Page 33 of Attractive Forces
“I don’t talk about my dating life with my chemistry tutor,” Logan snaps.
I reel back like he’s slapped me. If I’m just his chemistry tutor, what are we doing right now? Why are we always hanging out?
Logan seems to notice the look on my face because he quickly stumbles on, “I mean, I don’t think Jake’s particularly interested in who I’m taking to the ball.”
I’m actually far more interested in Logan’s dating life than I should be. But I’m not going to share that. Ever.
“Anyway, this lucky bastard not only got Jennifer to agree to go to the ball with him, but he also got her to agree to get a hotel room afterward.” Brewer waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
Logan’s staring down at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth like it contains the secret of dark matter.
Meanwhile, I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach.
Of course, he’s Logan Madison. He’s going to do what all virile rugby players have been doing since the dawn of time. He’s going to take a hot girl to the ball, then afterward, he’s going to get laid.
My stomach sloshes. The pizza is not playing nice with the fries. I feel like I might hurl.
This is the downside of realizing my crush on Logan.
I’m about to have to watch the guy I like be with someone else.
10
Logan
Two nights before the ball, I’m sitting in my room doing homework.
You’d think teachers would cut us some slack for the fact it’s ball week, and most students are only focused on that, but I actually think some teachers get vindictive pleasure about increasing the number of assignments and tests leading up to the ball.
Along with trying to finish my English essay, I’m also having one of my usual crazy message conversations with Jake.
He started this particular conversation by sending me a picture of a crocodile eating a pair of crocs.
definition of irony, I reply.
Which Jake takes as a challenge to find other stuff even more ironic. Next up is a picture of a dog lying next to a chewed-up certificate for dog obedience training.
I join in the game and find a photo of a box with American Freedom printed on it, with Made in China stamped along the bottom.
He sends me a link to an article that talks about how Charlie Chaplin once entered a Charlie Chaplin walk contest and came in twentieth.
I’m scrolling through the article, grinning, when there’s a knock on my door.
“Come in.”
I’m expecting it to be Mum on a dirty laundry recovery mission, so I don’t bother glancing up as the door opens. It’s only after a minute, when she hasn’t said anything, that I look up to see Dad hovering at the entrance.
“Oh, hey, Dad.” I try to hide my surprise. Dad never comes to my room.
“Hey, son.”
He stares for a moment at my poster of Aiden Jones on the wall above my bed. I admire him totally for his rugby talent. Honestly.
“What’s up?” I ask.
He takes a hesitant step into my room. “Your mum wanted me to have a talk with you.”
For a moment, my breath leaves me. He knows.
