Page 69 of August Lane
She smiled. “I love that. Write that down.”
He did as he was told. August studied it for a while, then addedBoys like me / never find the right road / until we hitch a ride on someone else’s dream.
“That’s really good,” he whispered.
They locked eyes. She was close enough that he could lean over and kiss her. He was about to ask if it was okay when she said, “What was that stuff about the closet?”
He blinked. “Stuff about what?”
“You said something about going into the closet if you got in trouble.”
The closet was in the hallway near his mother’s bedroom. It locked on the outside and there was only one key. He’d had nightmares about Ava misplacing it when she was high. “Oh, nothing. It’s a joke me and my brother used to tell about being sent to our rooms. They’re tiny.”
She scooted back until they weren’t touching anymore. “Do you miss Jessica?”
“I uh… hadn’t thought about it.” He was barely listening, too busy beating himself up for lying about the closet. But he couldn’t tell her everything, could he? No one would stick around after learning all that.
She crossed her legs, swinging the top one lazily. “What’s it like to be in love?”
It felt like she was testing him. If passing meant lying again, he’d rather fail. “I don’t know,” he said. “I only told her I loved her because she wanted me to.”
“But you don’t.”
“No.” Admitting it out loud made him feel worse. Plus, Jessica had seemed to resent him for saying it. Now it would always be the first time he said those words, as weak appeasement for a girl who barely knew him.
“Why would you—”
“Because I do dumb shit to make people like me.” He rubbed his neck and closed his eyes. “I don’t like talking about it.”
The couch sank lower, and she pressed against his side. He opened his eyes, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Sorry if all that love talk gave you heartburn.”
He exhaled slowly, relieved the truth didn’t make her hate him. “Did you know your voice gets softer when you saylove?Love, just like that. Is it your favorite word?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Never thought about it.”
“I think it is.” He touched the hem of her T-shirt and rubbed it between his fingers. “I also think your favorite color is red because you have a different energy when you wear it.”
Her smile nudged his arm. “Good energy?”
“Yeah. Augustina Rose with no thorns.”
She lifted her head. “I have thorns.”
He snorted. “Fake thorns. Ifloveis your favorite word, they’re not hurting anybody.”
“I never said it was my favorite.” She leaned against him again. He’d give anything if she never moved another muscle. “Do youwantto fall in love?”
“There it is again.Love.So soft.”
She prodded his arm. “Answer me.”
He looked down at her. She caught his eyes, and he brushed a strand of hair back from her cheek. “I just want to write a love song.”
Crushing on Luke didn’t make August special. If anything, pining after the perma-prom king made her basic and boring, the kind of character she’d roll her eyes at in a movie. She wouldn’t even watch this one. The ending was predictable, the lessons trite: There are more important things than being chosen. You’re enough as you are. A real hero won’t wait for some makeover to notice you.
But that meant her hero was Luke. He’d liked her before he ever saw her, when they’d been two nameless strangers in the dark. He spoke to her, laughed with her, knowing she was social kryptonite, which made him braver than he’d ever give himself credit for. Over the last three days, August had written so many variations of his answer to her love question that she couldn’t remember exactly what he’d said anymore. “I want a love song” became “I’ll write a love song,” and then it was “I want love” followed by her tiny, scribbled “Me too.” Then she threw the journal at her closet like it had tried to bite her.
Not loving Jessica didn’t change who he was. Each day the tides were slowly turning in his favor. The first step was collective amnesia about his fight with Richard, a topic everyone had become bored with. Next, because Luke was Luke, he would eventually do something kind for someone who mattered and the people who never wanted to hate him anyway would be relieved they could publicly wave his flag again. Once his football suspension was over, his redemption arc would be complete. They’d have their golden boy back and August would be left with a bunch of unfinished songs. Another jar of dead fireflies to keep her company.
