“The fewer copies, the better,” he replies smoothly, tucking the paper into his back pocket. “We don’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”
Before I can argue about my right to documentation—and my sudden concern about whose hands he thinks might be interested in our little arrangement—the front door downstairs clicks open.
“We’re home,” Mom calls out cheerfully.
Sheer terror lodges in my throat like I’ve swallowed a golf ball, and judging by Logan’s expression, he’s not faring any better.
“Where would you like these groceries, Mrs. Lang?” Theo asks, his voice carrying up the stairs with alarming clarity.
“In the kitchen,” Mom answers.
I rush to the door in a panic, fingers fumbling with the lock before I press my ear against the wood, listening for approaching footsteps. Chrissy trudges up the stairs—I’d recognize that heavy-footed stomp anywhere—and it sounds like Theo is right on her heels.
A sharp knock on the door startles me, sending me backward right into Logan, whose solid frame stops my retreat. I can feel the warmth radiating from him, his chest alarmingly firm against my back before I step away and look into his terrified eyes.
“Maisie? Are you in there?” Chrissy’s voice booms on the other side of the door.
“Yeah,” I call back, trying to sound casual and not like I’m harboring America’s most gossiped-about pop star in my bedroom. “Just getting dressed.”
“We got food,” Chrissy says.
“I’ll be down soon,” I reply, silently praying she doesn’t try the doorknob.
“What are we going to do?” Logan’s voice drops to a whisper.
I scan the room frantically, searching for an escape route. “The window.”
His complexion turns ghostly. “Are you insane? What if I fall?” He glances at the second-story drop with the terror of someone contemplating bungee jumping without the bungee.
“Don’t be such a baby,” I hiss, marching to the window and pushing it open. The cool evening air rushes in, carrying the scent of rain-washed grass. “It’s not that high. There’s a trellis right outside—just climb down like a ladder.”
“I’m not Spider-Man!”
Another knock at the door makes us both stiffen. “Maisie? Mom wants to know if you’re eating with us,” Chrissy calls from behind the door.
“Yes! Five minutes!” I shout back, then grab Logan’s arm and drag him to the window. “You’ve got to take one for the team. Now.”
With obvious reluctance, Logan swings one leg over the sill, then the other, clinging to the frame like a terrified cat being bathed. “This is crazy,” he mutters, his knuckles white from gripping the windowsill. “If I die, I’m going to possess that owl of yours and terrorize your dreams.”
“Just climb down already,” I instruct, shoving at his shoulders with perhaps more force than necessary.
“I almost forgot,” Logan says, brandishing his phone with one hand while holding onto the window frame for dear life with the other. “Put in your number.”
I type it quickly and give it back to him. Then he reaches for the wooden lattice, testing it with one hand. “It feels rickety.”
“It held my weight when I was sixteen and sneaking out to see Fall Out Boy,” I assure him, though I conveniently leave out that I was significantly lighter than him.
With a grimace, Logan transfers one foot to the trellis, which immediately creaks. His eyes widen to comic proportions. “I’m going to die on your rosebushes. This is not how People Magazine said I’d go.”
“You’re doing great,” I lie encouragingly, trying not to laugh at his dramatics. The sight of a multi-platinum recording artist trembling on my mother’s garden trellis might be the highlight of my week.
He makes it halfway down before disaster strikes. With a splintering crack, the wooden lattice gives way, sending Logan plummeting the remaining few feet. He lands with a spectacular thud and a muffled groan, sprawled on the lawn like a dropped marionette.
I lean out the window, concern battling with the urge to laugh. “Are you okay?”
Logan rolls onto his back, clutching his hip and glaring up at me. “Barely.”
He moves like a wounded giraffe as he limps across our yard and disappears around the corner of the house.
