“Of course.” I lifted the blanket and Logan draped it over his lap. Then he leaned back against the couch and rested his head in his hand, facing me.
“This next question’s about health care.”
I started to face him, then hesitated. Was this wise? I studied his face as he frowned at his notebook, chewing his pen, and it hit me with a sudden fierceness: I liked this man so much. My inconvenient physical attraction and his annoying habit of surprising me on live TV aside, I cared about him. And in small ways, he was showing me he cared, too. Maybe it was safe to allow myself a small increase in affection, a slight upgrade from coworkers to friends. That couldn’t hurt, right?
I felt a warm glow in my chest as I turned. He shook his head and crossed something out. “Definitely need your take on this. The statistics alone, I mean, the whole debate could be about this issue. I need to find a way to center advocates’ voices, especially women’s. Between me and Mane, this debate’s already a total bro-fest. Big dick energy, and not in the good way.”
I suppressed a smile. Yeah, I could get used to being Logan Arthur’s friend.
21
If I’m Going Down, You’re Coming with Me
If I had my way, I would simply crawl into a cave and never give aspeech again. But since Logan had signed me up to speak at the teachers union march, here I was, sweating on yet another stage. Thank God for Muriel Lopez, the one-woman hype machine. She’d brought her whole family to the march—husband, kids, cousins, even her tiny dog, clutched to her husband’s chest. A whole army of Lopez supporters in the audience. While Gia and her husband had arrived dressed sensibly in blue-and-white TEA sweaters, Muriel and her family had gone for drama: makeup, glitter, a banner, the whole nine yards. Buried under about twelve feet of scarves, Muriel wore an official licensed Logan Arthur for Governor T-shirt, and the rest of her family wore unofficial, unlicensed Muriel Lopez for President T-shirts. Every time I hit a pause in my speech, they cheered me like I was Oprah giving away free cars. It was thanks to them that I was getting through this.
“Let’s acknowledge the truth,” I said, eyes tracking over the crowd. People filled Eleventh Street, stretching as far as the eye could see under the cloudless late-September sky, holding signs that saidPut Your Money Where Your Mouth Is, TexasandTeachers Deserve a Living Wage. The campaign and the TEA had done a hell of a job organizing. The campaign had set up what Nora called a “publicity gauntlet” the week before the march to hype it. I had to ask Principal Zimmerman for permission to miss school so Logan and I could do back-to-back interviews about our education plan. In the mornings, we hit radio shows, drinking coffee with velvet-voiced emcees; in the afternoons, we sat down with newspaper journalists, who paused their fervent Twitter scrolling to ask us questions; and in the evenings, we smiled for the cameras with preening TV anchors.
It was a whirlwind that would have dizzied me if not for my own anchors: Logan, who was a grounding presence next to me in every interview; Nora and Cary, who dutifully hung in the wings, clutching phones and Starbucks cups; and Nigel, who drove us around town while reciting the day’s forecast. By gauntlet day five, when Nora checked to see how I was doing, I told her the five of us had started to feel like an eccentric little family. She’d nodded knowingly and told me what I was describing was called proximity bonding, commonly experienced by kidnapping victims. Then she’d laughed at the look on my face and assured me that we were, in fact, a family.
Now here I was, delivering the speech I’d spent all week hyping. (No pressure.) “Politicians have ignored educators for years,” I told the crowd. “They’ve taken away retirement benefits, cut workforce numbers, and let salaries flatline.” The crowd roared its agreement, and I silently thanked the speechwriter on Logan’s team who’d convinced me to go with flatline. Drama seemed to be a winner.
“Most politicians talk a good game about supporting teachers and students, but what do we actually have to show for it?” I looked into the front row where Logan stood, tall and dark and dashing in a navy blazer. He grinned up at me, shielding his eyes against the sun. Truth be told, he came in a close second to Muriel as an ideal audience member.
I glanced at my notes. “That’s why I’m honored to introduce someone who will change teachers’ and students’ lives for the better.” This was off-script, and Logan was already being shepherded to the stage by his security team, but I added, “He’s a man who wants nothing more than to make life better for his fellow Texans. I believe in him, and I hope you do, too.”
On my right, Logan stepped onto the stage.
“Logan Arthur, everyone!”
The crowd cheered and Logan waved. I clutched my notes, thrilled to be done, and beelined in his direction. When we met, he folded me into a giant hug like the campaign team had instructed. Performance or not, I breathed a deep sigh of relief as his arms closed around me. He hugged me tight.
“I would follow you anywhere,” he whispered, his lips brushing my cheek, and then he was striding forward and waving at the crowd.
The words rooted me for a moment before I shook myself and scurried as gracefully as possible off stage. Security guards hovered, guiding me down the stairs and around the back where the rest of the speakers stood. As I thanked them and settled in to watch Logan on one of the monitors, my phone lit with a text from my mom.
I’m spending my day prepping for my commercial (still no word from Lee) and watching you on TV! You were amazing. I’m so proud. And you and Logan looked so romantic on stage. I’m dying to know what he whispered in your ear!
I smiled to myself.He said he would follow me anywhere.
Immediately, the little dots started bouncing.Oh, my, she wrote.That’s even better than I imagined.
I looked up at Logan’s face on the monitor. He was, wasn’t he?
“Hey-o, Alexis Stone, nice to meet ya.”
I turned to find two men my mother’s age walking over. They were both on the short side, but while one was balding, the other had long hair that made him look like a hippie. In a flash, I placed them from those TEA pamphlets that got mailed to my apartment every month: It was Sonny Yarrow, president of the teachers union, and Kai West, secretary-treasurer.
“Oh my gosh.” I stuck out my hand. “Sonny and Kai. It’s an honor to meet you.” My students might worship Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande, but I was looking at my celebrities. These were the two men in charge of sticking up for Texas teachers, which basically made them heroes, in my opinion.
Sonny, the one without the hair, gave my hand a brief pump. Long-haired Kai said, “I don’t shake at these things. Too many germs.”
“Oh.” I yanked my hand back. “Of course.” After a beat where they looked at me expectantly, I added, “Thank you for agreeing to hold this march with us. I’m a huge fan of the work you do.”
“That’s great,” Kai said. “Listen. What do you think the odds are Arthur actually follows through on these promises?”
I searched his face, waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, I swallowed my surprise. “I think the odds are a hundred percent.” I nodded at the screen. “He wouldn’t be up there if he wasn’t invested.”
“Ha,” Sonny laughed. “You’re cute, doll. Now give it to me straight. When your guy says he’s going to expand salaries, that’s going to be on a weighted basis, right?”
