up for the accelerated sophomore bio class, and—”
“You mean fourth period?” I interrupted. “That’s the class I’m in!”
Too late, I realized I sounded kind of giddy. Like Taylor whenever she found out her favorite jeans were on sale at the mall. Or Ling whenever she walked into Eats and discovered my great-aunt had just taken a pan of chocolate donuts out of the oven. Or, more recently, Simone when she’d noticed me noticing Logan that first time.
“Really? Awesome!” Logan grinned. “What do you have third period?”
“Gym,” I said, trying really hard not to picture him in gym shorts.
“Let me see . . .” Logan pulled out his schedule and consulted it. “No luck, I’ve got English. What about fifth?”
We went on to compare the rest of our schedules. It turned out that aside from art and bio, the only other class we had in common was a three-days-per-week last-period study hall. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
“Too bad,” Logan said as he tucked his schedule away again. Was it my imagination, or did he actually sound disappointed too? “Maybe I should try to transfer into a few more of your classes.” He slid his eyes toward me. “Like I said, it’s nice having a friendly face around sometimes.”
He reached over to grab the glue, knocking over the bottle in the process. It toppled right onto my toothpick cube, smashing it into a pile of tiny kindling.
“Oh, no! I’m sorry.” His face went red, and he reached over as if he was going to try to fix the cube, though it was obviously a lost cause.
“Don’t worry about it,” I said quickly. “Ms. Blumenkranz already judged it, remember? Besides, if she comes back, I can just tell her that this represents my feelings about the shallowness of modern life.”
He laughed, sounding relieved. “Good one.”
As he bent to retrieve part of my smashed project that had fallen on the floor, Gabi leaned across the table. “Really hitting it off with the new guy, huh?” she whispered. “Listen, if you get a chance, bat your eyelashes at him and try to convince him to try out for the musical, okay?”
I was so startled that I didn’t answer. A moment later Logan was back. “Got it,” he said. “Now your angst sculpture is complete.”
“Right, yeah.” I shot a confused look at Gabi, who was already chattering to Gwen again. What had that been about? Did Gabi really think Logan and I were hitting it off?
That led to the obvious question—could she be onto something? Which led to the corollary question—what if Simone had been right all along? I had to admit, the evidence was starting to mount up. The pounding heart whenever I saw Logan. The light-headed feeling whenever I got close to him. The ability to actually carry on a conversation with him in between panic attacks.
I’d always scoffed at Simone and the others when they’d claimed love at first sight or anything close to it. But now it seemed to be happening to me. I’d never reacted this way to a guy before— any guy. I sneaked a peek at Logan, who was bent over his own toothpick sculpture again.
What did it mean? Was I succumbing to teenage hormones at last? Or could there be something different about this guy?
ChapterFive
W hen the bell rang, Logan and I walked out of the art room together. We paused in the hall outside as students hurried past in all directions.
I clutched my backpack to my chest. “Well, see you in bio, I guess,” I said.
“Yeah.” Logan shifted his books to his other arm and glanced around. I expected him to take off, but he just stood there.
“Um, do you know how to get to your next class?” I asked, mostly because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Not really.” He pulled out his schedule. “It’s in the east wing, right? It says the teacher’s name is Ms. Wainwright.”
Gabi and Gwen emerged from the art room just in time to hear him. “You’ve got Wainwright for English next?” Gwen asked Logan. “Me
Learning to Kill: Stories