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Kelsey’s bright smile became a death look in record speed. She directed it at me. “How? She’s not even good at English.”
It wasn’t a lie. I got the occasional C, which was considered disastrous in Woodhill, especially for a non-AP class. I looked up at Logan with confusion.
“We had English together. With Cole,” he reminded me. A shiver instantly rippled my arms at the mention of Daniel and I glanced at Kelsey to see if she somehow noticed. Nope. Her eyes were on Logan as he pulled a chair over to sit beside me. “Remember Crime and Punishment?”
Oh Lord. Yes. I smacked my forehead in a way that made Kelsey and Paige go, “What? What? What?”
It was embarrassing. I was never particularly interested in English but I got weirdly into Crime and Punishment senior year. Upon discovering this, Daniel – Mr. Cole then – had me lead each discussion because “you’ll do a better job of waking them up.” Everyone moaned that the book was torture, but in the end, the average score of the final test was a whopping ninety-five, about seven points higher than the usual. Everyone credited my randomly impassioned nerd love, Daniel included.
“It was cute how you got so into it outta nowhere,” Logan said. “You used to do this thing whenever someone said something you liked. You listened really hard and you would tap your pen on your bottom lip. You did that to me once.”
Never even knew that… it was probably for every answer involving Razumikhin.
I never revealed that my interest in that book was driven solely by my superficial interest in sexual tension. It was between the main character’s sister, Dunya, and his best friend, Razumikhin, whom I imagined to be devastatingly handsome in a lumberjack chic kind of way. Chris Evans came to mind back then. It was all Evans’ fault. Though he didn’t explain why I stole a ratty, yellowing copy from the school when I could have just bought a nice one for cheap.
“So, Decker.” Stirring me from my flashback was Logan’s hand on my bare knee. He squeezed it, totally botching the pace of his flirtation. “What’s up with you these days, you dating anyone or do I get to ask you out?”
No, no, no, Logan, please stop talking. With immediate guilt, I glanced at Kelsey. Mistake. She was beet red and ignoring whatever Paige was rapidly whispering to her.
“I… uh — ”
Kelsey interrupted me with the answer. “She isn’t dating anyone. She just got dumped,” she said flatly. Loudly. “And kicked out. By an old rich guy.”
Logan’s eyebrows shot up. He processed this. “Into old guys, huh, Decker?”
I ignored him, too busy shooting Kelsey a look before scanning the room with wild eyes to see if anyone heard. They would immediately tell a friend who would tell a friend who would ask my mother for confirmation and I’d get a wailing phone call within minutes. She’d probably suggest that we both drive to the city and talk to Ben together. God.
To my huge relief, no one seemed to be paying attention. I breathed. “Jesus, Kels, you know I haven’t told my mom yet about – ”
I turned back to her but she was gone. Great. She was prone to tantrums but never the storming-out-of-a-restaurant type. Paige shot an accusing glare before leaving herself.
“They looked pissed,” Logan said, ever the observant one. Despite heaving a big sigh, I laughed. But when he opened his mouth again, there was no more comic relief. “You know what?” He squinted. “I remember hearing about your boyfriend. My sister said you were with one of the richest guys in the city. That’s what my mom told her, at least, and she was like, ‘Why can’t I have a sugar daddy?’” he mimicked her in falsetto, laughing at his own impression. “I said it was ‘cause she didn’t have your ass. Because she doesn’t. Not that I look. But yeah, if your boyfriend really had courtside Knicks tickets, sucks that he dumped you.”
Absolutely unreal. Even Logan Foster knew about Ben. I stared at him in silence.
“Yeah.” My awed nodding finally came to a stop. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you,” I said hastily before standing up and getting the hell out.
CHAPTER 4
The sun was beating fiercely on the day of Jake’s graduation. All around the football field, graduates were shedding their gowns and fanning themselves with their caps. I was glad to be wearing something short, thin and sleeveless myself – for both weather and Daniel reasons alike. The wrap dress being tight and tan was probably more a Daniel reason. My need to see him again had only increased since coming home, partly because of Logan Foster.
Albeit irritating, my run-in with him had brought back memories of Daniel that I’d somehow forgotten. Which was crazy, because he was Mr. Cole and girls don’t just forget their Mr. Cole stories. But maybe I’d purged too many Woodhill memories after moving to New York.
Whatever it was that happened to them, Logan Foster brought them back by mentioning that book. And standing on the football field, spotting Daniel from afar looking insanely handsome with the sun in his eyes, I remembered a specific moment my senior year.
“Is that… a lesson plan?”
That was the first sentence I recalled from the conversation. I had been the last person to leave the room after leading another class about Crime and Punishment. I didn’t realize it until looking up and seeing Mr. Cole leaning over my desk, his hands in his pockets.
“Erm… no?” Blushing, I’d snatched the stapled, three-paged packet off my desk to stuff into my tote bag, probably cursing myself for being dorky enough to type and print a lesson plan for a class I didn’t actually teach.
“Can I see it, please?” Mr. Cole asked, laughing at me lightly. With one hand still in his pocket, he stretched the other out toward me. That gesture alone got my heartbeat up. Probably because the sleeve of his shirt had been pushed up. Even then I had a thing for his stupid forearms. I’m sure they were the reason I caved and handed the packet over.
As he flipped through it, I watched him intently, waiting for him to shake his head or correct me on something. He didn’t. But he did peek up at me, look back down, smile and then back away a few steps.
“You can’t watch me while I read this,” he said.
“Why not?”
