Page 151 of Collision
“N-no, don’t worry, you didn’t. I just wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I blurt out in one breath, continuing to pick food up from the ground.
“I wanted to surprise you, but apparently that was a bad idea,” he answers, embarrassed.
“What are you talking about? I’m glad you’re back…” Only now do I notice that he’s holding a bouquet of red roses. I swallow the lump in my throat, overwhelmed with guilt. Because, since the moment he left, I’ve done nothing but ignore him. Because, since the moment he left, while he was thinking about me, I was thinking about Thomas. Because he left thinking he had me and returned unaware that he had lost me. And now he is here, with a bouquet of roses, eager to spend time with me, but I can’t even look him in the face because I’m too ashamed. “A-are those roses for me?” I ask in a trembling voice.
“Who else would they be for?” he answers, handing them to me with a big smile.
He takes the tray with one hand and helps me up with the other. When I get back on my feet, with the roses in my hands, it seems completely natural to plunge my nose into them and sniff deeply. A sweet scent overwhelms me and I close my eyes.
“These are beautiful, Logan, really,” I murmur, observing the red petals underneath my nose. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, I was happy to do it,” he says touching my cheek. “Each rose represents a moment when I thought of you.” He moves closer, clearly intending to kiss me, but I can’t let that happen. It’s not fair to him. But what am I supposed to tell him?I’m sorry, Logan, you can’t kiss me because, while you were away, I got involved in a strange quasi-relationship with Thomas, and if he were to see us here together you’d end up in the hospital and he would, in all likelihood, end up in jail?I’ve always believed that honesty is the best policy and I intend to end things with him honestly, but not like this, not in a cafeteria, surrounded by gossipy people. And just a few minutes after he got back to boot! Logan deserves to know what I did with Thomas; I need to show him the same respect he showed me during our entire acquaintance.
When he is just inches from my lips, I react instinctively; I drop the bouquet on the ground and, with a snap, I duck out of his way to pick them up. Logan is stunned.
“God, I am such a klutz. All the coffees I had today are taking their toll,” I explain myself with a nervous chuckle as he watches me warily, rubbing the back of his head.
“Okay, maybe it’d be better if we went and sat somewhere?” he ask, his face twisting with confusion.
“Yes,” I say with my head still hanging down, “maybe that’s for the best.” He puts an arm around my waist and guides me to a nearby table. We are facing each other, so at least the table will keep us at a distance. “So, how are you?” I ask, trying to conceal my discomfort. “Did the trip go well?”
“Yeah, very chill, I like driving.” He takes off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair.
“How far is Medford from here?” I arrange the roses on the empty part of the table next to me.
“On the PCH, it’s about three and a half hours.”
“For some reason, I thought it was farther away.” I stop to think for a moment and involuntarily, I begin peeling the cuticle from my thumb. “Did everything go well with your family? Did you celebrate?”
“Everything’s fine,” he answers vaguely. “But I don’t really want to talk about that right now.” He takes my hand and clasps it between his own. “I haven’t seen or heard from you for a week—I want to know about you, how you are, what you’ve been up to, how long the chocolates I bought lasted you…” He says it jokingly, but I can’t help fidgeting in my chair.
If only he knew that those chocolates never touched my mouth, but were instead gobbled up by Thomas, he wouldn’t look at me with that adoring expression on his face anymore. My palms are sweating and I can feel my throat getting dry. I slip my hand from his grasp and, with both hands, I rearrange the few strands of hair sticking out of my braid. Looking him in the eye, I gather all my courage and start talking. “Um, I’m fine, studying is fine and the chocolates were…good,” I say around the lump in my throat. “But there is something I’d like to talk to you about…”
“I’m not sure,” he interrupts me, looking at something behind me with a furrowed brow, “but I think Shana Kennest is coming over here.”
A cold shiver runs down my spine. “What?” With a nod, he invites me to turn around, but I don’t have time to do it before Shana materializes right in front of us. With her long crimson hair, her very long eyelashes coated in mascara and that thin line of eyeliner that brings out the glacial blue of her eyes. Suddenly, I’m completely on edge.
Standing in front of our table, she crosses her arms over her chest and fixes us with a smug stare. “God, Clark, you don’t let any of ’em get away…” She gives me a malicious look, then turns her attention to Logan and, for a moment, I seem to detect a kind of mutual repressedhatred in their intense gazes. I am almost positive they are giving off some intensely negative vibes. I can practically feel it on my skin.
“Do you need something?” I ask her, annoyed. I already have my own issues to resolve with Logan; I don’t need her presence making everything worse.
She reluctantly tears her eyes off Logan and focuses back on me. “Actually, yes.”
I raise my eyebrows, waiting for her to expand on this.
“You know”—she lightly shakes the plastic cup she has in her hand, agitating the liquid inside—“I was wondering… Do you like coconut?”
“Coconut?”
“Yeah, coconut,” she repeats. “Magda, the chef, always sets aside a smoothie for me, but apparently today was coconut day, and alas, it’s not my favorite of the fruits. I’d hate to have to throw it out, so I thought maybe you’d like it.”
I’m stupid, sure, but not that stupid. This sudden courtesy is surely cloaking some sort of meanness. I’d not be surprised to discover that the drink had some sort of laxative or poison in it.
“And why did you think of me?”
“Well, I know your tastes run to the”—she throws another sharp sideways glance at Logan—“second rate.” I notice that he has that same tense frown on his face again.
“Sorry, coconut makes me…vomit,” I say, trying for a little zinger.
