Dangerous Boy (19 page)

Logan snaps the book shut. “My dad died two months later.”

Oh.
I rub my hand on Logan’s arm. “How?”

“A heart attack,” he says. “He was only forty-two.”

Wow. I had no idea.

“All this just happened a year ago?” I ask.

“Yeah.” He stares down at the photo album, chewing his lip.

“And your mom…”

“She just died eight months ago.”

I can hear the loneliness, the heartbreak, in his voice. The pain is so recent, so close to the surface, big and gaping and raw.

“She was having such a hard time with my dad’s death, and Daemon was getting into more and more trouble at school. My mom told us to pack an overnight bag and that we were
going to stay at some nice place on the beach, just get away from it all for a little while.”

“But you didn’t make it,” I say.

“No. It was storming, and the road we took was winding, with this rocky cliff side. A deer came out of nowhere and she swerved, and we went right off the edge. The car rolled twice and then hit a tree on the driver’s side. It completely smashed where my mom was sitting. I came to a day later, in the hospital. She was gone, and I went from having a real family to…” His voice breaks. “To just me and Daemon.”

“If this was last spring, why didn’t you come to Enumclaw sooner?”

“We stayed with some friends in Cedar Cove until my uncle bought the house here. We finished out the last two months of our sophomore year in Oregon. Of course, Daemon still screwed that up and got expelled, which is why he’s homeschooled now.”

“I had no idea all this was so recent.”

Logan twists his hands in his lap. “I know. I don’t like to talk about it. But I couldn’t let you think that I screwed up so badly at Evan’s Creek because I’m reckless and don’t care about you. All I want to do is to protect you.” He turns toward me so our knees touch, pulling my hand into his lap. My head spins with the things he’s saying, with the familiar feel of the warmth of his skin. “It was like I just…got lost in the memory of it. If you hadn’t smacked my arm, snapped me out of it, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Look at me,” I say. When he looks up at me, I see the raw
pain swimming in his eyes. “I’m not going to go anywhere. But you need to be more honest with me about this stuff. I need to know you. Inside and out.”

Logan nods.

“Why was he expelled?” I ask.

Logan is silent for a long moment, and I think he’s going to refuse the question, but then he says, “There was a fight. At a party. It escalated, and some people got hurt. I’ll tell you all the details, eventually. But can that just be enough for now?”

I purse my lips. I want to say no, want to push for more, but for the first time, Logan’s giving me information, and I know I should let it all come out on its own time. He’s already bared his soul enough for one day.

“Okay. But I still think we need to sit down with Daemon, demand that he stop harassing me. I got three more Facebook messages today. They need to stop.”

“If you knew him, you wouldn’t want to sit down with him at all.”

“I met him that once. I know enough. But he needs to hear it from me—from both of us—that he has to leave us alone, that I’m not going anywhere.” The solemn expression in Logan’s eyes changes to one of relief. “And if he doesn’t want to listen, we have to talk to your uncle or take another step.”

“Really?” he asks.

“Really what?”

He leans in, his eyes so intense, so eager, I can’t look away. “You’re really not going anywhere?”

I smile back at him. “Of course not.”

Logan twists on his stool, so our knees are touching. When his fingers find the back of my neck, gently pull me closer, I don’t resist.

I lean in and kiss him, relishing the warmth of his lips. A long moment later, he rests his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes.

“You think you’re alone, but my mom’s gone too,” I say, forcing my voice to remain level. “And my dad barely pays attention to me.”

The silence stretches on for an excruciating moment, and Logan squeezes my knee. It’s such a tiny gesture, and yet somehow, it means everything.

“So she was adventurous?” he asks, softly.

I nod. “Yeah. The polar opposite of me. I always took after my dad, and we basically watched her from the sidelines, you know?

He leans into me, pulls me against him, and I exhale a shaky breath.

“I need you as much as you need me,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For?”

“For seeing the real me and none of the bullshit. For opening yourself up to me. For being you.”

I blush, feeling warm all over as I sink into him. We sit in silence for a while, the house dark and quiet, until my eyes are dry and we’re just…comfortable again, no weird tension between us. He stands, pushing his stool back and standing.
“Can we take a raincheck on the Daemon meeting? I think you’ve had enough excitement. We can get together with him next weekend.”

I purse my lips, nodding.

“Okay, well, I gotta get home, but I’ll see you tomorrow at school, right?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

“Big day.”

“Big speech,” I say.

“You’re going to be amazing.” He kisses me one last time, then goes to the door. “Just remember. Picture everyone in their underwear.”

I laugh, and it breaks the lingering tension.

“Okay then, later,” he says, slipping out the front door.

I stand and walk to the window, watching him pull out in his Jeep. After the taillights disappear, I turn away and walk to the back of the house, on my way to the kitchen. As I pass the back door, something catches my eye, and I backtrack.

There’s a red rose tied to the screen door with a black ribbon, something rolled up under the bow.

My stomach plummets, and I step onto the porch, pulling the rose off the handle with shaky hands. I glance around, half expecting to see someone watching, waiting. But I’m alone.

I unroll the photo, smoothing it out against my leg. As soon as I see what it is, though, I snatch my hand away like I’ve been burned, dropping the photo to the floor.

It’s a photo of me, taken from a wide-angle lens. I’m standing
next to my car, wearing the gray hoodie I wore a few days ago. Its fuzziness makes me wonder if it was taken from far away.

But there’s nothing fuzzy about the meaning: someone really is watching me.

L
ogan and I sit in politics the next day, side by side, as my stomach twists and turns. We’re only a few minutes from walking down the hall to the other classroom to give our speeches. Mr. Patricks is currently writing the numbers one, two, and three on scraps of paper to determine our speech order.

As he drops the slips of paper into the bowl and walks up to Madison’s desk, I rip out my own piece of paper and scribble down a note for Logan.

I found another rose.

Logan reads the note, then glances up, his eyes wide and concerned. He scribbles something down and slides it back.

Anything attached?

He pushes it in front of me, studying my expression as I read it.

Yeah. A photo of me. Like someone’s following me. And I found the rose AT MY HOUSE.

I slide the note back, watching as Logan furrows his brow.
He doesn’t seem to know what to say to this. I reach out, grab the paper, and scribble down,
Do you think it was Daemon?

Logan reads the note, glancing up at me briefly, then writes,
He’s not like that. He wouldn’t go to all the effort.

I slide the pen from his hand.
You didn’t see how he was in the basement. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.

Logan reads the note, his eyes narrowed as he taps the pen on the desk, like he doesn’t know what to write in response. “I guess that just leaves one piece of paper,” Mr. Patricks announces, jarring my focus back to him, where he’s standing at the front of the class, holding up a scrap of paper. “Harper, you’re the lucky winner. You’ll give your speech first.”

All thoughts of Daemon flee my mind as my stomach jumps into my throat. I think I might throw up.

“You can do this,” Logan whispers.

I nod, fishing a stack of note cards out of my backpack.

“Okay guys, let’s head down to room 203, shall we?”

My stomach lurches again as I get up and follow the trail of classmates into the hallway.

“You’re going to do great,” Logan says, coming up beside me. “You already faced two of your fears, right?”

I want to point out that neither occasion went smoothly, but I resist the urge.

Logan squeezes my arm. “Just read from the cards and glance up occasionally. We know our platform is more creative. There’s no way it’s not going to be more popular with the students. Just stick to what we rehearsed.”

I nod, wishing it wasn’t so hard to hear him over my thundering heart.

When we walk into room 203, I take in a deep, shaky breath. Lucas, Madison, and I walk to the front, where a long table with three chairs faces the class.

Half of my classmates end up seated on the floor or standing in the back, because there aren’t enough chairs for everyone. Logan, meanwhile, manages to squeeze into the last empty chair near me and the other presenters.

I take the seat at the far right, next to Madison. She leans over, flashing me a smile that sends butterflies raging to life. “I can’t wait to watch you humiliate yourself,” she mutters.

Mr. Patricks walks to the front of the room, then turns to address the students. “Thank you, everyone, for accommodating us today. As you’ve probably heard, our first period politics class is running a mock election. Seated before you are our three candidates, and they are each here today to give you an outline of their campaigns. Please pay attention to their speeches. Soon, you will be given the opportunity to vote for one of these candidates.”

Mr. Patrick turns to our table. “So without further ado, Harper, you may begin.”

I gulp, shakily gathering my cards up as heat creeps into my cheeks.

Madison leans over, whispering under her breath, “Don’t screw up.”

When she sits back, her smile is cruel.

I look around the rest of the classroom, desperate to overcome
the feeling that there’s a hot spotlight shining down on me. Two dozen eyes stare back at me, watching me. And for one second, I forget where I am, thinking of something—of someone—else who seems to be watching me. I think of the roses. Of the pictures.

When my gaze lands on Logan, I push away all thoughts of the flowers from a would-be stalker. He smiles encouragingly and mouths,
You can do it.

The strange thing is that as I stare into his eyes, I actually believe it. Then, before I know it, the first few words of my speech are out of my mouth. “Um, my name is Harper Bennett and I am running as an independent candidate.”

I clear my throat and quickly glance down at my cards. “My platform is based around student life. And I can promise you that if I’m elected, your daily experiences as a student will improve.”

My hands are visibly shaking, making it hard to read my cards. I force my fingers to release their death grip as I glance up at Logan. He’s nodding encouragingly and it gives me a burst of confidence. “Washington State law provides for longer break times than EHS currently offers. If elected, I plan to campaign to increase our break times.”

Someone in the back whoops, and I smile for the first time since I walked into the room. Beside me, Madison huffs under her breath, like the mere idea of someone rooting for me is ridiculous.

“Further, as your president, I would approach local restaurants such as Frankie’s Pizza to discuss the idea of allowing
them a space in our cafeteria. This would increase student options for lunch without costing the school district any money.”

A few people in the back clap, and I meet Logan’s eyes.
I told you so
, he mouths.

As I smile back at him, I realize he’s right. Maybe this list of mine isn’t just a list of fears. Maybe it
is
a to-do list.

And maybe with Logan’s help, I can cross off each one.

F
rom the cracked vinyl driver’s side seat of my battered old car, I lean across the console, arranging a couple of grocery bags on the passenger side floorboard. When the alarm of a nearby car chirps, I glance up. It’s Logan, decked out in a tracksuit and ball cap—stuff he never wears—walking toward me as he skirts a puddle. The rain pours down so hard he’s hunched over, chin tucked into his jacket.