Lessons in Love (Flirt)

by Destiny, A.

  But today, all I could focus on was Logan. He was fiddling with his toothpicks, rolling several between his fingers.

  “Any ideas?” I picked up a couple of toothpicks myself and stared at them. “Maybe I could turn these into molecular structure or something. That could be like a self-portrait. Sort of.”

  “You’re really into science, huh?” Logan asked.

  I shot him a nervous look. “Yeah. How did you know that?” It came out a little more accusatory than I’d intended.

  Luckily, he didn’t seem to notice. “Your friend said you want to go to MIT, and you seemed excited when you heard my parents are both scientists.” He smiled. “And you just said you wanted to make a molecular thingy as your self-portrait.”

  Oh. Right. At least now I knew he hadn’t been totally blinded by Simone’s beauty while I was talking yesterday.

  “Okay, yeah, I admit it, that’s me—total science geek,” I said, trying to turn the whole thing into a joke. That was usually how I handled the topic when it came up with people I didn’t know very well. “My parents say they have no idea where it came from. Apparently, my dad barely passed chemistry when he was in high school, and Mom only ever paid attention to learning enough science to mix dough properly.”

  Logan laughed. “Pass me the glue?”

  “Sure.” I grabbed a bottle of Elmer’s out of the supply box. As he took it, his fingers brushed mine, but I tried not to notice that. Even though my whole hand started to tingle.

  Or maybe that was all in my mind. I couldn’t think of a single physiological reason that a light touch between two people with no obvious skin maladies would cause that sort of reaction.

  “Anyway,” I said a little too loudly, “tell me about your parents. You said they met at MIT?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, Mom was doing some kind of experiment for her organic chemistry lab, and Dad bumbled past and broke her test tube or something. After he apologized, he offered to help her rerun the lab—then he took her out to some lecture on superconductors. And the rest was history.” He grinned. “Just your typical whirlwind romance, right?”

  I stared into space, picturing it. A quiet laboratory late at night. An accomplished young coed encountering a devastatingly intelligent and adorable young nerd-hunk. Wasn’t that almost exactly the kind of romantic moment I’d pictured happening to me someday? The way I might meet my future Dr. Right—a guy more likely to suggest a date to a science lecture than a basketball game? It sounded perfect—well, minus the broken test tube, anyway.

  Suddenly realizing that Logan was still looking at me, I snapped back to reality. How long had I spaced out for? I felt a hot blush creeping up over my cheeks.

  “Um, sure, romantic,” I muttered, ducking my head and focusing intently on my toothpicks. I was hardly aware of what I was doing as I rapidly started squirting glue here and there, sticking things together without a plan.

  He stayed silent for a moment. Across the table I could hear Gwen and Gabi arguing over whether the movie version of Camelot was better or worse than the miniseries. Finally I peeked over and saw that Logan was focused on his project too. I caught his eyes shooting sideways toward me for a second, but he didn’t turn his head.

  Oops. See, this was why I didn’t usually try to get involved in this boy-girl stuff. Up until now, Logan had actually been pretty easy to talk to, almost like a normal nonguy person. Now, just like that, the air between us had gone all awkward. But why? What had I said?

  Before I could figure it out, Ms. Blumenkranz swooped down on our table again. “How goes it, young artistes?” she asked. “Are you creating magic?”

  “Definitely.” Gwen gestured at her project like a used-car salesman. “Voilà! Self-portrait in black.”

  The teacher peered at Gwen’s creation, a jumble of toothpicks with black paint splashed over it. “Fascinating,” she said. “Very dark, almost seething with meaning. I can see your spirit in it, Gwen. Good work.”

  “Mine’s not ready yet.” Gabi covered up her own pile of toothpicks. “Look at the others first, okay?”

  “Of course. Mr. Morse? Have you prepared a suitable introduction for us into your innermost thoughts and feelings?” The teacher smiled at him.

  “I guess so.” Logan pushed his toothpick art forward. “Here it is.”

  “Oh, my!” The teacher sounded impressed.

  As much attention as I’d been paying—and trying not to pay—to Logan himself, I’d barely glanced at his project. Now I saw that he’d somehow fashioned his toothpicks into the shape of a running figure. It sprang out of a simple square toothpick base, balanced on one foot, the other leg reaching forward and both arms pumping.

  “Wow, cool.” Gwen stood and leaned across the table for a better look. “That actually looks like you!” She shrugged. “Or, you know, at least like a person.”

  “I call it Constant Motion.” Logan carefully adjusted the figure’s left arm. “That’s kind of how my life has always been. You know—because my family moves around a lot.”

  “Fabulous!” Ms. Blumenkranz clapped her hands, making her bracelets jingle. “I’m so happy to discover that we have yet another creative genius in our midst! Well done, young man.” She turned to me with a smile. “Now, Miss Myers—what do you have for us today?”

  I gulped, glancing down at my project. I’d been so distracted by Logan that instead of making a molecule, I’d glued my toothpicks together into a cube. That’s right. A plain, slightly rickety cube. Super creative, right?

  “Hmm.” The teacher stroked her chin. “Interesting. Please explain your process, my dear?”

  “Uh . . .” I shot a helpless look at Gabi and Gwen. They stared back at me, looking curious (Gabi) and amused (Gwen).

  Logan interrupted. “I think I can guess what she was thinking. Bailey created this square—”

  “Cube,” I corrected before I could stop myself.

  “This cube . . .” He glanced at me, then back at the teacher. “Um, clearly this cube represents the way she sees the world. She’s a scientist, you know, and science is all about explaining the world, right? Getting it all to make sense and be logical and stuff. Exploring all the angles.” He shrugged. “Angles—like the angles in this cube! Get it?”

  “Ah!” Ms. Blumenkranz laughed. “I should have seen it myself. It’s creative, yet completely rational—much like Bailey herself. All right, Miss Myers, well done.”

  Once the teacher had moved on and Gabi and Gwen had returned to arguing about their casting decisions or whatever, I shot Logan a grateful look. “Thanks,” I told him. “I’m not sure I could’ve talked my way out of that one.”

  “You’re welcome.” He grinned, watching as Ms. Blumenkranz exclaimed over a project at another table. “Is she always that—um, you know—enthusiastic?”

  “Definitely. So, are you sorry you signed up for art as your elective?” I joked.

  “No way—this is cool. At my school in Switzerland, all we did all year in art class was paint the same bowl of fruit. And in California, the teacher was a total bore—he just lectured at us most of the time and hardly let us do anything.”

  “Wow, you must really like art. It sounds like you’ve taken it at, like, every school on the planet.”

  “Just about.” He fiddled with his toothpick figure’s arms. “Art’s just about the only class where I never find out I’m way behind when I start a new school. That’s the reason I started signing up for it whenever possible—and I guess somewhere along the way I started to like it.”

  “I never thought of that,” I admitted. “It would be terrible to start a new school and find out I’m half a year behind in biology or something.”

  “Speaking of biology, what’s the teacher like?” He glanced at me. “Mr. Bo or something, right?”

  “Mr. Ba,” I corrected. “I guess that’s a pretty common last name in Senegal, which is where his family emigrated from when he was a kid. He’s amazing—super brilliant and a really great teacher. He’
s working his way through his PhD in evolutionary biology at the university while teaching here full-time.”

  “Sounds like someone my mom would love.” Logan smiled. “Speaking of Mom, she talked me into signing up for the accelerated sophomore bio class, and—”

  “You mean fourth period?” I interrupted. “That’s the class I’m in!”

  Too late, I realized I sounded kind of giddy. Like Taylor whenever she found out her favorite jeans were on sale at the mall. Or Ling whenever she walked into Eats and discovered my great-aunt had just taken a pan of chocolate donuts out of the oven. Or, more recently, Simone when she’d noticed me noticing Logan that first time.

  “Really? Awesome!” Logan grinned. “What do you have third period?”

  “Gym,” I said, trying really hard not to picture him in gym shorts.

  “Let me see . . .” Logan pulled out his schedule and consulted it. “No luck, I’ve got English. What about fifth?”

  We went on to compare the rest of our schedules. It turned out that aside from art and bio, the only other class we had in common was a three-days-per-week last-period study hall. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

  “Too bad,” Logan said as he tucked his schedule away again. Was it my imagination, or did he actually sound disappointed too? “Maybe I should try to transfer into a few more of your classes.” He slid his eyes toward me. “Like I said, it’s nice having a friendly face around sometimes.”

  He reached over to grab the glue, knocking over the bottle in the process. It toppled right onto my toothpick cube, smashing it into a pile of tiny kindling.

  “Oh, no! I’m sorry.” His face went red, and he reached over as if he was going to try to fix the cube, though it was obviously a lost cause.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “Ms. Blumenkranz already judged it, remember? Besides, if she comes back, I can just tell her that this represents my feelings about the shallowness of modern life.”

  He laughed, sounding relieved. “Good one.”

  As he bent to retrieve part of my smashed project that had fallen on the floor, Gabi leaned across the table. “Really hitting it off with the new guy, huh?” she whispered. “Listen, if you get a chance, bat your eyelashes at him and try to convince him to try out for the musical, okay?”

  I was so startled that I didn’t answer. A moment later Logan was back. “Got it,” he said. “Now your angst sculpture is complete.”

  “Right, yeah.” I shot a confused look at Gabi, who was already chattering to Gwen again. What had that been about? Did Gabi really think Logan and I were hitting it off?

  That led to the obvious question—could she be onto something? Which led to the corollary question—what if Simone had been right all along? I had to admit, the evidence was starting to mount up. The pounding heart whenever I saw Logan. The light-headed feeling whenever I got close to him. The ability to actually carry on a conversation with him in between panic attacks.

  I’d always scoffed at Simone and the others when they’d claimed love at first sight or anything close to it. But now it seemed to be happening to me. I’d never reacted this way to a guy before—any guy. I sneaked a peek at Logan, who was bent over his own toothpick sculpture again.

  What did it mean? Was I succumbing to teenage hormones at last? Or could there be something different about this guy?

  Chapter Five

  When the bell rang, Logan and I walked out of the art room together. We paused in the hall outside as students hurried past in all directions.

  I clutched my backpack to my chest. “Well, see you in bio, I guess,” I said.

  “Yeah.” Logan shifted his books to his other arm and glanced around. I expected him to take off, but he just stood there.

  “Um, do you know how to get to your next class?” I asked, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “Not really.” He pulled out his schedule. “It’s in the east wing, right? It says the teacher’s name is Ms. Wainwright.”

  Gabi and Gwen emerged from the art room just in time to hear him. “You’ve got Wainwright for English next?” Gwen asked Logan. “Me too. I’ll take you there.”

  “Thanks.” Logan smiled at her, then glanced at me. “Okay, bye, Bailey.”

  He reached out and squeezed my shoulder gently. I froze, not sure what he was doing. Maybe he noticed my terrified look, because he instantly yanked his hand back as if it had been burned. Then he ducked his head, his gaze skittering away from mine.

  “Yeah, so, see you,” he mumbled, turning to follow Gwen, who was already heading down the hall.

  “Bye,” I said, even though he was probably already too far away to hear me in the crowded hall.

  I watched as the shifting sea of humanity swallowed him up. My mind was spinning with crazy thoughts. I was a scientist—I couldn’t ignore the evidence anymore. Something unusual was going on here. Yes, I was a bumbling idiot around most guys. But not like this. Could I actually be falling for Logan? All the data seemed to support that theory. I’d seen it happen to my friends and others. But what did it mean, exactly? I was glad Simone was in my next class, because I really needed to talk to her. I was in way over my head here.

  When I stepped into the girls’ locker room, the place was already in a full uproar of clanging lockers, talking, and laughter as the female half of the class changed into their gym clothes. I found Simone sitting on the bench in front of our lockers, pulling on her gym socks. Unfortunately, Zoe and a couple of her friends from the softball team were there too. So much for that heart-to-heart I’d hoped to fit in before class. For once I wished Simone wasn’t quite so friendly and lovable. It made it hard to get her alone.

  Zoe was the first to spot me coming. “Hey, Bailey,” she said. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I lied, forcing a smile.

  Simone tossed her shoes into her locker, then glanced up at me. “Only one more class to go before I meet my doom,” she said with a sigh.

  For a second I had no idea what she was talking about. Then I remembered—the bio test. Right.

  “You’ll be fine,” I said, though my heart wasn’t in it. I had bigger things on my mind right then than Simone’s sloppy study habits.

  “That’s what I keep telling her.” Zoe shrugged. “Anyway, we’re sick of hearing about it, Amrou. Time to talk about something else.” She sniffed the air. “Like who forgot to take their gym stuff home to wash last week? It reeks in here!”

  I sat down on the bench and spun my combination lock as the other girls started playfully accusing one another of stinking up the place. After tossing my books into my locker, I got changed as quickly as I could. Then I just sat there, fiddling with the laces of my sneakers and hoping the others would leave so I could grab a moment with Simone.

  No such luck. Simone finished pulling her hair back into a ponytail, slammed her locker shut, and bounced off the bench. “Let’s go!” she said. “I hope we’re playing dodgeball or something. I need some distraction.”

  Zoe clapped me on the back. “Come on, B. You ready?”

  “Coming.” Swallowing a sigh, I got up and followed Zoe and the others as they followed Simone.

  When we emerged into the gym, most of the class was milling around near the locker-room doors. A few of the boys, including Matt and Darius, were kicking a ball around near the bleachers.

  “Hey, Ms. Wren’s not here yet,” Simone said, glancing around the gym. “Quick—quiz me about DNA, Bails, okay?”

  Zoe groaned. “Seriously? If you’re not ready for that stupid test now, you might as well give it up, Simone.”

  Simone ignored her, gazing at me with those puppy-dog eyes of hers. “Bails? Pretty please?”

  “Sure, okay,” I said, still not really thinking about biology. Maybe this was my chance to talk to her about Logan. “Let’s go over here where we can have some priv—”

  The harsh, high-pitched tweet of a whistle shut me up. The gym teacher strode out of her office an
d surveyed us as we all turned to look at her.

  Ms. Wren’s name suited her—she was small and birdlike in her movements, with piercing dark eyes. She taught a couple of remedial freshman math classes as well as gym, and also coached girls’ softball and boys’ track.

  “Listen up, people!” she said. “I’ve got papers to grade today, so you’re doing independent exercise.”

  “Whoo-hoo!” Matt shouted, pumping his fist in the air.

  Ms. Wren fixed her sharp gaze on him. “That does not mean goofing off, Matthew. I expect you all to work up a sweat, understand? Hit the weight room, everyone—I’ll be watching.”

  She shooed us toward the weight room adjoining the main part of the gym. Some rich old alumnus had donated a bunch of money a few years earlier, so the place was actually pretty well equipped. There were mats with our school logo on them, a row of free weights along one wall, and all kinds of other exercise machines. Not that I would know good gym equipment from bad, but Zoe claimed it was top of the line.

  Once we got inside, Zoe wandered off to stretch or something with the other softball girls, leaving me alone with Simone at last. “Listen . . . ,” I began uncertainly.

  Simone wasn’t paying attention. “Look, Matt and Darius are over by the free weights,” she said. “Let’s go make fun of their technique, okay?”

  “Wait!” I grabbed her arm before she could rush off to join the boys. “Can we just do our own thing for a sec?” I waved at a machine nearby. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Is it about the test?” Simone looked anxious. “Do you think I’m going to flunk?”

  “No. It’s just—come on.” I dragged her toward the machine.

  “Okay, spot me.” She sat down and adjusted the weights, then started doing leg lifts. “So what’s up, Bails?”

  “It’s about, um, Logan.” I held my breath, hoping she wouldn’t shriek or squeal or anything. At least not too loudly.