Behind him, Auggie’s sneakers squeaked. “What about this?”
Theo turned around.
“It’s a hammer, right?” Auggie said.
“It’s a reflex hammer. It’s perfect.”
Theo accepted the hammer and move back to Nia’s locker. He worked two fingers into the shackle on the padlock, pulling it tight, and then he turned it so the fixed end of the shackle was facing him. With the hammer, he delivered a series of sharp, quick strikes. The shackle popped open, and the lock turned in his hand.
“Holy shit,” Auggie said. “Holy shit, that was amazing.”
“Regular padlocks, you can knock the pins clear if you try long enough. And if you ever say Brinks again, I’m going to beat your ass with this hammer.”
Auggie grinned and mimed zipping his lips.
Theo worked the lock loose and opened the locker. They did a quick search. There was the usual stuff of course: workout clothes, a racket, a spare racket, athletic tape, a water bottle that looked slightly moldy.
Auggie found the pills.
“What the hell are these?” He pointed to the bag.
Theo shook his head. “Take pictures of all of it. Document everything.” He was about to say more when he saw the paper. He reached, remembered fingerprints, and stopped himself. Auggie had seen his movement, though, and spotted the paper too. He grabbed it before Theo could say anything.
“Stay away from me and my sister,” Auggie read, “or I’ll kill you.”
11
From the hospital waiting room, Auggie sent a direct message to Nia’s Instagram account. It was simple and to the point: Saw the stuff in ur locker let’s talk.
Theo was pacing. The lobby was deserted, which seemed strange for a Saturday afternoon. Somehow the older man kept catching his foot on the tubular metal legs of the chairs, as though he were trying to navigate an unseen crowd. On the next pass, he came to a stop in front of Auggie’s chair, put his hands on his hips, and said, “She’s not going to do this. Not yet. We need more pressure.”
“No, we have pressure. We just need to apply it in person. Why don’t you sit down? You look like your knee is bothering you again.”
Instead, Theo started pacing again.
A text from Fer came through a moment later: Why the fuck are you taking so many Ubers? My credit card alerts are blowing up.
Sorry emergency.
What kind of emergency?
It’s all good now promise. Then, after a moment’s consideration, he added, I’m fine, everybody’s safe, it’s ok.
Call me right fucking now.
Can’t, Auggie messaged back. Later.
What’s this $230 charge from FuelWorld?
Auggie dismissed the message.
As he was putting the phone in his pocket, another message buzzed. He glimpsed it: Don’t you dare put your fucking phone in your fucking pocket. Answer me.
He shoved the phone out of sight and figured he could pretend he hadn’t seen that one.
“Why is your face red?” Theo said.
“I’m hot.” Auggie fanned his coat for emphasis.
“It’s freezing in here.”
“Why don’t you go ask them to call up to her room again?”
Theo’s eyes narrowed, but he left.
Auggie took advantage of the respite to close his eyes. The pounding in his head had intensified, and he blamed it on the smell: someone had puked into a potted plastic fern, and apparently nobody could be troubled to clean it up. They’d picked the seats in the opposite corner of the lobby, but it hadn’t helped. If he could just get some fresh air—
“One to ten?” Theo said quietly. He dropped into the chair next to Auggie, the metal legs squeaking against the linoleum.
Ten, Auggie thought. “Six.” He had both hands on his temples as though he were holding his skull together.
Theo’s hands settled on Auggie’s shoulders, turning him slightly.
“If you’re going to strangle me,” Auggie said as Theo’s fingers moved to his neck, “remember that we’re in a hospital and they’ll be able to revive me.”
“I’ve taken that into consideration.”
Theo dug his thumbs into Auggie’s shoulders, then into his neck, then his shoulders again. He used enough force that sometimes it hurt, but it was a different kind of pain, and Auggie’s head didn’t bother him quite as much.
“I’m such an idiot,” Auggie mumbled. “I can’t believe I did that last night.”
“I might have thought something along those lines,” Theo said. After a moment, he added, “But you’re the only reason anyone has a description of the shooter. More importantly, you kept your head. You’re brave, you’re resourceful, you react thoughtfully and decisively in danger. You were amazing last night, Auggie.” One hand caught Auggie’s shirt, tightening the collar into a noose, and he said, “But if you’d gotten yourself shot, dummy, I would have brought you back to life and killed you myself.”
Forest fires could start from a single spark, Auggie thought. They had wildfires every year in California. Miles and miles burning because an ember drifted into a dry patch of weeds. Auggie’s face was hot. Sweat stung him under the arms, across the shoulders.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Dylan: u ok?
Auggie dismissed it.
His phone buzzed again. I’ve been worrying about u all night things got crazy and I couldn’t find u i went to the ER but they wouldn’t tell me if u were admitted. If ur ok will u please tell me I don’t know what to do.
This time, Auggie’s finger hovered over the screen.
“Is it Nia?”
“No.” He tried to work moisture into his throat. “Dylan.”
“Oh.” Theo’s hands fell away. “That’s nice of him to check in.”
“Yeah, well, it would have been nicer if it wasn’t twenty hours after we got separated at the scene of an active shooter.”
“He didn’t—” Theo stopped. A middle-aged man with a mop and bucket shuffled into the room. The bucket was on casters, and one of them emitted a short shrieking noise at regular intervals. “I don’t know what to do here, Auggie,” Theo said. “I feel like I mess up every time I try to talk to you about stuff.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Auggie shook his head. The caster’s squeals came closer.
“Maybe you should just ask him what happened,” Theo said, “before you decide anything. Will it help if I tell you a story?”
“No,” Auggie said. “But I’d wither away if I didn’t get to enjoy the wisdom of your advanced age.”
Even with his eyes closed, he could feel Theo smile.
“One time,” Theo said, “really early on when Ian and I had started dating, I made a big deal out of our three-month anniversary. Ian was the first guy I’d dated seriously, and I felt old—wipe that look off your face, please—to be learning how to date. Everybody else had already done all this stuff, and I was ashamed that I’d waited so long to come out, ashamed I’d waited so long to start living my life. I decorated the apartment where I was living, candles, a tablecloth, all that stuff. And I didn’t exactly make dinner, but I bought something nice and warmed it up. And then Ian was an hour late, and he hadn’t even changed out of uniform.”