Page 22 of August Lane

CHAPTER EIGHT

L uke wouldn’t have gotten drunk at Jessica’s birthday party if August had been there.

Or at least, he wouldn’t have done it the way his friends did, gulping beer so fast it shot straight into their bloodstream.

He didn’t want her to lump him into that group more than she already did.

He wanted to be different. Worthy of her attention.

But she wasn’t there. It was just him, his angry girlfriend, and a gang of classmates he barely recognized watching every move he made. The party was so packed that walking through Jessica’s living room felt like wading in damp breath.

Despite being surrounded by people, Luke was alone.

Even when Jessica stroked his arm or Shane shouted his name, Luke felt invisible, which was what he usually wanted.

Hiding behind a smile was survival. But the minute he arrived at Jessica’s house, he’d questioned whether that should be the goal.

Was tiptoeing around a minefield the best version of living he’d ever have?

He couldn’t think like that. At a party, he shouldn’t be thinking at all. Not with people watching. Not surrounded by mines.

Luke knew how to handle unwelcome thoughts because he’d been doing it since he was twelve.

Start with vodka, the good kind from someone’s liquor cabinet, not the cheap stuff that tastes like rubbing alcohol.

Don’t sip it, though. This ain’t a dinner party.

Throw it past your taste buds like the medicine it is.

“Are you drunk already?” Jessica glared at him, which was confusing because she was the one who’d been pouring his drinks. Luke smiled and threw his arm around her neck to prove he was the version of her boyfriend who knew how to have a good time.

“You look good.” He eyed her pale pink top. “I like this color on you.”

“You’ve seen this a million times.” She paused. “Why were you talking to August Lane earlier?”

Luke pulled his arm away and looked for the keg. “Why wouldn’t I? Something wrong with her?”

“No.” Jessica searched his face. “I mean, she’s a complete slut, but that’s not a personality flaw.”

“Really, Jess?” Luke stared at her. “Why would you say something like that?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Because I’m a bitch. Which you know. Or you would if you ever paid attention to me anymore.”

“You’re not a bitch,” Luke said, but it sounded like a question. Jessica’s face hardened. Before she could speak, Luke pointed to the keg and said, “I’ll be right back.” Then he walked away to escape her wrath.

“Hustle in the House” started playing, and someone cranked the music up loud enough to make liquor bottles near the speaker vibrate.

Luke poured a beer and watched everyone clump around a picnic table.

Richard climbed on top, red-faced and sweaty, shouting the lyrics while motioning for them to join in.

Luke was only half paying attention. Lately, he couldn’t stomach the sound of Richard’s voice. He kept feeling August’s hand in his, how it trembled when she told him about the rumors.

Richard shouted Luke’s name and stared at him with bloodshot eyes. He had a familiar look on his face, something he usually reserved for the field but occasionally wielded in public. A quarterback stare that demanded fealty.

People liked Luke. But Richard was respected.

Team captain. Class president. He was a leader in ways that sounded good in college essays.

If football were an orchestra, Luke would be the flashy talent, wowing the audience with flawless solos while Richard conducted from the podium and received credit for the discipline of everyone’s performance.

Luke was liked because Richard allowed it, which meant he could take it away at any time.

“Let’s go!” Richard punched the air. The people around him shouted back, waving their hands and dancing under his thrall. Richard was in the zone, swaying with open arms like he owned the room. They’d crowned him king of everything.

Everything except Luke. Even in his drunken state, Luke knew that whatever spell the guy had cast over him had been broken.

Listening to Richard shout about wearing durags and gold on his neck made something knot in Luke’s stomach.

He felt hands on his back, shoving him forward, and people chanting “Go Luke!” like he was still in a game, their only hope for a touchdown.

Luke stumbled forward, nearly falling before he reached the table.

Richard grabbed his arm and yanked him up to stand beside him. He leaned into Luke’s ear and shouted, “Sing with me!” He was so close that Luke felt the spittle against his neck. Then Richard leaned back and shouted a “ young nigga ” lyric at the top of his lungs.

Luke froze. He checked for similar discomfort in the crowd, but they all seemed oblivious.

He looked at Richard, who grinned at first but stopped when Luke didn’t smile back.

Then it hit him, what he’d said and who he was standing next to.

In that moment, Richard saw Luke more clearly than he ever had.

But he kept singing, refusing to let go of the moment.

“You know this song,” Richard said, then slapped Luke’s back hard. Luke remained silent. Richard leaned in again and said, “Sing it, asshole.” Then he reared back to shout the next line, another “ nigga ” thrown carelessly to the crowd.

That knot in Luke’s stomach wasn’t just a feeling; it was a beast in a cage. Later, he’d blame that last beer. And August. And hearing that word in Richard’s quarterback voice, being wielded like a boot on his neck.

Luke swung hard, aiming for Richard’s jaw. There was a cracking sound, and Richard fell back onto the ground. The crowd gasped, but Luke ignored it and followed him down. That guy they liked was gone. There was only the beast now.

The story of Luke’s fight with Richard spawned like a living thing.

It started after Jessica wedged herself between them, narrowly escaping their fists.

Some partygoers saw one friend attacking the other unprovoked.

Others remembered a tense conversation between the golden couple before the first punch was thrown.

It was a love triangle! A secret romance between the white quarterback and the Black volleyball captain, like in that Sanaa Lathan movie, Something New .

Luke was Blair Underwood, only violent. “There’s something off about him.

Did you hear about his dad? Shit is dark .

Jessica should have dumped him a long time ago. ”

Luke’s memory of that night was just as hazy as everyone else’s, but he did remember Richard’s swollen face and the way he’d groaned when someone lifted him to his feet.

What Luke had done was a crime. He’d spent the weekend hovering at the living room window, waiting for the blue lights of a squad car that never came.

Ava only acknowledged him when he started dry heaving in the living room. She brought him a mop bucket and closed the blinds. “I don’t care how good you are at sports. You can’t run around beating up white boys.”

Luke stared at her. “You heard what happened?”

She handed him a glass of Alka-Seltzer. “Bill called. He convinced Richard’s parents not to press charges.

Both of y’all were underage drinking. They didn’t want the hassle.

” Her voice was flat when she said it. Bill Parnell used to be one of his father’s best friends, something Ava only admitted when Luke asked why they didn’t like each other.

“That cop is the only self-appointed judge in the county,” she’d said.

“I don’t like people looking down at me. ”

Now she patted Luke’s arm with a relieved sigh and said, “Thank God he’s got a soft spot for you.”

Luke made it through one class on Monday. He could barely hold a pencil with his bruised hand and turned in a blank test he couldn’t afford to fail. As he walked the halls, no one would make eye contact with him. His name floated through the air in hostile waves.

When the second-period bell rang, Luke ducked into the theater, praying no one had spotted him.

Thanks to the drama class he was required to take last year, he knew there was a dressing room with a broken lock the teachers used for storage.

He ducked inside and pushed a pile of musty costumes from a velvet settee.

Exhaustion gripped him as soon as he sat down.

The last two nights, all he’d done was dodge phantom fists in his dreams. He fell asleep almost instantly.

Luke woke with a jerk, sensing he wasn’t alone. August sat across from him, holding a half-eaten sandwich. He looked up at the clock. Two hours had passed.

“Never seen anyone sleep that hard before,” she said. “You looked dead.”

Luke sat up. “How’d you find me?”

“I eat lunch in here.” She took a deliberate bite for emphasis. “One of the few places I can be alone.”

“Sorry to ruin it for you.” Luke’s stomach growled. He usually grabbed lunch in the cafeteria because his mother barely bought enough groceries to feed them once a day.

August offered him the other half of her sandwich. He didn’t take it. “I’m good.”

“No, you aren’t.” She refused to lower her hand. Her eyes said the sandwich wasn’t just a sandwich. It was commiseration. He was in her territory now, on the bad side of rumors with staying power.

He accepted it and took a large bite. It was gooey white bread slathered with more mustard than cheese or bologna. He gulped it down and prayed he didn’t choke. “You make this yourself?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” She bit her apple, and a piece of hair nearly caught in her mouth. Her loose ponytail was gradually working its way free of whatever she’d used to hold it back. He wanted to fix it for her, smooth the runaway strand back into the rest.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go home,” she said.

Luke took another bite to put off answering. He’d been looking for a safe place; home was never that. “I usually give Jessica a ride.”