don’t want to do it?” Logan asked.
“Of course not!” I stared at him. “I’m already enough of a freak without officially becoming America’s Most Awkward.”
“You’re not a freak,” Logan told me. His appetite remained unaffected, and I watched enviously as he speared his last piece of chicken. “Strange, but not a freak.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically, but I couldn’t help feeling flattered. Logan Beckett didn’t think I was a freak.
Chapter 17
I should have known that the media wouldn’t leave me alone. I was so glad there were no photographers around Logan’s car that I climbed in without a second thought. It was hard for me to concentrate on the paparazzi when I was with Logan—not because of his looks but because I never knew what to expect. He kept making dry, sarcastic comments that might have irritated me if they hadn’t been so damn funny.
It felt good to hang out with him, which is why I didn’t notice the trouble until Logan was idling outside the Hamilton house—while thirty feet away my home was under siege. My lawn was coated with reporters the way my mom slathered peanut butter on my PB and J sandwiches.
My jaw fell open. “Oh, my … keep driving!” I ordered Logan as I slid down to the floor. “Just … go!” I didn’t have to tell him again. Logan didn’t peel out, leaving a layer of rubber or anything obvious. He just drove past my house and didn’t stop until we reached the basketball court where I usually Rollerblade.
“Interesting.” His bangs flopped into his eyes. “So that’s your house.” I hauled myself back onto the seat. “Listen, I can explain.”
“And I’m sure your explanation will be stupid.”
“Oh yeah?” I retorted, sticking my chin up defiantly. “And why’s that?” “Because there is no good reason to lie about where you live.” “No good reason to lie about dyslexia either.”
He swiveled to glare at me. “That’s not the same thing at all.” “Sure it is,” I argued. “We both don’t want anyone’s pity. Of course, I also wanted to avoid a hockey team panty raid, but other than that … same situation.” His lips twitched, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh at me. Oh, he was still annoyed, but his sense of humor hadn’t ditched him.
“Panty raid?”
I shrugged. “I watch cable.”
“And way too many lame high school movies.”
“Look, I should have pointed out my house earlier. But people do stupid things. So if we could just go back and you could drop me off, that’d be great.” Logan started the engine. “You want me to just drop you off and drive away.” “Um, yeah.”
“When your house is crawling with reporters.”
“I can handle it,” I told him exasperatedly. I was starting to get really sick of feeling weak. Okay, yes, ordinarily I’m a wimp, but I was handling the situation. I hadn’t let the reporters, or Alex Thompson, or Chelsea Halloway, or
anyone
keep me from living my life, which meant that I had to be a hell of a lot stronger than everyone thought. “I’ll be just fine on my own.” “Of course.” Logan nodded his head curtly. “You don’t need any help. My bad.” I knew I was being insulted, but I didn’t know how to object. So I just looked at him and said, “You should really just drop me off. I don’t want the press snapping pictures of us and speculating about my love life.” He nodded as the car turned onto my street.
“Okay, so just a little bit closer,” I directed. “And … stop!” I sprinted toward my door, using my backpack as a shield from the press, before Logan could say another word. My focus was centered on making it the thirty feet in one piece. I was bombarded with aggressively demanded questions until I felt like my head would never stop buzzing.
“Mackenzie, who was that?”
“Were you on a date?”
“Are you sure he’s not just interested in your fame?”
That last question nearly made me laugh. The idea of Logan
“Of course not!” I stared at him. “I’m already enough of a freak without officially becoming America’s Most Awkward.”
“You’re not a freak,” Logan told me. His appetite remained unaffected, and I watched enviously as he speared his last piece of chicken. “Strange, but not a freak.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said sarcastically, but I couldn’t help feeling flattered. Logan Beckett didn’t think I was a freak.
Chapter 17
I should have known that the media wouldn’t leave me alone. I was so glad there were no photographers around Logan’s car that I climbed in without a second thought. It was hard for me to concentrate on the paparazzi when I was with Logan—not because of his looks but because I never knew what to expect. He kept making dry, sarcastic comments that might have irritated me if they hadn’t been so damn funny.
It felt good to hang out with him, which is why I didn’t notice the trouble until Logan was idling outside the Hamilton house—while thirty feet away my home was under siege. My lawn was coated with reporters the way my mom slathered peanut butter on my PB and J sandwiches.
My jaw fell open. “Oh, my … keep driving!” I ordered Logan as I slid down to the floor. “Just … go!” I didn’t have to tell him again. Logan didn’t peel out, leaving a layer of rubber or anything obvious. He just drove past my house and didn’t stop until we reached the basketball court where I usually Rollerblade.
“Interesting.” His bangs flopped into his eyes. “So that’s your house.” I hauled myself back onto the seat. “Listen, I can explain.”
“And I’m sure your explanation will be stupid.”
“Oh yeah?” I retorted, sticking my chin up defiantly. “And why’s that?” “Because there is no good reason to lie about where you live.” “No good reason to lie about dyslexia either.”
He swiveled to glare at me. “That’s not the same thing at all.” “Sure it is,” I argued. “We both don’t want anyone’s pity. Of course, I also wanted to avoid a hockey team panty raid, but other than that … same situation.” His lips twitched, and I could tell he was trying not to laugh at me. Oh, he was still annoyed, but his sense of humor hadn’t ditched him.
“Panty raid?”
I shrugged. “I watch cable.”
“And way too many lame high school movies.”
“Look, I should have pointed out my house earlier. But people do stupid things. So if we could just go back and you could drop me off, that’d be great.” Logan started the engine. “You want me to just drop you off and drive away.” “Um, yeah.”
“When your house is crawling with reporters.”
“I can handle it,” I told him exasperatedly. I was starting to get really sick of feeling weak. Okay, yes, ordinarily I’m a wimp, but I was handling the situation. I hadn’t let the reporters, or Alex Thompson, or Chelsea Halloway, or
anyone
keep me from living my life, which meant that I had to be a hell of a lot stronger than everyone thought. “I’ll be just fine on my own.” “Of course.” Logan nodded his head curtly. “You don’t need any help. My bad.” I knew I was being insulted, but I didn’t know how to object. So I just looked at him and said, “You should really just drop me off. I don’t want the press snapping pictures of us and speculating about my love life.” He nodded as the car turned onto my street.
“Okay, so just a little bit closer,” I directed. “And … stop!” I sprinted toward my door, using my backpack as a shield from the press, before Logan could say another word. My focus was centered on making it the thirty feet in one piece. I was bombarded with aggressively demanded questions until I felt like my head would never stop buzzing.
“Mackenzie, who was that?”
“Were you on a date?”
“Are you sure he’s not just interested in your fame?”
That last question nearly made me laugh. The idea of Logan
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