Lessons in Love (Flirt)

by Destiny, A.

  I just laughed along with the others, feeling a little flustered. Darius was one of the most popular guys at school. Our group had always been friendly with him, but he’d started hanging out with us a lot more once Simone and Matt got together.

  “We’ll all need to step it up at kickball practice this weekend,” Zoe said, getting that super-intense-competitive-athlete look in her greenish-hazel eyes. “It’s the last one before the Co-Ed/Lo-Ed championship, and we have a title to defend!” She pumped her fist for emphasis.

  The Co-Ed/Lo-Ed kickball tournament was a long-running tradition in our town. Although “tournament” was probably the wrong word, since there were really only two teams involved—one from the college (the Co-Eds) and one from our high school (the Lo-Eds). We played each other once a month all year, culminating in a big championship game that took place the Saturday of the Spring Thing. Simone and I were on the Lo-Ed team, along with Matt and Darius and Zoe. Ling preferred to cheer us on from the sidelines, with our other friends Taylor and Megan.

  “You aren’t letting that traitor cousin of yours steal our plays, are you, B?” Matt gave me a playful poke on the arm.

  “Don’t worry, I’m guarding our team secrets with my life,” I joked back.

  That was another thing about the rivalry. It was often complicated when someone graduated from the Lo-Ed team to the Co-Ed one, like Susannah had when she went off to college.

  “We don’t have to worry about Bails—she’s a vault,” Simone put in. “Now, Darius and his big mouth, on the other hand . . .”

  “Hey!” Darius pretended to be insulted. “I haven’t told my brother a thing. I even moved into a tent in the backyard in case I talk in my sleep.”

  “In case?” Matt smirked. “Dude, I’d be shocked if you didn’t talk in your sleep. I mean, you never stop talking while you’re awake.”

  As the two guys got into a mock shoving match, I spotted Megan and Taylor coming toward us. Megan was always hard to miss. As if her pretty face, curvy figure, and gorgeous pale skin weren’t enough, it was all topped off with a head of long, wavy, dramatic red hair that looked like it had come straight out of a shampoo ad. Most of the guys at school called her Megan the Magnificent.

  Taylor faded into the background a bit beside Megan, just like I always did when I was with Simone—not that I’d ever tell Taylor that. She didn’t take that sort of thing well, mostly because she was much harder on herself than anyone else could ever be, especially when it came to her weight and the little mole under her left eye.

  “We spotted the new guy,” Taylor said when they reached us.

  Megan nodded, her green eyes flashing with excitement. “He just came out of the office. Come on, let’s get over there before he gets lost in the crowd!”

  “Right behind you.” Ling reached up to check her hair. “What’s the verdict? Is he as cute as Simone says?”

  “What, don’t you trust my taste?” Simone said with a grin. “Come on, Bails. Let’s go say hi to Logan.”

  Not giving me a chance to respond, she grabbed my hand and dragged me along. Everyone else followed, including the two guys. I realized my heart was pounding as if I’d just run a homer in kickball. Why? Was this another symptom of the mysterious sparks disease Simone had diagnosed me with?

  We rounded the corner into the administration hall. I spotted Logan right away, and immediately had a flip-flopping stomach to add to my list of symptoms. He was leaning against the wall outside the main office, dressed in well-worn jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder, studying a slip of paper. When I glanced at the other girls, I could see that all of them were checking him out. Ling’s dark eyes were narrowed with interest, while Taylor’s practically bulged out of her head. Megan and Zoe were trading an impressed glance.

  I felt another yank on my arm as Simone hurried forward. “Logan!” she called, waving with her free hand. “Hi! How’s it going?”

  Logan glanced up, almost immediately breaking into that slightly crooked smile. “Hey! How’s it going, Bailey? And, um . . . sorry.” He flashed Simone a helpless smile. “Help me out here—is it Cindy?”

  “Close!” Simone giggled. “It’s Simone. So, welcome to our lovely school.”

  “Thanks. Seems pretty cool here so far.” He shot me a grin. “Definitely a typical American high school, just like Bailey told me.”

  “Yeah.” I desperately searched my mind for something witty to say. “Uh, no MIT shirt today, huh?”

  Okay, not so witty. But he chuckled anyway. “Nah, it was pretty gross by the time I finished helping Dad lug all his filing cabinets up the stairs into his new home office.”

  “So where do you live, Logan?” Ling asked. She and the others had stepped forward to join us by now. “It is Logan, right? I’m Ling. Simone and Bailey told us all about running into you yesterday.”

  Ugh! Why did she have to say that? Now Logan was probably going to think I’d been blabbing about him all over town. It was Simone! I wanted to shout. Just Simone! She’s the one who’s been gossiping about you—not me!

  But of course I didn’t say a thing. Just stood there like a dork as everyone traded introductions. Meanwhile I couldn’t seem to stop staring at Logan. I was pretty sure he noticed too—I caught his eyes sliding toward me a couple of times. Probably wondering whether I was dangerous or just weird.

  “So when did you move here, Logan?” Megan asked.

  “This weekend—we flew in from Zurich just in time to meet the moving van that brought our stuff out of storage in Boston.” Logan didn’t seem fazed at all by being interrogated by more than half a dozen near strangers. “So this town’s still brand-new to me. Luckily, our new neighbors already filled us in on all the cool local spots. Like College Avenue Eats, for instance.” He turned and smiled at me. “By the way, my parents loved the sandwiches, Bailey. They said to give their compliments to the chef.”

  “That would be me!” Simone dropped into a little curtsy. “But I can’t take much credit—Bailey taught me everything I know. She’s super talented in all kinds of ways.”

  “Stop,” I muttered. Seeing that Logan was still smiling at me for some reason, I felt another flutter of those sparks, though I did my best to shove them aside. “Anyway, I’m glad you liked the food. Or your parents did. Um, whatever.”

  “If you liked the sandwiches, you should totally try the cupcakes,” Taylor put in. “They’re to die for. I’m, like, totally addicted to the banana ones.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll have to check them out.” Logan was still watching me. Was I acting that weird? Did they not have geeky girls in Switzerland? Then again, maybe it was scientific interest—he could be wondering why my face was so red that I looked like some kind of human-lobster hybrid. Not that that was scientifically possible as far as I knew.

  “Is that your schedule?” Ling sidled closer to Logan and peered at the paper he was holding, “What homeroom do you have?”

  “Um . . .” Logan checked the paper. “It says Garcia, room twelve?”

  “Cool! That’s my homeroom.” Matt offered him a fist bump. “Simone’s, too.”

  “And mine,” Megan put in quickly.

  Logan glanced at me. “What about you, Bailey?”

  “Me?” I stared at him uncertainly. “What about me?”

  Simone giggled and poked me in the shoulder. “Snap out of it, Myers!” She tilted her head and smiled at Logan. “You’ll have to forgive Bailey. She’s so smart that sometimes her brain doesn’t compute our lowly human language.”

  The others chuckled, and I forced a smile. But inside I was cringing. Great. Now Logan was going to think I was some kind of supernerd snob on top of everything else.

  “Uh, I was just wondering what homeroom you’re in,” Logan told me, his smile wavering slightly. “Are you with us in room twelve?”

  “No, she’s in nineteen with me.” Ling checked her watch. “Speaking of which, Bailey, we’d better get over there. Mr. Chance will flip his lid if I’m lat
e one more time, and I have better things to do than sit in detention this afternoon. See you soon, Logan. Later, guys.”

  “Yeah, uh, bye,” I mumbled, turning to follow her.

  “Later, Bailey,” Logan said. “You too, Ling.”

  As soon as we rounded the corner, Ling glanced over at me. “So you and Simone were right—he’s interesting.” That was one of her favorite words. It meant she hadn’t made her mind up yet about Logan, though she was intrigued enough to pay attention. “So what did you guys talk about when he came into the deli yesterday?”

  “I don’t know.” My mind felt numb as I stumbled along next to her. I’d hoped the sparks thing from yesterday had just been a fluke, but if anything it had been even worse just now. “Not that much. He wasn’t there very long.”

  “Too bad.” Ling pursed her lips thoughtfully. “We should get him to sit with us at lunch. Then we can get the scoop.”

  I gulped. If Logan sat with us at lunch, I wasn’t sure the butterflies in my stomach would allow me to eat. . . .

  Wait. What was wrong with me, anyway? So one cute guy had smiled at me a few times—that was no reason to go all fuzzy-headed and goofy. Especially today, with that important bio test coming up. That test was something that could affect my entire future, unlike some guy who barely knew I existed.

  That thought snapped me out of it, at least mostly. Doing my best to forget about Logan, sparks, and any related silliness, I followed Ling into homeroom.

  Chapter Four

  I’d almost forgotten about Logan by the time the bell rang to end first period.

  Okay, not really. But I was trying to forget about him. Watching him chat with my friends that morning, I’d realized something. If he’d moved around as much as he said, he was probably used to being nice to everyone so he could make friends quickly at each new school. I shouldn’t assume the way he’d acted with me was anything special—that I was any different from anyone else he’d ever met. Or that he was feeling any of those crazy sparks-like feelings that kept plaguing me.

  It was hard to remember that, though, when I saw him coming out of a classroom across the hall. He spotted me at the same moment.

  “Bailey! Hey!” he called, raising a hand in greeting.

  He hurried over and fell into step beside me. “Hi, Logan,” I said, doing my best to sound casual and normal. “How’s it going so far?”

  “Not too bad. Survived first period okay.” He pulled his schedule out of his back pocket and consulted it. “I’ve got art next. What about you?”

  “I have art too.” My heart gave a little leap. Stupid heart! Hadn’t it heard anything I was just thinking? “Um, I can show you where it is if you want,” I added.

  “Cool, thanks.” He leaned a little closer, nudging my shoulder lightly with his. “It’ll be nice to have a friendly face in there. I didn’t know a soul in geometry.”

  Okay, the sparks were back, big-time. I couldn’t help being really, really glad that the only elective that had fit in my schedule this semester was art.

  “The art room’s this way,” I said, gesturing vaguely down the hall.

  “So what’s the class like?” he asked as we walked.

  “It’s okay.” I dodged a couple of giggling freshman. “Small. Kind of weird sometimes.”

  That was an understatement. Ms. Blumenkranz, the art teacher, was a world-class wacko. She was always coming up with bizarre new projects, and she gave As to anyone who made an effort. Which was a good thing, since I could barely draw a stick figure, and I needed to keep my GPA up if I wanted to get any academic scholarships someday. Which I did. My family earned too much to qualify for financial aid, but not nearly enough to pay tuition at a top school like MIT.

  “Here we are,” I told Logan as we stepped into the art room, which was big and sunny. Instead of normal desks, there were tables of various shapes and sizes scattered through the room.

  None of my close friends were in the class, so I usually sat with Gabi and Gwen, a couple of girls I’d known since kindergarten. Gwen was sort of a goth pixie—she was tiny and sarcastic with huge gray eyes and an incredibly vast wardrobe of black clothes. Gabi was taller and plumper and liked to wear colorful layers of weirdness she’d put together herself from thrift-store finds. Both of them were into music and theater and stuff like that, and neither of them seemed to care how strange most people thought they were. Basically, they were nothing like my regular crew, but they always made me laugh, and I never felt awkward or unworthy around them like I sometimes did even with my own best friends.

  When I walked in with Logan, the two of them were in their usual seats at our usual table, a massive square butcher block that had probably started life as a kitchen island. Today Gabi had a huge, floppy gingham bow tying back her frizzy blond hair, while Gwen was drawing a fake tattoo on her arm with some colored markers. I shot a quick glance at Logan, wondering how he’d react to the pair. Would he think they were weird? Would he think I was weird for hanging out with them?

  And so what if he did? I was annoyed with myself for even thinking about it. “I usually sit over here,” I told him. “There’s a free seat, you know, if you want it.”

  “Sure. If that’s okay.”

  “Yeah. Ms. Blumenkranz lets us sit wherever we want.” I gestured toward the teacher, who was talking to another student at the front of the room.

  Gabi and Gwen stared at Logan as we sat down across from them. “New kid, huh?” Gwen said, capping her marker and tossing it into the big bin of art supplies in the center of the table.

  “Way to state the obvious.” Gabi laughed. “Next thing we know, you’ll be noticing that the sky is blue.”

  “It is?” Gwen widened her charcoal-lined eyes dramatically and stared up at the ceiling.

  Logan chuckled. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Logan.”

  “I’m Gabi, and this is Gwen.” Gabi stuck out her hand for him to shake. She and Gwen didn’t seem the least bit intimidated or impressed by Logan’s good looks, which surprised me a little. Then again, maybe it shouldn’t have. Not much fazed those two.

  “Logan, huh? Cool name.” Gwen looked him up and down appraisingly. “You ever do any acting?”

  “Leave him alone,” I told her with a grin. Then I glanced at Logan. “These guys are seriously into theater. If you don’t watch out, they’ll drag you off and start putting makeup on you.”

  “Real men wear makeup,” Gabi informed me.

  At that moment Ms. Blumenkranz clapped her hands. The art teacher was almost as old as my great-aunt Ellen, though much taller and slimmer. She always wore long, flowy dresses and tons of chunky jewelry, and her close-cropped hair was dyed a vibrant shade of green.

  “Pipe down, young artistes,” she said, putting a fancy French flourish on the last word. “It’s time to discuss today’s creation. I’d like you to explore the ways we can use the simplest of materials to create something deeply meaningful on a personal level.” She walked over to a box sitting on her desk and pulled something out. “This is a box of toothpicks.”

  “Oh, lordy,” Gwen said under her breath.

  Ms. Blumenkranz didn’t hear her. “I want you each to create a self-portrait,” she went on. “It can take any form you like—the more creative the better. The only rule is that you can use nothing but toothpicks, glue, and paint.” She dug out more boxes of toothpicks. “Let’s begin!”

  A few kids gave playful whoops. Gabi stuck her fingers in her mouth and let out a loud wolf whistle. Ms. Blumenkranz just chuckled and started passing out toothpick boxes.

  “Okay, this is a new one for me,” Logan whispered, leaning so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. “Is she serious? I’ve never made toothpick art before. At least not since kindergarten.”

  “Y-yeah.” I was embarrassed to note that my voice trembled at having him so close. Luckily, he sat back as Ms. Blumenkranz approached our table.

  “Ah, you must be the new boy. Mr. Morse, isn’t it?” She beamed at Logan
. “Welcome, welcome! I hope you’re embracing your new reality here at our fair school.”

  “Sure, yeah.” Logan sounded confused but polite. “Bailey has been helping me settle in, so that helps.”

  I had? That was news to me. As far as I knew, all I’d done was walk him to this class. Oh, and make a complete idiot out of myself in front of him. Multiple times.

  “Wonderful.” The teacher patted me on the shoulder. I tried not to wince as her enormous rings slammed into me. “Carry on! I look forward to seeing your creation, Mr. Morse—it will help me get to know you better.” She raised a finger and winked. “And perhaps it will help you get to know yourself better too.”

  She dropped several boxes of toothpicks on our table, then moved on. “She’s . . . interesting,” Logan murmured.

  “Yeah.” I busied myself with carefully opening the lid of my toothpick box, then picking a few of the tiny sticks of wood out and setting them neatly in front of me. Maybe that would distract me from the memory of his breath on my face. . . .

  Across the way, Gabi had already dumped her toothpicks into a messy pile in front of her. “But seriously, Logan,” she said, picking up right where she and Gwen had left off before. “Can you sing at all? We’re casting Camelot next week—sign-up sheet’s on the bulletin board. You’ve got the perfect look for Lancelot.”

  Gwen snorted. “Are you kidding? James would slit the throat of anyone who tried to wrestle that part away from him.”

  Logan gave an exaggerated shudder and grabbed his own neck. “In that case, no thanks, ladies,” he said. “Besides, I’m practically tone-deaf.”

  “Too bad.” Gabi shrugged and turned to Gwen. “Guess we’re stuck with James.”

  Gwen held up a toothpick and studied it thoughtfully. “Yeah. Which means we’ll need a really short girl to play Guenevere.”

  “I can play short.” Gabi hunched down in her chair. “Although I’m not sure even I can act well enough to pretend I’m in love with James. . . .”

  With that, they were off and running on their usual theater gossip. Normally I enjoyed listening—it was fun to peek into what was going on outside my little circle of friends. Gabi and Gwen were obviously just as passionate about the theater as I was about science, and I could respect that.