Dangerous Boy (23 page)

The first tears brim, sliding down my temple and dampening my pillow. I cry silently, choking back sobs. I thought I didn’t believe in love. But then I met Logan, and for a moment, lived in Allie’s fantasy world of happily ever after and sunshine and rainbows.

I thought I would have that, with Logan.

And now I’m not even sure that’s his real name.

T
he next morning, I sit in Adam’s car at the curb near the school.

At least I talked him into parking a block away, so that I could put off this day for just a moment longer. I need time to figure out what I plan to say to Logan when he walks into politics.

Today’s our last day of campaigning, but we still have posters to put up. It’s going to be so hard to work with him when I feel like such an emotional mess.

“I called Bick last night,” Adam says, his voice hesitant.

I whip around. “What did you tell him?”

Adam slides his phone shut. “I didn’t tell him we think it’s Daemon who wrecked his car. You’re right about that: he can’t know. But I told him to meet us in the morning. I just texted him to tell him where we’re parked.”

“Why?”

“Because I want his help watching Logan,” he says, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“And what’s he going to do? Put on a bulletproof vest and interrogate him? Jesus, you’re acting like he’s a wanted murderer.” I grip the door handle, wanting to just jump out and go for a long walk somewhere until my head clears and I can puzzle out all these pieces, figure out what to do next.

“We don’t know
who
he is. All we know is he didn’t tell you about anyone named Trent, or what happened at his old school. And we
do
know you’ve received threats on campus. Bick needed to know. I can’t just watch you by myself.”

“I am
not
telling Bick what’s going on.”

“Goddamn it, Harper. Why do you always have to be so difficult? It’s okay to need help.” Adam punches his steering wheel and the horn lets out a little chirp. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Until we know what we’re dealing with, someone is going to be around you at all times.”

“You’re overreacting. Logan’s never said or done—”

“Let’s recap, shall we? He tried to cover up his brother’s existence, and then he gave you a false name. His brother seemed threatening when you met him at the house, and then you discovered he’s responsible for removing the stop signs. We also think he ran Bick off the road. Meanwhile, weird shit has been happening all over town, you’ve received roses with threatening poems and pictures with your eyes blacked out, and you got injured on a sabotaged quad. I’m not overreacting, and I swear to God if you say that one more time—”

“I get it, Adam.”

“I was up half the night reading all those articles,” he says, his voice softer now, less angry. “There was a girl. She got hurt.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But something went on, you know it as well as I do, and”—Adam’s voice breaks—“and you need to be cautious.” He stares at the steering wheel, his finger tracing the Suzuki symbol.

“Adam—”

A rap on the window makes me jump nearly out of my chair, my heart exploding in my chest.

Bick. It’s just Bick.

“Jesus, Adam, how about you don’t get me so freaked out I leap into the air?” I glare at him.

Adam shrugs, then opens his window to let Bick lean in.

“Mornin’,” Bick calls, resting his forearms on the windowsill. “What’s going on? You’re being all secretive and shit.”

Bick, always a way with words.

“Adam’s needlessly pretending like he’s my big bro,” I say, glaring. “Nothing new there.”

Adam shakes his head. “Not-uh, Harper. You tell him or I will.”

I roll my eyes and grit my teeth. “Turns out Logan’s twin brother may have done some illegal—”

“Violent,” Adam interrupts.

“May have done some illegal,
possibly violent
things in the past.”

“No shit?” Bick’s eyes are wide, and he scratches at his goatee. “Why have I never met this guy, anyway?”

I sigh. This is going exactly like I thought it would. “He’s homeschooled.”

Adam rolls his eyes. “And why is that, Harper?”

“Because he was expelled from his last school,” I mumble.

Adam takes that as his cue to lay all the cards on the table. “And Logan’s being less than truthful, so we don’t actually know the extent of things. Until further notice, we’re sticking to Harper like glue.”

Allie’s going to be thrilled when I monopolize all her time with Adam…

Adam continues, “I’ve got first period at the opposite end of campus, and you’re two doors down, so you’re hereby her morning escort.”

“You don’t think—” Bick starts.

“No, I don’t think I’m in mortal peril,” I say, shooting another look at Adam. “Adam just watches too many movies. Can we go now?”

Adam turns to Bick. “You got it?”

“Sure. If I lose sight of her, do I get a fog horn or something?” he says, grinning.

Adam rolls his eyes again and looks like he’s going to say something more, but another glare from me silences him.

“Come on, we’re going to be late.” I yank my backpack off the floorboards and throw it over my good shoulder, following Bick’s bulky frame across the street, still fuming. We’re through the double-glass doors before Adam has even zipped up his backpack and locked his Samurai.

We take a left toward the English and history wing, making our way to my politics class. Just outside the classroom, Bick stops and turns to me. In the fluorescent lighting of the school
halls, I can still see a yellowish tinge under his eye, a lingering sign of his accident. “You sure you’re cool?” he asks.

I nod. “Adam’s totally overblowing this whole thing. Logan’s never done anything to hurt me. It’s his brother.”

“That’s what I figured.” Bick grins at me, but then his smile fades, and he no longer looks quite so at ease. I know without looking up that Bick’s wary expression means Logan is approaching.

“Hey,” Logan says, his voice tentative. I glance over at him, take in the slump of his shoulders, and then turn back to Bick.

“Catch up with you later?” I ask.

Bick nods. “Yeah. Meet me here when class is over so we can, uh, talk about…that math test.”

I grin despite myself. “Sure. Later.” Bick is a really bad liar.

I watch as Bick walks away, and then turn to Logan, giving him a blank look. I hope the emotions swirling in my stomach aren’t reflected in my eyes.

“So, um,” Logan starts, staring down at his shoes. He sighs and finally meets my eyes. “Are you talking to me now?”

“I don’t think so,” I say, turning toward the classroom door. It’s not that I think he’s dangerous. Not in the literal sense. I trust
him
not to hurt me.

But he’s allowing Daemon to hurt other people. He’s standing by and staying silent, and he can’t do that.

He follows me into the classroom. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says, plunking down in his chair.

“I know,” I snap. “You also don’t mean to tell me the truth.”

He looks like he wants to say something, but Mr. Patricks chooses that moment to start class. “Okay guys, voting is this week, so you’ve got this period to make those last connections with your voter base. If you have any final posters to put up, you’ll want to get that done today.”

Logan and I stand without speaking, going to the back of the room where the four posters we made last week are sitting, stacked up on a table, next to at least twenty with
VOTE FOR MADISON!
written in glittery bubble letters. I want to shove them onto the dirty floor, just to let out my frustration at everything going on.

Logan picks up our posters and I follow him to the door, the silence between us stifling. We walk to the senior hall, and he sets the stack down on a window bay.

Logan holds up the first poster, and I lean over, pulling a piece of tape from the dispenser and pressing it to the corner of the cardstock. Logan scoots over to the other side, and I’m hyper-aware of his clean, soapy scent. It makes me want to drop the tape dispenser and just lean in to him, let him wrap his arms around me and tell me everything’s going to be okay.

But the tension between us is palpable, and even if I wanted to make amends, I wouldn’t know where to begin.

Fortunately, Logan makes the first move. “Are we going to talk about this?” he finally asks, as we’re hanging our third poster.

“I’m not the one who needs to do the talking,” I say, staring at the tape dispenser.

“You don’t understand,” Logan says.

“Then make me understand,” I snap, turning to glare at him.

What if Adam’s right? What if it was about a girl? What if Logan’s brother has a problem with him being with me, and that’s what the roses and notes are about? What if he stalks him, or me, and doesn’t like seeing us together?

“He’s…he’s not me, Harper. He’s not. It doesn’t matter what he does, who he is. You’re with me, and I never did anything wrong.”

“You lied. About a lot of things. And right now? That’s kind of all that matters. So when you’re
really
ready to talk, let me know.”

I push the last piece of tape onto the poster and then, without waiting for a response, I turn away and walk down the empty hallway.

Alone.

O
n Friday, I’m sitting in a group of six, counting ballots. Logan is across the room, seated with five other students, a pile of ballots in front of him as well. To my relief, Mr. Patricks divided us all up so that we wouldn’t be able to cheat in our calculations. I don’t think I could have handled another minute of sitting so close to Logan with everything going on between us.

Each stack of ballots is double-counted, and then counted again if there are any discrepancies. I have a pile of ballots in front of me, and a pen in my hand. I unfold a scrap of yellow paper, and when I see
Harper Bennett
written inside, I add another tick to my column.

Madison, seated next to me, sort of growls under her breath as she takes the ballot and marks down another vote on her own sheet of paper.

I’m winning.

“You must have stuffed the box,” Madison grumbles under her breath.

I roll my eyes. “Maybe my campaign was just better.”

“Your campaign was not better. Your posters were stupid and your platform would never work in the real world. You’re just lucky Mr. Patricks let it slide.”

“Why do you hate me so much?” I ask.

Madison unfolds the ballot, and
Harper Bennett
is written in dark blue ink. “Do I need a reason?”

“Whatever,” I say. At least with how things are with Logan, I won’t be going to the masquerade tonight. I don’t want to see Madison a moment more than absolutely necessary.

I open another ballot.
Madison Vaughn
is written inside. Of course. I push it onto her desk.

“You know, Logan’s going to get tired of you, and then he’ll want to see what being with a
real
girl is like. You’re nothing but a boring loser.”

My jaw drops but Madison ignores me, shoving her chair back as I unfold the final ballot and see my name staring back at me.

Madison disappears with the hall pass as I tally the final votes.

I’ve won by a landslide.

At home that night, I sit miserably in my room, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain. Dad’s not home—whether he’s at the vet or the feed store or a thousand other places, I don’t know.

I used to go on errands with him. I’d sit on that wide bench seat in his truck, watching the world stream by. I wonder why
I stopped doing that. When the distance between us became more of a chasm.

The Halloween Masquerade starts in twenty minutes and my costume is hanging in my closet, still wrapped up in plastic. I sit curled up on the edge of my bed, leaning against the window, my forehead resting on the glass.

All those stupid decorations I made, and I’m not even going.

Logan acted like he was going to eat lunch with us like usual today, but I guess he got the hint when he walked up and I was seated between Adam and Bick, with Allie directly across from me, and there was no room for him. He stood there holding his tray for an agonizing moment, and then simply congratulated me on winning the election and turned on his heel, stalking away.

I wanted to say something to him—it was only because of him I even ran, and somehow it felt like I owed him some expression of gratitude, but I couldn’t find the words.

This separation hurts unlike anything I could have imagined, and there’s nothing I can do to change it. Apparently, keeping his secrets about Cedar Cove is worth the price of losing me.