thing, but I miss Austin too. Remember how we were the love square? The four of us?” She presses closer, grabs both of my hands. “And you and me, Marsh. Are we—do you still—”
“Logan,” I say. She’s squeezing my hands and her hair is making me dizzy and I can’t look at her. I’ve got my face turned toward my coffee cup, the stupid saying about truth blurring in front of my eyes. The only thing I can manage is, “I don’t know.”
She drops my hands, shrinks away like I’ve slapped her. And then I just sit there while she’s hunched over, sucking in her breath, fighting off tears. It’s like my mother in the kitchen yesterday. I should say something. Do something. I don’t think hugging her is the right thing though. Honest to God, I don’t know what the right thing is. Truth, though—I sure as hell know it isn’t that.
Truth means telling Logan I don’t like her. That I don’t want her telling me funny stories about cookies or coffee or milk containers. Truth means something else too—something that I can’t even say to myself, let alone to Logan.
I tell myself it’s okay to pat her on the back. It’s the least I can do. So I do that, and I count to twenty before dropping my hand.
We don’t talk on the drive home. We both stare straight ahead. I’m thinking about reality and how much it sucks. Logan’s thinking about who knows what.
Me, probably, and what an ass I am.
12
More Freaking Reality
L ogan’s cell rings, a snippet from some lame love song. She rummages in her purse, flips open her phone. “Okay,” she snaps. “I’ll be home soon. Right.” She rolls her eyes. “My mother. She wants me to pick up a couple things at the grocery. Do you mind if we stop there before I drop you off?”
I shake my head. “No problem.” The car screeches, skids a little when she turns into the parking lot.
She circles around, frowning, then wedges the car into a space about halfway down the center row. Arctic wind whips inside when she opens the door. “Wow, that’s cold,” she says. “Just stay in here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Before I can say okay, she slams the door. I sink into my seat. I don’t know if I can feel any worse about my life. It was a stupid idea to go out with Logan today. I can see that now.
But it’s reality, which is what I have to keep reminding myself. I lean my head against the seat, stare out the window.Mucky snow crisscrosses the parking lot. I shift around, kick at my backpack on the floor between my legs. I’ve got too much junk in my head. I start ticking it off. The reality of homework. The reality of grieving girlfriends. The reality of lacrosse players who want to kick my ass. The reality of—
I press closer to the window, squint through the glass. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?
About ten yards away, a girl is pacing back and forth in front of the store entrance. I glance up at the Goodfoods sign and back down at the girl. I take in the blond ponytail, the thin jacket. When she turns her head and starts sliding in the other direction, I see a flash of pink face. Maddie.
What the hell is she—
And then I’m opening the car door and clomping through the crust of dirty snow. I see her boots clutched in her hand, and my heart starts hammering in my chest.
“Maddie,” I call out.
She stops dragging her feet, scowls, and goes back to sliding.
“What are you—stop! Put your boots back on.” She pushes past me. I can’t keep my eyes off her feet. They blaze up red, half-covered in snow chunks.
People tromp by us with their groceries. Some of them look our way. I grab her shoulders. “Maddie, come on. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She tries to shrug me away.
But I’ve got the flimsy material of her jacket bunched up in my hand. I can feel her shivering. I tear my coat off, wrap it around her shoulders. “Put your boots on.” I try to say itin a nice way. “It’s freezing out here.” I grab
“Logan,” I say. She’s squeezing my hands and her hair is making me dizzy and I can’t look at her. I’ve got my face turned toward my coffee cup, the stupid saying about truth blurring in front of my eyes. The only thing I can manage is, “I don’t know.”
She drops my hands, shrinks away like I’ve slapped her. And then I just sit there while she’s hunched over, sucking in her breath, fighting off tears. It’s like my mother in the kitchen yesterday. I should say something. Do something. I don’t think hugging her is the right thing though. Honest to God, I don’t know what the right thing is. Truth, though—I sure as hell know it isn’t that.
Truth means telling Logan I don’t like her. That I don’t want her telling me funny stories about cookies or coffee or milk containers. Truth means something else too—something that I can’t even say to myself, let alone to Logan.
I tell myself it’s okay to pat her on the back. It’s the least I can do. So I do that, and I count to twenty before dropping my hand.
We don’t talk on the drive home. We both stare straight ahead. I’m thinking about reality and how much it sucks. Logan’s thinking about who knows what.
Me, probably, and what an ass I am.
12
More Freaking Reality
L ogan’s cell rings, a snippet from some lame love song. She rummages in her purse, flips open her phone. “Okay,” she snaps. “I’ll be home soon. Right.” She rolls her eyes. “My mother. She wants me to pick up a couple things at the grocery. Do you mind if we stop there before I drop you off?”
I shake my head. “No problem.” The car screeches, skids a little when she turns into the parking lot.
She circles around, frowning, then wedges the car into a space about halfway down the center row. Arctic wind whips inside when she opens the door. “Wow, that’s cold,” she says. “Just stay in here. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Before I can say okay, she slams the door. I sink into my seat. I don’t know if I can feel any worse about my life. It was a stupid idea to go out with Logan today. I can see that now.
But it’s reality, which is what I have to keep reminding myself. I lean my head against the seat, stare out the window.Mucky snow crisscrosses the parking lot. I shift around, kick at my backpack on the floor between my legs. I’ve got too much junk in my head. I start ticking it off. The reality of homework. The reality of grieving girlfriends. The reality of lacrosse players who want to kick my ass. The reality of—
I press closer to the window, squint through the glass. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?
About ten yards away, a girl is pacing back and forth in front of the store entrance. I glance up at the Goodfoods sign and back down at the girl. I take in the blond ponytail, the thin jacket. When she turns her head and starts sliding in the other direction, I see a flash of pink face. Maddie.
What the hell is she—
And then I’m opening the car door and clomping through the crust of dirty snow. I see her boots clutched in her hand, and my heart starts hammering in my chest.
“Maddie,” I call out.
She stops dragging her feet, scowls, and goes back to sliding.
“What are you—stop! Put your boots back on.” She pushes past me. I can’t keep my eyes off her feet. They blaze up red, half-covered in snow chunks.
People tromp by us with their groceries. Some of them look our way. I grab her shoulders. “Maddie, come on. What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” She tries to shrug me away.
But I’ve got the flimsy material of her jacket bunched up in my hand. I can feel her shivering. I tear my coat off, wrap it around her shoulders. “Put your boots on.” I try to say itin a nice way. “It’s freezing out here.” I grab
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