Chapter Twenty-One

The next morning, I wake up to a photo of Susie Q, along with a text from Logan.

Logan: She misses you

My grogginess fades as I read the words. I zoom in on the adorable photo—she’s drinking from a bottle, which I didn’t get to see last night.

Quinn: That’s because she has good taste, and not just for milk

Logan: You might be right about that

Quinn: Is this an old photo? Please tell me you weren’t up early enough this morning to take this.

Logan: 5:30

Quinn: I just died and came back to life at the idea

Logan: I’m used to it

Quinn: Well I’m not and I still need to get ready

Logan: I’ll text with any farm updates

And he does. Not exactly about farm stuff, or at least not only about that. He texts to complain about his English teacher and I reply back about pre-calc. In the evening, I send him a photo of the bracelet I made with his dice, and in the morning I find a series of texts about the novel he’s reading. The following day, there are more texts than the day before. Nothing about them is romantic—I could hand my phone to my mom or Kashvi and there’d be nothing to raise an eyebrow over.

And yet.

I like seeing how he starts his mornings by checking on Susie Q and feeding their goats. I like updating him on the (honestly boring) details of my school day. I find myself wanting to know the funny meme he just found, and his opinions on the latest Marvel trailer, and which novel he’s going to read next. It’s all mundane, but it doesn’t feel that way. Each text is like a secret present just for me.

I almost wish it wasn’t so fun. If he proved himself to be a jerk, then I wouldn’t need to worry about where all this is leading, but he can’t even do me that courtesy. Instead, he’s cool and kind and funny, and it’s maddening.

Thoughts of Logan aren’t the only things plaguing my mind. Ever since I ran away from Paige at the comic book fest, I haven’t stopped thinking about what I told her. Why did I have to mention the livestream campaign? I know why I did it in the moment—because I was desperate for her to know I was fine and nothing she’d done had permanently hurt me—but what if she searches for our livestream? It’s not exactly popular, so a quick Google search won’t turn it up, but if she cared and did a little digging, she could find it. The recordings of our sessions are there for all to see.

I wish they didn’t have this power over me, but I can’t shake the worries. And, for better or worse, there’s one person in particular I want to talk to about it. I pace across my bedroom floor Thursday night, trying to decide how much to say to him. So far our texts haven’t gotten very deep, so I start simple.

Quinn: Busy?

Logan: Watching tv with my parents. It’s their way of bonding

Quinn: I thought you bonded over cow poop?

Logan: No, that’s how WE bond

Quinn: I remember no cow poop. Only her long eyelashes

Logan: Come back over and I’ll give you a better tour of the farm

I snort-laugh. I want to launch into all my worries, but it’s bad timing if he’s with his parents. I stop pacing to text him back.

Quinn: Have fun watching tv

Logan: Are you ok? You sound off

Quinn: You can’t hear me

Logan: I don’t need to hear you. Your texts are different

My stomach flutters. He knows that?

Quinn: Just thinking about the comic fest again

I immediately realize how that must sound—that I’m thinking about him and me at the comic fest. Which I absolutely have been, particularly right before I fall asleep each night, but I don’t want to give the wrong impression.

Quinn: About running into Paige there, I mean

Logan: Hold on

I frown and sink onto my bed, staring at my phone in the hopes of making more texts come. A minute later they do.

Logan: I told my parents I had to go to the bathroom. Mom was giving me serious side-eye for texting. What happened with all of that? You never really told me

Quinn: You mean at the comic store?

Logan: I mean all of it

A tingle runs up my spine. I take a breath and then my fingers start flying over the keys. My usual short texts are replaced by paragraphs as I tell him the whole story, both what happened before with Caden and my run-in with Paige. I don’t give every single detail, but enough for him to get the full picture. Logan doesn’t reply immediately—which is fair since there’s a lot to process—but it only makes me clutch my phone tighter with nerves. Hopefully I didn’t overwhelmhim.

Logan: Give me their addresses and I’ll go have a word with them

I laugh and lean against my headboard.

Quinn: Thanks but that’s probably a bad idea

Logan: They should have thought about that before messing with you. It’s so shitty, Quinn. You shouldn’t have to deal with any of this

Quinn: I don’t want to spend my life avoiding them or being scared of them

Logan: I want to talk more but if I spend too long in the bathroom my mom is going to think I have food poisoning

I laugh again.

Quinn: No prob, I’ll text tomorrow

Logan: Come by the store. I picked up a Friday shift and I take my break at 5—tell your parents you’re getting your grandma sherbet.

There’s no denying the jittery excitement that floods me at the idea. I also can’t deny the worries that pop into my head about whether it would cross some invisible friendship line if I meet him after school. But it’s only ice cream, and it’s not like we’ll have much time together—fifteen minutes at the most.

Quinn: ok, I’ll be there

The hours on Friday can’t pass quick enough. When I finally open the door to the ice cream parlor and see Logan’s smile, I relax.

“Taking my break,” Logan calls to someone I can’t see, and comes out from behind holding two dishes of ice cream. We sit in the far corner, not that we’re hidden away given how small the space is, and I smile down at my Buckeye ice cream.

“You remembered.”

“Nah, it’s just our most popular flavor, so I took a guess,” he replies. But the amused gleam in his eyes tells me he’s joking.

I pick up my spoon and point to his ice cream with it. “So you weren’t being sarcastic on your name tag? You actually like mint chocolate chip?”

“How can anyone be sarcastic when it comes to ice cream?” He takes a bite. “This is the combination dreams are made of. The refreshing mint plus the rich dark chocolate? The best of both worlds.”

“There’s only one ice cream combo worth eating and it’s sitting in front of me.” I take a big bite.

“I can think of other combos I like pretty well.” He cocks his head at me. “So,” he continues. “How are you feeling now about Paige?”

I sigh. I know I didn’t come here to flirtatiously fight about ice cream flavors, but that’s a lot more fun than talking about her. “I don’t know. Most of the time I can convince myself that this is all in my head, but then I get worried that they’re going to ruin our game somehow.”

“How could they do that?”

“I don’t know. What if…” I shake my head. “They might say something and turn you all against me.”

His eyebrows rise. “Okay, that you don’t need to be worried about.”

“No?”

“I can speak for everyone when I say that we don’t care about these people in the least. There’s nothing they could say that would change my feelings about you.”

My heart swells. “You might be slightly biased, though.”

“Maybe.” He grins. “But it doesn’t matter. If I’m biased, then so are the others. Nothing Paige, Caden, or anyone else says has any power over us. And they shouldn’t have power over you either.”

I take a bite of ice cream and nod. He’s right, absolutely. All of this is in the past, and it’s time I leave it there.

“Thank you. It’s good to talk about it. Oh—” I pull his cloak out of the tote bag I brought with me. “I almost forgot.”

“You didn’t need to. It looked better on you anyway.”

His gaze heats my skin. It’s so easy to fall back into the memory of how he tugged the cloak around me to keep me warm. His expression makes me wonder if he’s thinking about that afternoon as well.

“I have to get back to work before Mr.Avery complains.”

I take my last bite and stand. I’m sad to go, but I do feel happier now. And I’ll see Logan and the whole group tomorrow for the game, which is something else to look forward to. Logan follows me out the door and we hover by the entrance. The tension between us pulls tight enough that I’m stretching out of my skin.

“So…just wondering, have your feelings changed at all since Monday?” he asks. “They’re our friends. I bet we could make them understand.”

I bite my lip and look down at the ground. Maybe they’ll understand…or maybe they’ll be pissed we’ve been sneaking around and breaking one of the carefully designed rules we agreed on to keep the group together.

“Once we do it, there’s no going back.”

“That’s true. And we don’t need to say anything if you aren’t ready.” His gaze rakes over my face. “In the meantime, I’ll try to get used to watching you bite your lower lip without wishing it was me doing that instead.”

Fire flows through me at his words. This situation is impossible.

“What if we feel them out tomorrow after the game?” I ask. “We can bring up the idea very generally and see how they react. Hopefully they won’t care.”

“I like that plan.”

My chest aches with the treacherous wish for him to step closer and kiss me. I shove the feelings away and shake my head to clear it. “And if they aren’t cool with the idea?”

“Then I guess I’m going to get very accustomed to pain.”