Two Roads (13 page)

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I told you,” I say, pretending to study a page of my notes. “It’s the eyelashes.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t going with me to the conference because of my eyelashes?”

“Exactly. They’re pitiful, is what they are.”

“But you admit that you otherwise have a crush on me?” he says, flashing me an innocent look.

I smile. Flip another page. “Logan,” I say. “You are like a footstool to me. I use you to rest on when I’m bored and have nothing else to do, to push you under my feet because you are my inferior, and then when I’m done with you, I kick you over and walk out of the room. So no, I don’t have a crush on you.” I say to shut him up.

“So now I’m a footstool with bad eyelashes?” I glance up, and Logan looks genuinely amused. Shit. He really does not take a hint.

“That’s being generous,” I say, sharpening my gaze.

Logan mocks surprise. “Should I be offended?”

“You should
leave
, for one thing.”

“But that’s too easy.”

“It’s also what I would like.” Flip. “Don’t you have your pointless stat class or something now?”

“I left it for you,” he says, which I know is a lie. His other geeky friends are sitting across from us, too preoccupied to notice, so it probably just got cancelled.

“I just might be flattered.”

“You should be.”

“So let’s say I am. Hypothetically, would you leave then?”

Logan pretends to think about it, rubbing his finger against his jaw in an annoyingly cute way, and I have to force my gaze back at the table because thinking Logan Waters is cute is the last thing I need right now. “I’d consider it,” he says. God, he pisses me off.

“Then I’m flattered. Goodbye, Logan.”

“You really want me to leave?”

“I do.”

“I’m hurt,” he says, and I just glare at him. “But,” he continues, “I will leave. I will keep my dignity intact and leave you now, because I pity your existence.”

“I’m smart enough to realize that was a lie.”

“Good,” he says. “So I haven’t failed you after all.”

“Seems so.” I flip another page. “You’re like a mom, only worse.”

“Thank you. It’s always been my greatest dream to be your mother.” There’s a pause and I flip another page, thinking this will be the end of our conversation, when he adds, “Bitch.”

I glance up, and there he is, eyes narrowed and trained on mine, all serious and ready for battle. A vicious smile spreads across my lips, and I slowly close my textbook, then focus back on him. The heat between us is back almost instantly. I take a sip of my coffee, not taking my eyes off of him, and then I touch my tongue to the roof of my mouth:
it’s on
.

And here we go again.

“Asshole,” I say, cocking my head to the side and leaning forward.

He inches closer, smirking. “Idiot,” he says, hard and strong. I feel the red-hot hate between us appear out of nowhere. My whole body heats up as I lock eyes with his, feeling my skin scrawl, my heart pound.

And it feels right. The intensity between us feels right. My rivalry with Logan never fails to make me feel better even in the most confusing situations.

“Bastard,” I say, dragging out my words.

Everything else fades away again, and I love this personal connection with Logan, this outpour of everything wrong with our lives.

“Freak,” he says sharply.

“Dickhead,” I retort.

“Moron.”

“Asshat.”

He narrows his eyes. “Idiot.”

“Loser.”

“Nerd wannabe.”

“Everything wannabe.”

“Waste of space.”

“Waste of resources.”

“Shallow.”

“Pathetic.”

“Disgusting.”

“Hideous.”

I take a slow breath as the fight continues, smiling a malicious smile and narrowing my eyes at him. The strength of our mutual hatred continues to ripple between us, and as I insult him all I think about is Ben Ben Ben and how he’s not here because of all of us, and no one even knows why he did it. Insulting Logan like this makes the knot in my stomach disappears, fuels the rage I’ve been holding for the three and a half years before he transferred to Williams University, and now I wouldn’t trade hating him for anything in the world.

Finally, Logan stands up, smiling.

“This isn’t over,” he says.

“We’ll see.”

“I’m going to make you come with me to the conference, one way or another.” He takes a deep breath, and it’s like we both just either ran a marathon or had some seriously hot sex based off of the heaviness of our breathing and the exhausted satisfaction in our smiles, and I curse myself for comparing insulting Logan to sex.

Fuck does that man get on my nerves.

“I’d like to see you try,” I say, clicking my tongue. “
Goodbye,
asshole.”

“Goodbye, bitch,” he responds, and turns away.

I watch him disappear out of sight, my eyes following him, the way his legs move, the way his arms pump at his side, his easy steps as he turns the corner. I watch him even when he’s gone, just stare at the place where he left and smile, because I realize then that I need our rivalry more than anything. I watch the spot where Logan left because I find myself wanting him to come back, I want to see his dimpled smile again, to argue about nothing in particular--just argue about stupid things, about why mangos are better than strawberries or whatever, to talk to him because talking to him is my escape, my happy place, the one time where I have to work not to smile.

But I can’t have that.

This is not a romance novel.

I am not all innocent and Logan-struck.

I can feel myself getting close to him, too close, and after everything that has happened to me, I know that means one thing: that I have to push him away.

~

The
next couple of days pass by incredibly quickly. Logan keeps texting me about going with him to the convention, which is now two days away, to which I either respond hell no or ignore him altogether. It feels like he would take the hint that I’m not interested at this point, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t show any signs of giving up, either. It’s like the more I turn him down, the more determined he gets to convince me to come with him.

I take it as just another reason to hate him.

I don’t accomplish much over those two days. I spend most of my time reading the
Two Roads
poetry blog, especially that poem about Frost for whatever reason. I also reread the E.E. Cummings’ “I carry your heart with me” poem Logan is such a fan of and I feel myself falling in love with it too. I love the language, the themes, the way the poem makes me smile every time I read it. I’ll give Logan this: as annoying as he is, he sure has good taste in poetry.

True to his word, Logan puts seventy-two crepes in my room each day I don’t agree to go to the conference with him.
I’m not entirely sure how he got in possession of so many crepes, but considering there are now one-hundred and forty-four of them stacked by my pillow, it doesn’t seem to matter much anymore. He leaves a little ransom note with each crepe batch--more reminders that I absolutely
have
to go with him--and his persistence should earn him a punch in the face. Should.

Ruby tries to convince me to go with him to the convention as well--I swear he’s turned her against me too--and I’ll admit, the idea of going with him keeps getting more and more appealing, mostly because it gives me a more private chance to test out some new pranks on him. But it just doesn’t feel right for me to go if Ben can’t come. I was never there for him when he needed me, and now it feels like I’m letting him down all over again by doing the one thing he always wanted to make just our own, special, brother-sister thing with someone who isn’t him.

My parents are still in town and will be through the weekend. They made sure to set up another lovely “lunch chat” with me yesterday about my failing future, which went just as well as expected. Meaning, it ended with me screaming at my mom and throwing tomatoes from my sandwich at my dad’s balding head. So I’d say it was a pretty normal conversation for us.

They don’t know that I’m considering going to the National Poet’s Convention, of course, because if they did they would probably chain me to my room so I could not leave--that is not sarcasm--but to be safe, they scheduled another lunch on Saturday, the first of the three convention days. My parents may be ignorant and obnoxious, but they aren’t stupid. They know enough to keep me from going to any of the big events in the poetry community, which to them means I’m automatically going to become a poet and turn to the “dark side” or something. What they fail to realize is that I don’t have any qualms about skipping another lunch with them.

I lie on my bed and scroll through the
Two Roads
poetry blog, something I’ve made a habit of recently, when I hear Ruby stumble out of the bathroom. Immediately, I look up. It’s late afternoon, and she’s already trying on dresses. She goes on her first date with Jaden tonight. Apparently, my advice worked on her, and she asked him out.

“You ready?” I say to her as she nearly trips on her high heels on her way over to me.

She glances at the mirror, winces, then looks back at me. “No?”

“You’re going to rock it. You look totally hot,” I add, giving her a smile, and it’s the truth. She
does
look totally hot, and she is most certainly going to rock it.

Ruby isn’t wearing her usual punk-rock clothes this time, however. I mean, she still has on the boots and the smoky eyeliner and everything Ruby-esque, but instead of all black or gray clothes she wears a bright blue dress that hugs her body down to her thighs. A purple earring hangs from both of her ears, and her long black hair cascades down onto her shoulder, all silky and pretty. She still has the pink highlights in it, but really, she wouldn’t look right without them.

She watches me nervously, awaiting my judgment and wincing. “Really? I feel like a Barbie doll,” she says.

“A hot Barbie doll. Jaden’s not going to know what hit him.”

She shrugs. “I’d rather wear my basketball uniform on the date.”

“If he really likes you, he probably won’t care,” I say, leaning back in bed as the
Two Roads
site loads.

“Okay, so then why am I dressed up like this?”

“To amuse me.” I pull out my phone and start to take a picture of her. “Say ‘hello internet.’” She gives me the finger mid-picture instead, and I laugh.

“You really are a bitch,” Ruby says.

“Logan has made me well aware of that fact already, but thank you.”

A devious smile spreads across her lips at my mention of Logan’s name. Dammit. I should’ve known this would happen. “Speak of the devil,” she says, approaching me. “Have you two made arrangements for your hot and sex-filled three-day nerdfest, a.k.a. the poetry convention?”

“Not funny,” I say.

“So that’s a no?”

“It’s a ‘hell no.’”

She frowns. “And why not?”

I open my mouth to make up some half-assed excuse, but Ruby sees right through me. “What is it about Ben that’s keeping you from going?” she asks, and I cringe at the mention of his name.

I open and close my mouth again, not knowing whether I should tell her the truth, but with Ruby looking at me this intently, I know I can’t bullshit her. So I sigh. “He always wanted to be the one to take me to this conference,” I say quietly, glancing down at my feet. “I don’t want to let him down again.”

She nods sadly. “Have I ever told you about my dad?” Ruby asks after a while.

“No.”

“Well, he was the one who taught me how to play basketball. Taught me everything I know since I was a little girl. When I made varsity as a freshman, he wanted more than anything in the world to see me play my first game. He was supposed to be on a business trip, but he cancelled it all for me. And then the morning of the game, he died in a car crash.” She takes a deep breath, and I bite my lip. “I didn’t think I could go on. I missed my first few games, and I didn’t think I could ever play basketball again. It felt so wrong to play and not have him watch me, not have him to run to, to tell all about the game when it ended, and I was convinced I was done with basketball forever. But then one day, in the middle of the season, I really thought about it, and I realized that me quitting would be the last thing he would want. The true letting him down would be avoiding what I really want to do because of him. So I put on my uniform for the first time in months, grabbed a ball, and played my first high school game. I scored twenty points,” she says, “and we won.” Then Ruby leans in, her eyes on mine. “The point is, you can’t let a death dictate your whole life. It may hurt at first and it may even fucking burn, but sometimes you just have to suck it up and go for what you really want. Because the last Ben or anyone would want is for their death to keep you from doing the things that make you happy. And I think going to the convention will make you happy, Cali.”

As soon as Ruby finishes, I close my eyes, hating how right she is. Sometimes I wish I could talk to Ben one last time, to tell him how truly sorry I am for making all this happen, for not figuring out a way to fix this, to tell him that I love him and always have, to tell him that I need some closure.

“Look,” she says, leaning in closer when I don’t respond, “do you see me?” She motions to her dress. “I’m scared too. I’ve never been on a legit date before, and it feels totally weird and wrong because my dad isn’t here to pat me on the shoulder and tell me to ‘go get him.’ But I’m still doing it, because I know it’s right. Sometimes the right thing is the hard choice, the road not many people take, and sometimes you just have to go for it. Go to the conference,” Ruby whispers. “It doesn’t matter if it’s with Logan or not. I’m concerned about
you
, and you love poetry, and you need this--for closure.”

Then she steps away, brushes herself off, and heads to the door.

“Wait, where are you going?” I say, sitting up and mouthing a silent
thank you
for the advice. “I thought your date wasn’t for like another hour?”

“It isn’t. But I’m going to get there early. You know. To calm my nerves. Try to google what the hell normal people are supposed to do on dates. Make sure he isn’t a serial killer. The usual.”

“Sounds exactly like what everyone else does on their first dates,” I say sarcastically.

“As I thought.” She steps out of the door and shoots me a look, which I return with an innocent smile. “Consider my badass advice my way of repaying you for your badass advice, by the way.” She starts closing the door behind her, peeking her face in one last time. “Bye, Cali,” she says.

“Bye, Ruby.” And then the door clicks shut, and I’m left alone in the silence of my room.

I don’t do anything for a long time after that. I just sit there, reading through old poem favorites of mine on the blog, thinking about Ruby and Jaden and how they’re inevitably going to be perfect for each other. I’m happy for her, I really am, and that’s a foreign feeling for me. I’m not really the type of person who is happy for others, especially when they’re doing things I’ve always dreamed of doing, but Ruby is the exception. I know that she and Jaden are going to hit it off, and that makes me somehow proud. Plus, the world could always use Ruby babies--another inevitable--and with Jaden’s gorgeous face, they will probably end up ruling the world.