Page 2 of Attractive Forces
Chloe raises an eyebrow in the definition of skeptical. “I’ve seen your game, man, and it’s weaker than a geriatric arm wrestle.”
“How many geriatrics have you actually arm wrestled?”
“You’d be surprised. So, who is it?”
Chloe’s not going to let it go. She’s got her pointy teeth wedged into this particular bone. Refusing to tell her will make it into a bigger deal than it actually is.
“Logan Madison,” I concede.
Chloe’s eyes grow rounder. I didn’t think that was a physical possibility. But her body relaxes. “You’ve got Logan Madison’s number? You realize you could make loads of money selling it to Year 9 girls.”
“I’d probably find it hard to spend the cash with my head rammed down a toilet by Logan and his friends in revenge.”
Chloe rolls her eyes. “Jocks have moved on from that. They’re far more advanced these days. Now, they’ll just post horrible memes about you.”
“Good to know.” I shut my locker door. “But I think I’ll go for the crazy option and, you know, offer to tutor him instead.”
“Far more fun to go with my idea.” She falls into step beside me. “What are you doing now?”
“Not much. Why?”
“I’ve got to cover the junior netball trials. Do you want to come along and count how many wannabe netballers Mrs. Long can make cry?”
Chloe covers sports for the school newspaper. I don’t think any teams have ever been so ruthlessly mocked in the history of sport.
“It’s a tempting offer, but I might pass this time.” I’ve tagged along with Chloe in the past, but right now, I have this antsy feeling that I want to get home and sort out this tutoring thing with Logan.
“Seriously, you need to see Mrs. Long as a coach to believe her. She makes Sue Sylvester look as cute and cuddly as the Dalai Lama.”
“Who’s Sue Sylvester?”
Chloe gives me a look of disdain. “You know, the cheerleading coach fromGlee.”
“I’ve never watchedGlee.”
“Really? What did you do with your childhood in Wellington if you weren’t watching reruns ofGlee?”
I seize up, as I always do whenever Wellington is mentioned. I haven’t exactly been up-front with my new friends about my past life. Mum was big about our family having a fresh start when we came here. ‘Turning over a new leaf’ was her catchphrase.
Personally, I think it’s fine to suggest turning over a new leaf, but if you extend the metaphor, you realize leaves come from trees. And trees without roots are incredibly unstable. They come down in the slightest storm.
“My childhood was spent shivering in the water at Oriental Parade and trying not to get blown away. All the normal Wellington stuff,” I reply.
“And you complain about the weather down here,” Chloe says.
“No, I complain that the people in the South Island wear shorts and bare feet even if it’s snowing.”
“It’s not our fault you North Islanders are wimps.” She grins as she punches my arm. “See you later.”
When I get home, I find sending a message to Logan harder than I anticipated. I try not to buy into the whole popular-slash-unpopular thing, or maybe I just don’t want to examine too closely where I fit on the spectrum. But Logan Madison has this untouchable aura about him that only the freakishly good-looking, freakishly athletically talented can have. I know it shouldn’t matter if he thinks my message is stupid. I’m tutoring him for chemistry, not trying to break into his social circle. But I still end up editing my message like it’s a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel. I finally come up with the following:
Hey, Jake Stenton here. Mr. Luddick said you want chemistry tutoring? I can do Tuesday, Thursday afternoons, or Saturday mornings.
Businesslike. No nonsense. I press send.
The doubt doesn’t creep in until the hours slip by and Logan doesn’t respond.
I wish someone would come up with a word for the silence of a non-reply to a text message. It has its own ominous noise in your head.
