Page 56 of Frozen Hearts
I hate how that negative voice pipes up, trampling over my self-esteem.
Is it possible that I misjudged Logan?
God, I hope not.
However, his continued silence is leading to more and more self-doubt.
Turning my phone upside down on the table so I’ll stop glancing at the screen every five seconds, I focus on the Chemistry textbook open in front of me. Or at least, Itryto focus on it. Chemistry barely holds my interest on the best of days, and today is definitely not one of those days.
I struggle through another hour, barely retaining anything before I give up. Slamming the textbook closed, I pout at my phone before reaching out a hand, already knowing what I will find when I look.
Oh, look at that. No response from him.
Sighing, I drop it on the table and lower my head.
“Look who it is! The charity case,” a snide voice interrupts my pity party. Snapping my head up, my eyes narrow on the bitchy blonde from orientation—Whitney White. Her father is a big name in green energy. His innovations actually show the most promise with regard to reducing global warming… doesn’t mean his daughter isn’t a complete bitch, though.
Unsurprisingly, we run in very different social circles, so other than a few classes we share together where she’s constantly giving me the stink eye, I haven’t had to endure her sunny personality.
However, I do feel the full weight of her glower on the back of my head in every Statistics class, which I’m pretty sure I’m earning because Logan keeps sitting beside me instead of her. She wins points for persistence, though. Every week, she tries to coax him to sit with her. And every week, he refuses.
Despite that, she hasn’t caused me any issues… until now.
“Should have known I’d find you in the library.”
“Here I am,” I state, in no mood for whatever this is. “If you want help with Stats, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
Her nose scrunches. “Eww. No. Why would I need your help with anything?”
I could point out the fact that she’s failing Stats—something which I heard her complaining to one of her friends about after our last class test—but I don’t give a shit, so I don’t bother.
Instead, I do my best to ignore her as I shove my belongings into my bag, making a point of not looking at my phone screen as I stuff it into my jeans pocket.
Blondie stands there, watching me the entire time, until, huffing, I spin to face her.
“Well, this has been a great chat, Tiffany. Let’s not do this again.”
Her nostrils flare as her eyes flood with petty righteousness. “It’s Whitney.”
Whatever.
I step around her but she slides into my path, planting her hands on her hips. “Why is Logan hanging around with you?”
Giving her a deadpan look, I state, “I’m his Stats tutor.”
Rolling her eyes as though I’m dense, she huffs out a breath. “I know that, stupid. I mean, why did he acknowledge you at his game last week? Everyone is talking about it.” They are? “And people say he’s been hanging out with you outside of your little… study sessions.” Brows furrowed as though she’s been presented with a complicated math equation, she flips her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “I thought he was just using you to pass Professor Caldwell’s class.” Her eyes rake over me, face scrunching in disdain. “Maybe pity fucking you on the side.”Truly delightful girl…I’m thoroughly enjoying this exchange.“But to acknowledge you at the game… that’s like WAG behavior. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“WAG?”
“Even if he was fucking you. You’d be like a desperate, less attractive puck bunny; he would never pull that stunt with one of them. I mean, Logan has never acknowledged any girl at one of his games before. So why you?”
I merely blink at her, and when I take too long to answer her supposed question, she tilts her head and raises her eyebrows. Does she seriously expect me to answer that? Even if I had an answer for her, I wouldn’t share it.
“Sounds like this is a question you should be asking Logan.”
She rolls her petulant eyes. “Like anyone can find him. He’s been AWOL all week.” An evil smirk tugs at her lips. “Maybe he’s come to his senses and realized how damaging it would be to his reputation to be seen with you. Poor guy is probably holed up under his bed in a ball of shame.” She taps the center of her botoxed lips with her long, manicured nail. “I should take him a bowl of chicken soup—make sure he’s okay.”
Yeahchicken soup.
