?” he asked.

  Jack shrugged, then tossed it to him. “Keep it,” he said, turning away. “Try not to lose this one.”

  THE RIVER

  Jack owned him. In a way.

  It was difficult to explain, but the feeling was as familiar to him as his own name.

  When they were twelve, August had almost drowned. He’d slipped into the river while hunting for rocks and been pulled beneath the current without a sound.

  He didn’t remember much about being underwater. It had happened too fast. What he could remember was Jack pulling him from the water and pushing the death from his lungs. He’d expected fear, maybe even tears. But Jack wasn’t scared. He was angry.

  “You can’t just die so stupidly,” he’d hissed. “I need you. You’re mine.”

  August had gazed up at him as he spit river water into the dirt. He had been terrified. Jack’s words echoed in his bones so deeply that it hurt.

  August had been replaying that moment in his head over and over for years.

  August had wanted to roll over for him. Wanted to bare his neck. Wanted to give himself up, so ferocious was his gratitude. As Jack’s fingers trailed through his hair and as he wrapped his Pokémon sweatshirt around August’s shoulders, something in August broke. Or changed. He wasn’t sure. But he’d known then that he was important. He was valuable. He was Jack’s.

  Saving him was a debt August could never pay.

  RUG BURN

  “Ow. That fucking hurts, man!”

  “Just a second; it will get better, I promise.”

  “OW.”

  “Or at least it will if you quit moving around so much.”

  “Just … please. Fucking shit, Jack, JACK!”

  “Shhh shhh. Just relax; it will go smoother if you’re relaxed.”

  “Relax?! How can I relax if you’re … Ah! Fuck.”

  “You’re doing really well, August. Just … let me.”

  “No. NO. Stop. We’re stopping.”

  “But I’m almost finished!”

  August groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

  “Okay. All right. Got it.” Jack put the needle down and admired his work. He wiped a wet cloth across August’s new tattoo. His name right under the first knob of August’s spine. Small. Perfect. Neat.

  August sniffled and gripped the pillow hard, the tips of his ears going red.

  “Are you crying?” Jack asked softly.

  “Shut up.”

  AT THE LIBRARY

  For weeks afterward, he could feel Jack staring at his tattoo. Or at the space where it marked his tan skin, just under his shirt.

  “Do you want me to do you?” August asked one warm afternoon.

  “You can’t. I’m not allowed to have one,” Jack said absentmindedly.

  “You could put it somewhere they wouldn’t be able to see. Besides, your folks aren’t around enough these days to give you shit for it.”

  Jack laughed softly. “I could. Where do you think it should be?”

  “Under your arm, or across your ribs, or on the inside of your thigh…” August shrugged. “Not because I want to be all up in your pits, though. Those are just places your parents wouldn’t be able to see unless you showed them on purpose.”

  After a beat of silence, Jack murmured, “A crosshatch on my ribs. Friday. Your place.”

  HATCH

  Jack took his in silence. He’d said that it didn’t have to be perfect, just neat. August wasn’t an artist, so there weren’t high expectations, but his hands shook with nerves in spite of it.

  Jack’s pale skin was so warm, his heartbeat beneath his ribs like a bird fluttering in a cage. He shivered after the first prick.

  He flinched. August hadn’t understood the weight of this closeness when he was getting his own
tattoo done. He had been too busy shouting.

  “August,” Jack whispered. He lay very still with an indescribable look on his face, his eyes gently pressed shut.

  August didn’t answer him, getting into the rhythm of the work. He brushed the ink and blood away, leaning closer. He would never forget the way this felt.

  They were breathing in tandem now.

  He wiped and pricked and wiped and pricked until the very last. Then, without thinking at all, he bowed his head against Jack’s side and closed his eyes. Jack pushed his fingers through August’s thick hair and gripped hard.

  THEN

  It wasn’t long after that that August noticed. Jack would stare off into the distance, then blink a couple of times as if to clear his eyes.

  In hindsight, maybe Jack knew the very moment he’d crossed the line, but had been too afraid to do anything about it. Or maybe he simply hadn’t cared. Either way, looking back, that was when it started.

  “Did you see that?” he’d ask with escalating frequency.

  “No. See what?” August would say.

  “Nothing. It was just … nothing.” Jack’s smile wavered as if he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  NOW

  When they asked him about it at the hospital, August always told them the same story. They would’ve never understood if he said he’d just known something had shifted, not without revisiting the “romantic entanglement” conversation in which they tried to force him to admit he was in love with Jack. Which was immensely annoying.

  So, instead, he’d told the story about that rugby game where Jack had stopped playing, stood there frozen for a couple of seconds looking out into the distance, and then run off the field without a word. Jack had refused to elaborate on it to anyone. Not to the coach. Not to his teammates. Not even to August, though he had been very apologetic about not telling him later.