by Destiny, A.
“Thanks.” Tossing one last exasperated look at her, I headed for my seat beside Logan. I was nervous, but I tried not to let it show.
Logan had his bio book open in front of him. As I sat down, he sighed. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I just started reading like thirty seconds ago, and I’m already confused.” He swiped a hand through his hair, leaving a tuft standing up adorably in the front. “I’m starting to think it’s a big mistake to try to stay in that class.”
“No, it’s not,” I said quickly, my nerves dissipating in the face of a student in crisis. “You can do this, Logan. You know a lot more than you think you do. You just need a good review of what you already know, and a little confidence that you can learn the rest.”
He bit his lip, glancing down at the book. “But what if I can’t? My parents will freak if I come home with anything lower than a B.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure you get a B, right?” I shrugged. “Or better yet an A.”
“Ah, so you’re an optimist.” The ghost of a smile flitted across his face.
“Yeah.” I smiled back. “Plus, I love a challenge.”
That actually made him laugh. “Okay, then let’s see what you can do, Professor.” He slid his desk over toward mine. It made a loud skreeking noise against the linoleum floor, which caused everyone in the room to jump and turn to look at us.
I winced as I saw several people whisper and smile at each other. What were they saying? Did they suspect my mind wasn’t totally focused on biology? Well, at least not the kind in the textbook. I was careful not to look at Simone, who was giggling with Taylor near the front of the room.
Logan didn’t seem to notice any of that. He lined up our desks beside each other, then pushed the textbook over so we could both see it.
“Where should we start?” he asked. “I studied the basics of cell theory last year, and I think I’ve got that down. But once you start getting into the chromosome stuff, I’m lost.”
“Um, okay.” I was a little distracted by how close he was. He smelled nice—like soap and almonds and laundry detergent. What about me? I tried to remember if I’d reapplied deodorant after gym. I was pretty sure I had, especially since I’d never forgotten before. Still, I carefully lifted one shoulder—the one farther away from Logan—and gave a subtle sniff.
Then I realized what I was doing. Namely, acting like an idiot. Had Logan noticed?
When I glanced over, his eyes were on the textbook as he paged through it. If I smelled funny, he wasn’t letting it distract him.
“Where is it?” he muttered. “I know I just saw that part.”
“Are you looking for the chapter on chromosomes? It’s closer to the front—here.” I reached for the book.
At the same time, he started to pull back. Our hands brushed against each other.
“Oops,” he said.
“Sorry,” I blurted out at the same time.
He pulled both his hands into his lap and leaned back in his chair. I leaned forward, trying to hide the blush I could feel creeping over my face as I flipped pages. It only took a few seconds to find the chapter I wanted, but I stayed in the same position, pretending to read over the first page while taking several deep (but quiet) breaths.
I needed to pull it together. This wasn’t a date; it was a study session. If Logan was going to pass bio, let alone ace it, he needed help. Which meant I had to focus on the subject matter, not how nice he smelled or how tingly my hand felt where his had brushed it. Getting distracted by that stuff wasn’t going to help anyone.
That brought me back to business. “Okay, chromosomes—chapter three,” I said, making my voice as brisk and businesslike as possible. “So basically chromosomes are bundles of DNA . . .”
I didn’t think about much other than biology until we came up for breath at the end of chapter five. “Okay, I think I’ve got it.” Logan tapped his pen on the desk, scanning the study questions on the last page of the chapter. “Mitosis comes first, then cytokinesis.” He shook his head and smiled. “It would help if all these terms didn’t sound so much alike!”
“Never mind, you’re getting it. So next we can move on to meiosis.” I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that the period was almost over. “Or maybe we can work on that next week.”
He followed my gaze to the clock. “Probably a good thing. It’ll take me all weekend to digest everything we just went over.”
Despite his words, he sounded a lot more hopeful than he had at the beginning of study hall. We’d actually made a lot of progress in just one session. Maybe his mind wasn’t built for science, exactly, but he was trying.
I shut the textbook. “Like I said, you’re definitely getting it,” I assured him. “Anyway, Mr. Ba wouldn’t let you try if he thought it was a lost cause. He’s pretty good at sizing people up.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Logan slid the book into his backpack. “For one thing, he seems to think you’re a scientific genius.”
“I don’t know about that.” I grabbed my backpack so I could put away my pencils and stuff. “But Mr. Ba? Definitely a scientific genius. That’s why I requested him as my academic advisor. I figured he could help me decide where to go to college.”
Logan looked surprised. “I thought you were set on MIT.”
“That’s my first choice right now,” I said. “But I can’t count on getting in there. And even if I get in, I might not be able to go if I don’t get some scholarships to help pay my way.”
“Oh, right. You were talking about that before.” Logan nodded. “I bet you’ll get plenty of scholarships, though. Especially with Mr. Ba on your side.” He grinned. “Not to mention your brilliant new career in tutoring high school science losers.”
I smiled. “Which reminds me—I want you to read through chapter six this weekend. That’ll give us a head start on Monday.”
“You got it, Professor.” He sat back in his chair and stretched. “So speaking of the weekend, any big plans? What’s up with that kickball thing you mentioned the other day?”
I was surprised he remembered that. “Yeah, I’ve got kickball practice tomorrow afternoon. Haven’t the guys told you about the Co-Ed/Lo-Ed championship yet?”
“Nope.”
“It’s this crazy competition between the high school and the university,” I explained. “I’m not even sure how long it’s been going on—practically forever, I guess. My parents were both on the Lo-Ed team when they were in high school, and my dad played for the Co-Ed team too. . . .”
I went on to explain the whole tradition. Logan listened, looking amused.
“So the championship happens during this Spring Fling or whatever it’s called?” he asked.
“Spring Thing. That’s next weekend, which means this weekend is our last practice before the big game.” I grinned. “Not that it makes that much difference whether we practice or not. The team takes anyone who wants to play, so needless to say we’re not that hot.”
He laughed. “Sounds like fun, though. What time’s your practice tomorrow?”
“Two o’clock.”
“So do you need to start psyching yourself up and stretching at the crack of dawn? Or would you maybe have time to hit the animal shelter with me in the morning?” He smiled. “I’m in desperate need of dog-choosing help, remember?”
“Oh yeah, you were going to go get a dog tomorrow, right?” Of course I remembered every word of our earlier conversation about the topic, but I tried not to let that show.
“Well, pick one out, anyway,” he said, flicking a scrap of paper off the edge of his desk. “My parents can’t make it tomorrow, but Dad said he’ll take me in on Monday after school to sign the paperwork and stuff. We’ll actually pick up the dog then. I called the shelter and they said that was cool—they’ll hold a dog for up to three days.”
“Don’t your parents want to help pick it out?” I ask.
“Mom doesn’t really have time, what with the new job and all.” Logan shrug
ged. “And Dad says he’s too much of a softy. If he had to choose, he says he’d come home with all of them.”
I laughed. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”
“Me too,” Logan agreed. “But Mom is less of a fan. She’s set a strict one dog limit. So that’s why I need a second opinion.”
I hesitated, still not quite sure what was going on here. Logan and I were just friends. But that was okay—this wasn’t supposed to be a date or anything, right? Who ever heard of a date to an animal shelter?
He was waiting for an answer. “Okay,” I said before I could overthink it anymore. “That sounds fun.”
“Awesome.” He looked pleased. “Ten thirty okay?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
The bell rang, sending the room into the usual end-of-day chaos. Logan grabbed his backpack and stood up. “Wow, I guess this means I officially survived my first week of school.”
I laughed. “Congratulations.”
We walked to the door. Simone and Taylor were there waiting. Logan said hi to them, then turned back toward me.
“Okay.” He clutched the strap of his backpack, yanking on it restlessly. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you then.”
He said good-bye to Simone and Taylor, then loped off down the hall. Simone spun to face me.
“Tomorrow?” she demanded eagerly. “He’ll see you tomorrow? Spill!”
I sighed. “It’s no big deal. He just needs my help picking out a dog at the shelter.”
“Cute!” Taylor looked impressed. “That’ll make an excellent first-date story to tell at your wedding someday.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a first date. We’re just friends.”
“Yeah. Or that’s what we’ll be telling Ling and Megan, anyway, right?” Simone traded an amused look with Taylor.
Uh-oh. I’d almost forgotten about those two. “Don’t tell them anything!” I begged. “Please? I really don’t want to get in the middle of that. And like I said, this definitely isn’t a date.”
“Whatever.” Simone linked her arm through mine, steering me down the crowded hallway. “Your secret date is safe with us, isn’t that so, Taylor?”
Taylor giggled. “Right! So what are you going to wear, Bailey?”
I sighed, once again wondering what I’d gotten myself into. But it was too late to back out now, right?
Chapter Fourteen
I was still in the shower when Simone arrived at my house the next morning. Bright and early. Unnaturally bright, actually (at least for Simone before noon on the weekend), and way too early (almost two and a half hours before I was supposed to meet Logan).
When I stepped into my room wrapped in a towel, Simone was hanging a garment bag from the curtain rod. A large, shiny purple case was sitting on my bed. I didn’t have to look inside to know that it contained her entire makeup collection.
“Don’t panic, I’m here,” she sang out. “All ready to doll you up for your first date with Logan.”
“It’s not a date.” I hesitated. “Necessarily.”
She unzipped the garment bag. “Okay, I wasn’t sure how dressy you wanted to get,” she said. “I mean, it’s a morning date, so you shouldn’t look like you’re trying too hard. But you want to look nice, right?”
“Right. That’s why I was going to wear jeans and maybe my blue V-neck T-shirt.” I walked over to my dresser and pulled out some clean underwear.
Simone looked dismayed. “The one you bought last month? No, I don’t think so.”
“What? Why not? You said I look great in that.”
“For school.” Simone shook her head. “You need something a little more special for a weekend date. Like this.” She pulled a shiny purple minidress out of the bag with a flourish.
“You just said I shouldn’t look like I’m trying too hard,” I reminded her. “Besides, I’m going to the animal shelter, not dinner at the White House.”
Simone chewed on her lower lip, turning the dress this way and that. “Maybe you’re right—jeans should work fine with the right shirt.” She hung the dress on the curtain rod beside the bag. “Maybe that black top with the sequins on the sleeves . . .”
As she dug through the garment bag, I quickly pulled on my underwear and dropped my damp towel in the hamper by the door. Even though Simone was acting kind of crazy, I was glad she was there. She was distracting me from being nervous. At least a little.
Every time I thought about meeting Logan, I felt a weird flip-flopping sensation in my gut. Was that the sparks at work again?
“This could work.” Simone pulled out a bright pink shirt. “The color will look great on you, especially after I do your makeup. Here, try it on.”
She tossed it to me, and I yanked it on over my head. “It’s a little snug,” I said, pulling at the front.
“No, it looks great! Hang on—I want to try something.” She hurried over to the bed and snapped open her makeup case.
“Wait, what?” I watched as she started pulling out colorful tubes and bottles and vials. “Stop. What’s wrong with my usual makeup routine?”
“Nothing—for school,” Simone replied. “But you’re not going to school today, remember? You’re going on a date.”
“It’s not a—”
She didn’t let me finish. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing.”
That was true. Simone had been going out on dates for years. Even if this wasn’t a real date, it was still an outing with a guy friend, which was almost the same thing, right? Maybe she really did know best in this case. Or maybe I was still half-asleep and didn’t feel like protesting. Either way, I was soon sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor while she dabbed concealer onto my face.
As she worked, I tried to figure out what Logan had intended when he’d asked me to meet him at the shelter. Was it supposed to be a date? Simone seemed convinced it was, but I still wasn’t sure.
Oh well. With any luck, I’d figure it out when I got there. I stifled a yawn as Simone used a giant brush to apply blush to my cheekbones.
“Hold still!” she ordered.
“Sorry. I didn’t get to bed until late—our last customers were a bunch of hungry frat guys who didn’t clear out until almost an hour past closing.” I kept my face still, but slid my eyes toward her. “So what did you and Matt end up doing?”
“Dinner at the Chinese place on Oak. It was okay.” She sat back to study my face. “Except we ended up spending like half the night talking about Ling and Megan’s battle over Logan.”
“Really?” I closed my left eye as she came at it with a tiny eye-shadow brush. “What did he say about it?”
“He thinks it’s pathetic. Not that he’d ever say it to their faces.”
“Can you blame him?” I opened my eye and looked at her. “Those two have really gone nuts over this. Like, scary psycho-killer nuts.”
Simone capped the mascara and tossed it back in her bag. “I know, right? They’re acting like Logan’s the last guy on earth or something.” She leaned over, picking through the makeup bag. “Actually, though, I think it’s just about the competition at this point. We all know they both hate to lose at anything. I bet that’s the only reason neither of them will back down.” She pulled out a tube of eyeliner and examined it. “It’s not even about Logan himself anymore. I doubt they even really care about him.”
I’d been thinking pretty much the same thing just the day before. Still, something about the way Simone was dismissing Logan’s role in the whole thing rubbed me the wrong way. It wasn’t as if two pretty, popular girls like Ling and Megan would make total fools of themselves over just anyone.
“I don’t know about that,” I told Simone. “Why wouldn’t they care about him? He’s a super-nice guy, and you said yourself he’s cute.”
She smirked at me. “Uh-oh, sorry—I didn’t mean to insult Mr. Perfect,” she said. “You’re right, he’s super droolworthy, and every girl wants him. There, is that better?”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Are you done yet?”
“Not quite. Close your eyes and stop talking for a minute.” She went back to work. “There,” she said after a bit. “We can do your lips last. Now, about your hair—where’s your curling iron?”
“No way.” I put a protective hand to my head. “The last time I let you curl my hair, I ended up looking like Little Orphan Annie.”
“Oh, please. We were like ten years old!” She fingered a strand of my damp, limp hair. “I just think you’d look cute with a few soft waves framing your face.”
“Forget it.” Climbing to my feet, I took a look at myself in the mirror. I was quite a sight. Simone had done an expert job on my eyes, giving them a smoky, almost exotic look. My lashes seemed a mile long, and my cheeks glowed with soft, sparkly pink blush.
“What do you think?” She hovered behind me, grinning like a loon. “Cute, right?”
“I don’t know.” I leaned closer for a better look. “I’m not sure Logan will even recognize me like this.”
“Sure he will. Come on, at least let me help you dry your hair. Then you can finish getting dressed.”
After one last glance at the semifamiliar face in the mirror, I followed her across the hall into the bathroom. It was still steamy from my shower, so I didn’t have to look at my made-up face as I started blow-drying my hair. It was hard to miss that hot pink shirt, though. Even in the foggy mirror it glowed like a type II supernova.
“So what are you going to talk about on your date?” Simone asked, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the blow-dryer.
“It’s not a date,” I replied, glad that my parents had already left for the restaurant. “And I’m guessing we’ll mostly be talking about dogs.”
“Okay. But you should have some other topics prepared just in case,” she said. “Like current events, or funny stuff that happened in school, or . . .”
She babbled on for a while, but I wasn’t paying much attention. When my hair was dry, I went back to my bedroom and pulled on my favorite jeans.
