Page 3 of Attractive Forces
He was probably hoping a cute girl would tutor him.
Or maybe not.
After all, Logan doesn’t need to manufacture opportunities to sit close to cute girls. There would be a line of girls from here to Auckland willing to teach him chemistry. Hell, they’d probably pay for the privilege.
Logan Madison is the type of guy who can get any girl he wants.
2
Logan
Fuck.
That’s my first reaction when I get a message from Jake Stenton. Good thing it’s only a thought, or I’d be donating more of my hard-earned money to Mum’s swear jar. That thing has already sucked up a whole lot of my cash.
I knew Coach Collison was going to talk to Mr. Luddick about finding me a tutor. After a few dismal assessments, I’m hovering close to failing. And if I dip any lower, I’ll have to be benched for a game.
But Jake Stenton. Seriously? It’s got to be some kind of cosmic joke. The man upstairs, having a great laugh at my expense. Or, if you believe what my father preaches in his sermons, it’s the man downstairs. The devil, leading me to temptation.
Because Jake Stenton is someone I’ve noticed. As innoticednoticed.
He sat in front of me in English last year after he moved here. And I noticed his dark hair, how one strand of it finished in a curl on his neck.
I noticed his deep laugh.
I noticed the fact he’s super smart and one of those people who seem comfortable in their own skin.
But I’m not supposed to notice other guys. My father and the Bible are both in noisy consensus about that.
So, I try not to. I try my hardest to push those thoughts away, bury them so deep that not even an archaeologist could unearth them.
No matter how hard I try to bury that side of myself, the idea of Jake tutoring me still makes me squirm. His text is like a bullfighter’s red flag on my phone, taunting me. All around it are streams of messages from my friends.
I flick through them to distract myself.
Brewer, who, for some reason, thinks it’s hilarious to send me a picture of a hedgehog trying to hump a hairbrush.
Maeve, who sends me a file link to download the latest release of Lapdogs, one of my favorite bands.
Mazza, who’s wondering whether I’m up for a party at the lake this weekend.
“Logan, time for dinner,” Mum calls up the stairs.
“Coming,” I call back.
Family dinners are a big thing in our house. Even though there are only three of us, we always sit down together. Mum is big on no technology at the table, so I leave my phone in my room.
When I make it downstairs, my parents are already sitting at the table. Mum gives me one of her crinkle-eyed smiles as I take my seat. Dad gives me a curt nod. But that’s like a hug from my father.
I reach across the table to grasp Mum’s hand. Dad holds out his hand too, and as soon as I take it, he begins to say grace.
“Be present at our table, Lord. Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee. We thank Thee for the food that has been provided and the hands that have prepared the food. We ask Thee to bless it that it may nourish and strengthen our bodies.”
There’s no such thing as lip-service to the Almighty in this house. When I’m at friends’ houses, I always embarrassingly sit there waiting for grace to be said as everyone else tucks into their food.
My mother’s hand is soft, her grip light. In contrast, the callouses on Dad’s hands are rough against my palm.
When he’s not preaching, Dad is usually out in the garden. He believes nature gets you closer to God, and manual labor is good for the soul. As a result of being his only child, I know far more about the pollination habits of runner beans than any eighteen-year-old should.
