Logan took my book out of my hands and closed it. He said I needed real human company instead of fictional characters.
“Real life isn’t like a book, Mace. You can’t control people the way an author can control the characters in her stories.”
“You think I don’t know that? Look at my parents—I can’t get them to do anything I want.”
Logan fumbled with the book in his hand and suddenly asked me if I’d be well enough to go to Dave’s party next Friday night.
“I really want you to come,” he whispered before he ran out.
My chicken pox cleared up, and Dave’s parents were out of town, so Ginny and I walked over together.
We played spin the bottle for the first time. When Logan spun, he got Amy Alder—three times. He never spun me once. Afterward, he pulled my ponytail and asked me if I wished it had been me. I stuck my tongue out at him and walked away.
But the following week, Dave had another party, except this time we didn’t have a bottle, so we used a stick, shut our eyes, and pointed in a direction. This made it seem a little more contrived—I mean, all of us knew where everybody was sitting, so they could certainly point in a general direction.
Logan pointed the stick at me. My legs went weak, and my heart raced because I didn’t know how to kiss, and I didn’t know what he’d try to do. He and Amy had definitely used their tongues.
When we reached each other in the center of the circle, we were both on our hands and knees, and everyone was clapping. I was so embarrassed I felt as hot as the sun must. But Logan seemed cool as ever, and he just leaned in and kissed me—his lips to mine. No tongue, though. And then, it was over.
“Y’all are chickens!” Dave called out. “What’s wrong with y’all?”
Logan was already backpedaling to his seat. But I grabbed him afterward, and while everyone was walking ahead, I asked him why.
“Why what?” he asked me.
“Why no tongue?”
“Did you want that?” He looked surprised.
I furrowed my eyebrows. “What does that matter? The tongue was what we’re supposed to do.”
He reached over and brushed a stray hair off my face. “You seemed nervous. Were you?”
“It’s kind of a stupid game,” I said. “Everyone watches you.”
“I agree.”
“But you and Amy…”
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass about Amy Alder,” he said.
“Oh.” I stared at him, trying to decipher his unreadable face.
“Look,” he said. “Anytime you want to kiss me in private, I’m there. Your call.”
I slam the diary shut just as Logan’s familiar Chevy truck pulls into the auto shop from the back alley.
“Hey!” I call out to him before he sees who it is.
Logan squints in his rearview mirror, checking the facts before he has to respond. He’s been doing more of that these days. Ever since he got back from his painting trip. Really, I should call it his engagement trip. I doubt he got much painting done with all of his gallivanting up to New York City and buying a diamond to woo Gigi.
“Hey.”
Logan jumps out of the truck and walks over to me. His restlessness is palpable as I watch him consciously suck in a breath like he’s trying to stay calm.
He glances down at the diary in my hands. “You writing?”
I shove the diary into my purse. “No.”
