by Marni Bates
He leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself. He was wearing a plaid shirt and skinny jeans that somehow didn’t look creepy on him, which was impressive since most guys can’t pull off the look. Corey jerked his head and his bangs swished to one side. Seriously, they swished. My hair never obeys me like that.
“What about you, Jane,” I asked. “Anything you want me to score?”
“What?” She jerked back into the conversation. “Sorry, I was distracted by the fact that everyone in the school is staring at us!”
“Look, there’s nothing I can do about the attention. A few days from now this will all be over.”
“In the meantime, have you considered hiring a stylist?”
Before I could answer Corey, Logan slid into an empty seat next to Jane. The cafeteria went silent before a hum of mass whispering began. Jane’s mouth dropped open, not attractively I might add, as she stared at him in shock. Notables are always a shock on the system. I felt like I’d just consumed another shot of caffeine.
Corey sat up in his chair but pretended as if a Notable visit was an everyday occurrence. I could practically hear Corey’s gaydar beeping, as he tried to decipher Logan’s sexuality. I was guessing straight since he’d been distracted by Chelsea’s cleavage, but I’ve got notoriously bad gaydar.
“Hey,” said Logan smoothly, as if eating a hamburger and fries with a pair of Invisibles and the Spectacle was no big deal.
“Um, hey,” I managed. Jane needed more time to untangle her tongue. “How’s it going?”
“Fine.” He picked up a fry and turned to see everyone in the cafeteria watching the four of us. “That’s a little intense.”
“No, really?” I couldn’t help saying. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Corey elbowed me in the ribs, but Logan just grinned. Slowly Jane and Corey began to relax.
“So ... has Alex given you any more trouble?” Logan asked casually.
This time I really smiled. The one time I’d seen Alex in the cafeteria he’d given me a wide berth. Just the way I wanted it.
“I guess my threat yesterday worked!” I elbowed Corey back, a little harder than necessary as payback. “Told you I could handle it.”
“Yeah, way to deliver an empty threat,” Jane said weakly.
“I could probably tell Teen People about him or something.” I considered it for a moment. “But I don’t think I’ve got the nerve.”
Corey paused midbite of his pizza. He can scarf down twice the amount of junk food I can and fit into size 4 skinny jeans. Boys and their stupid metabolisms. “He just better leave you alone, Mackenzie.”
Jane and Logan nodded in agreement—which was weird. Why would Logan Beckett care whether a football player harassed me? Unless ... maybe he wanted more friends. But that couldn’t be it. He didn’t need Invisible friends—he probably had too many invites for keggers and parties already. Plus, I couldn’t picture him looking forward to a movie night with the three of us.
“How’s AP US going?” I asked him, to take the attention off me.
God, I’m a geek.
“I didn’t get what Helm was talking about today.”
“Well,” I said. “Remember in the chapter how ...”
“Study session after school?” he interrupted. “I could use the extra time.”
“Um, sure.” The answer was automatic.
“Great,” Logan said simply. “I’ll meet you after class.” Then he turned to Corey and asked him something about Woodshop. While the two of them discussed cherrywood and sanding techniques, Jane and I carried on a nonverbal conversation.
A small shake of the head meant she couldn’t believe what was happening.
My answering shrug confirmed I didn’t get it either.
Then Jane flicked a glance at Logan before letting her eyes linger meaningfully at me.
I shook my head deliberately. I am so not Logan’s type, which is (of course) tall, willowy, blond, and generously endowed. That’s why he and Chelsea are obviously suited for each other. Just like I’m perfect for Patrick.
Jane raised an eyebrow, and it was a good thing the boys missed my derisive little snort.
The world’s social order would have to implode before Logan Beckett and I ever became an item. I couldn’t see that happening either.
Chapter 14
I didn’t know where I was supposed to meet him. He’d said “after class,” but that didn’t really tell me anything. I mean, was I supposed to stand outside AP Lit and wait for him to appear? I didn’t like that idea. I may fear the spotlight, but I am no Cinderella waiting around. I learned a long time ago that when you depend on people, they usually let you down. Not that I believed all guys wanted to make out with ballet instructors—I’m not that damaged. I just knew that the only person I could rely on was myself.
But none of that gave me any insight into where I should meet Logan ... or what I should say to him.
“Hey, long time no see.”
Yeah, probably not.
“So that was an interesting meal.”
Not that either.
“Were you on something when you sat down at my table? Because hanging out with Invisibles is going to affect your social status. You get that, right?” Mental head slap.
I was still searching for a conversation starter when Logan appeared, looking as unconcerned as ever.
“Hey.” He smiled like I wasn’t just the pain-in-the-ass tutor he put up with to get his parents off his back. I wondered why he was meeting up with me in the first place. I had yet to really make a difference as his tutor.
However, a smile, even a fleeting one, was far from his standard disinterested shrug. Maybe he was looking for an in with Corey—we’d have to discuss his gaydar later.
“So about tutoring today ... I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” He studied me. “Are you backing out?”
“No-o.” Mentally I was screaming, Yes! The paparazzi might be waiting for me! Are you INSANE?
“Good.” He nodded his head toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
I hoped that the press wouldn’t be there. That they’d left before school ended like they’d done the day before. That we could walk over to his car without Teen People snapping photos of me in my ratty jeans and sweatshirt.
“So did you hear about—”
Logan never got the chance to finish his sentence. The paparazzi should have left. I mean, hello, I’d already said way too much. What were the vultures hoping for ... another scene, maybe? I could practically see it:
ME: (blinded by the flashing of cameras) Wh-what?
REPORTER ONE: Mackenzie, do you blame anyone for your fame?
REPORTER TWO: Mackenzie, do you regret your attempt at CPR?
REPORTER THREE: Mackenzie, how does it feel to be famous?
ME: I—ACK!
Tripping over my own feet, I tumbled into Logan who, prompted by the new chant of “Kiss her!” grinned and obliged.
Wait, what?
Where had that come from? I needed more sleep—that was the only explanation for it. The only one I’d consider. Freud would have a field day, but the first part of my imagined script was dead-on. The press moved in, and I found myself under siege with questions hurled like grenades. I grabbed Logan’s arm to steady myself when a cameraman jostled into me hard.
“Let’s run for it,” I hollered, to be heard over the questions. Without waiting for a response I bolted toward the parking lot and pulled him behind me.
I completely impressed myself with my imitation of a badass if-you-don’t-move-you-will-be-crushed policewoman. I used my speed to propel me through the crowd.
Still, the questions were so much worse than I’d imagined.
“Mackenzie! Who’s your friend?”
“Are the two of you dating?”
“What do you think of Twilight?” This time I didn’t respond. I just ran as fast as I could, grateful that I was wearing my black Converse. Logan’s longer legs pushed him ahead and left me struggling to keep up. Wh
ich burned my ego, since I’m no slouch when it comes to running the presidential fitness mile.
It’s a good thing we grabbed hands or we’d have been separated. A cheesy romance lover might think it was romantic, but there’s nothing “romantic” about getting smacked in the face by a stranger’s elbow.
Still, we made it to his car without any major injuries. Logan didn’t waste any time getting the hell out of there. He drove carefully, just to make sure no photographers became speed bumps, but he drove fast. I used my arms to obstruct my face while Logan swerved and barreled down streets to lose the entourage tailing us.
“Do you know what you’re doing?” I demanded. “Because my knowledge of car chases is limited to The Bourne Identity. Let’s think this through before we make a mistake.” Logan shook his head. “I know exactly where we’re going.” “Okay.” I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. “And where would that be?” “It’s a surprise.” He turned sharply, and I got a newfound appreciation for my seat belt.
“Not a big fan of surprises. I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.” I gestured at the paparazzi tailing us to make my point.
“I think you could use a few more.” He cut smoothly onto the freeway. “You can pick the music.” “Gee, thanks.” I dug into my backpack, plugged my iPod into Logan’s speaker adaptor, flipped to a playlist, and let the music flow.
“Wilco?” he asked, and I nodded in surprise. Maybe he was more rock and less jock than I’d originally assumed.
“Good stuff.”
I was about to ask about his music taste when I realized we’d left Forest Grove behind us. Far behind us, actually. We were headed into the city.
“Portland?” I gaped at him. “You want us to lose them in Portland?” “Do you have a better idea?”
“I—I guess, well ... I—no,” I stuttered.
“Then there you go, Mack.”
I was too distracted by the situation to object to the nickname.
“But ... the gas money. We should’ve just—”
Logan cut me off. “My idea, my money.”
Which was a huge relief, because I couldn’t afford the gas, especially when I still owed him for that cup of coffee. But it also completely sucked. I didn’t ever want to be the type of girl who does stupid stuff like mooch off of guys. I had no idea what to do about Logan Beckett’s habit of shelling out money. I’ll just have to keep a running tab, I decided. And pay him back as soon as possible.
“Almost there.” He pulled into a parking garage.
“You’re kidding, right? A mall! You are taking me to the mall! Do you have any idea how weird this is?” “Yeah.” That was all I got. Just “yeah.” I hate boys and their stupid monosyllabic answers sometimes. “Run!” I took his advice, and the two of us raced into the Lloyd Center with the paparazzi right on our heels. That’s when I started seeing the genius in his plan. Outside we would have been sitting ducks, but inside it was easier to blend and disappear. I was surprised the idea had not occurred to me.
“Come on.” I followed Logan until I saw the store and put on the brakes.
“No,” I said flatly. “No way.”
“Look,” Logan said quietly. “It’s either this”—he gestured to Victoria’s Secret’s unbearably pink sign—“or that.” I looked behind me and saw the press scanning the area.
“Fine.” I ducked inside with him. “But I resent this.”
He laughed but checked himself quickly.
“Don’t you think this is a tad, um ... conspicuous?” Logan ignored me, reached into a hot pink drawer, and pulled out a dark purple bra.
“Act natural,” he muttered, and handed me the bra. Then, looking like he did this every day, he pulled me into one of the dressing room stalls. He settled himself on the minisofa looking pleased while I stared in shock.
I was in Victoria’s Secret, with Logan Beckett, holding a purple bra, and being chased by the press.
My life had officially become stranger than a Tim Burton movie.
“They won’t think to look in here,” Logan informed me as I sank to the floor.
I nodded and stared at my feet. “So do you come here often?” He laughed again, and I was struck by the niceness of the moment. It was weird, but I was actually having fun. Not something I had expected to happen.
“Oh yeah. I take all my dates here. Cozy, isn’t it?”
“Nice ... ambiance,” I said, looking pointedly at the bra and hot pink couch.
“Pink is the new blue,” he replied. “Or so I’ve been told... .” I pulled my boring, straight brown hair out of my ponytail and let it fall around my face. “Oh, my god!” I channeled my inner Notable. “I heard that too! That’s total whatchimacallit!” “Completely,” he said, playing along.
“So you think it’s safe to leave yet?”
Logan shrugged. “Probably, but we should have a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yeah, those reporters know what we look like. We’ll need a disguise.” He was having way too much fun with this.
I stared at him in disbelief. “Of course. Stupid me, I packed my superhero suit in my other backpack with my bundle of cash.” Logan pulled out his wallet, but I didn’t give him the chance to speak.
“You’re kidding me, right? You cannot keep spending money on me like some kind of sugar daddy.” Yes. I said the phrase “sugar daddy” to Logan Beckett.
Kill me now.
Logan’s mouth twitched into a grin. “I was thinking of a loan.” “A loan?” I repeated.
“Yeah. My parents pay you ten bucks an hour, right?” I nodded as he handed me a fifty-dollar bill. “Well, now you owe me five hours of your time.” I sighed. “Five and a half hours, actually. I still owe you for Starbucks from a few days ago.” He smiled. “You remembered.”
“Of course. So five and half hours ...” I did some mental calculations. “If we start studying soon, I should be out of debt by the end of this week.” I nodded approvingly. “I can live with that.” “You know we could chalk up the coffee as a tutoring expense.” “A tutoring expense?” I repeated skeptically.
“Yeah, caffeine is a study agent that was once used as a form of currency.” “You remembered.” I was shocked that anything I said stuck with him. Maybe I wasn’t the worst tutor after all.
“Of course,” he repeated, mimicking me to perfection. I laughed.
“Five and a half hours and we’re square.” I couldn’t owe Logan money. “I pay my own way.” Just fingering the fifty-dollar bill was making me nervous. Or maybe it was the casual way he handed it over. Both sort of freaked me out.
“This probably isn’t necessary.” I tried to hand it back. “Really. I can just ...” Logan ran his hand through his hair in frustration, something I had only seen him do while staring blankly at a history textbook.
“Look, just take it so we can leave. If we stay in here too long the store people will wonder what we’re up to.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.
“Okay,” I said quickly. “Let’s go.”
“Let’s meet up at the ice skating rink in forty-five minutes.” We stepped out of the dressing room as he added in a louder voice, “I don’t think that bra is really you. Black is more your speed, Mack.” I glared but only saw his back as he left me alone in Victoria’s Secret with a bra in one hand and a fifty-dollar bill in the other. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any weirder ... well, I guess they did.
Chapter 15
Okay, so I took Corey’s advice. The press were searching for the Mackenzie they had seen earlier—the one with no makeup and no fashion sense. I had to look trendy, which isn’t easy for a girl on a tight budget. I bought a clingy, deep purple shirt that made my jeans look way less “baggy and sexless,” as Corey had put it earlier. In fact, I looked sexy in an I-could-do-martial-arts-and-then-go-on-a-date kind of way. A thin coat of mascara, eye shadow, and lip gloss from testers on display and I was a whole different girl. It’s crazy what a little makeup can do when s
omeone’s desperate for a disguise.
Having gunk on my face felt strange but made it easier to leave the safety of the store. I decided to think of it as feminine war paint or a Halloween mask. I did my best to stroll casually to the rink and pretend I was a Notable. Really. I imagined that instead of Mackenzie Wellesley, Queen of Awkward, I was Chelsea Halloway, Queen of Smith High School. Would Chelsea ever slump or scuttle over to the mall ice skating area? No. So neither did I.
Even Logan had trouble recognizing me. His big disguise was a soft-looking gray cardigan, which was probably supposed to make him look preppy except it totally failed. He still looked like a rumpled Notable, what with his nicely fitting jeans and tousled dark brown hair. The sweater just made his gray eyes look smokier.
“Well,” he said when he saw me. “You look ... different.” “And you look the same.”
“Yeah, well, I blend.”
I tried not to snort. Sure, he didn’t raise attention—except for every teenage girl’s hormonal, hot guy radar within a forty-foot radius.
“So let’s get our skates.”
The Portland Lloyd Center has a small crowded rink, which I’ve always thought was part of its charm. Couples and families skate endless circles together while little kids topple over everywhere.
“All right.”
Fifteen minutes later I was laced up and wondering what I’d gotten myself into. If I didn’t tutor him soon I’d feel guilty about the loan. I’d never done history on ice before.
“Are you sure this is a good plan?” I asked skeptically. “Why don’t we just sit somewhere and discuss the American Revolution?” “Scared?” His voice held a challenge.
I marched deliberately to the ice (as much as I could march in ice skates) and swiveled jerkily to face him. “You coming or not? We have studying to do.” Logan was on the ice in a matter of seconds. I thought he looked comfortable in the school hallways, but on ice it was like his whole body became an extension of the skates. He cut in front of me and turned in one fluid gesture so that we were face to face.
“Okay. Shoot.”
