Difference Between

Chapter 18 - To be Napoleon

I don't talk to anyone for the next few days. Not Mom. Not Don. Not August. And definitely not Marcus. I don't even talk to Tobias unless he tries to reach out to me. But I keep those conversations limited to "how are yous," "school sucks," "I wanna sleep," and other comments like that.

Most of the time, I'm just trying to fit all my problems into a single message to Dad. So far it feels like no matter what I say, it'll lead him back to me or I don't have enough details to get good enough advice. But I have to send it eventually or I'm stuck in a constant loop of telling myself that this is my fault or...

No, that's pretty much it. It's my fault.

I'm leaving my last class of the day when August pushes himself off the wall right next to the door. "Hey," he says.

I startle, grabbing the Key of Bastille. I haven't taken it off since he gave it to me, and now I hold it every time I'm nervous. "Hi."

The people behind me grumble. August gently takes my arm and pulls me off to the side. His hand is still on my arm as he asks, "You got a minute?" I nod. "Good. I wanna do something with you."

I nod again, following him down the hallways. It doesn't take long for me to realize we're heading to the art room. The moment we walk in, he goes straight for the back counter where all the bone carving tools are already laid out. It looks like he's been working on something.

"You want my help?" I ask, dropping my backpack on the floor.

He nods. "You wanna?"

"Sure. If you want me to."

From there we start carving. This time, August lets me do about half the work. We work in general silence. The only time we really talk is if August gives me instructions or if I try to make some small talk. He responds, but he seems more concerned about finishing the carvings than alleviating the tension.

Two hours later, we're done with two butterfly carvings in profile, but when you line them up, they fit together to make one butterfly. August threads a black cord through the holes on the tip of the wings. He clasps a bracelet onto his wrist, and he holds the other out to me. I tentatively hold my wrist out, and he clasps the other bracelet on for me.

"So..." I say, staring at the butterfly. "What's this for?"

He folds one hand into a loose fist and places it in the palm of his other hand. "Remember when I said I didn't want to say anything I would regret later?" he asks.

I nod. Where is this going and should I leave now...? No matter how much I want to walk out of the room, I force myself to stay.

He takes a deep breath, weighing his words. "I..." He laughs lightly, meeting my eyes. His expression softens with that one look. "I really adore you. And I adore how much you love and know about history. And I find the references endearing and unique and adorable and really you."

I clutch the Key of Bastille, but that doesn't do anything to stop the butterflies swarming in my stomach. I don't know if they're from the compliments or what might come after the compliments. And there's definitely something coming after the compliments.

"But..." I prompt.

August swallows. "But lately it feels like you've been hiding behind the references. Like Clark, Lewis, Marcus Aurelius, and Vasili Arkhipov. I know they're supposed to be compliments like if you say that we really are Lafayette and Washington, but... it's starting to feel like you're using the references to hide from the truth."

I clutch the key a little harder. The butterflies are definitely from anticipating what's coming next. "And... what's the truth...?"

He shrugs. "You tell me, Ashlyn. That's what I want to know. I figured out Vasili Arkhipov. Your turn."