Page 85 of Fraternizing with the Enemy
I stuck the slushy straw between my teeth and continued watching the game, but all excitement was gone.
The ride back to Brentwood was quiet. I’d given Logan his jacket back before we’d gotten into the car, and he wore it now, declaring in bold colors that he was a Jefferson Bulldog. Heat pumped from the vents, but I somehow still felt cold. My hair was tangled and knotted from how it’d dried after our dance in the rain, and I knew brushing the tangles out before bed would be torture.
I had my own varsity jacket in my lap, tracing the gold stitching with the tip of my finger.
Logan sat absorbed in the silence as well, not attempting to clear it. I wondered what he was thinking about. I wondered if he’d even tell me if I asked.
I couldn’t believe it’d only occurred to me tonight that Logan never answered any of my questions. Not really. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so torn up about it; wewerestill getting to know each other. It hadn’t even been a month since we first met, after all. But it felt like I’d shared so much about me, and yet… I knew so little about him.
I lifted my chin. “What’s your familylife like?”
He glanced over at the sudden question. “What do you mean?”
“I know you don’t have any siblings, but what about your parents? Are they still together?”
Inexplicably, Logan laughed. “You’re so random, you know that? Areyourparents still together?”
Again. He did it again. “No. They split up when I was younger.”
“That must’ve been hard.” This was his turn to give his own experience, but instead, he asked, “You live with your mom, right? Do you see your dad often?”
“Not really.” He called here and there, mostly whenever he remembered a dad was supposed to talk to his daughter. “So?”
“I see my dad every day,” he replied with a little laugh.
“What about your mom?”
The light we were about to drive under flicked to yellow, and Logan had to hit the brakes hard to stop before the line. His arm stretched out, securing me along with my seatbelt. “Sorry, sorry,” he rushed out.
I waited, but he didn’t go back to answering my question. Something buzzed in my chest. “Danielle seems really nice,” I said, turning to look out the passenger window. The sun had set during the last quarter of the football game, leaving the world navy as it held onto the dying light. “Who did you say she was dating, again?”
“My best friend.”
My fingers curled tighter around my varsity jacket. “He have a name?”
Was it just me, or did Logan hesitate? “Noah.”
I turned in surprise. “The guy from Expresso’s?” Therudeguy from Expresso’s? That was Logan’s best friend?The guy who hated Brentwood? “You seem so… different.”
Logan just smiled.
I studied him closer. The red traffic light illuminated the planes of his face, and all the golden highlights of him seemed so shadowy. “So why does he hate Brentwood so much?”
“Eh.” Logan raised a shoulder. “He’s got his own reasons. Why doyouhate Jefferson so much?”
The buzzing in my chest became more intense at his quick, lopsided glance over before the light turned green. He spoke so nonchalantly, and it was that nonchalance that had distracted me every time. I’d never realized Logan nevertrulyanswered any of my questions, just gave me barely enough and spun them back around.
It suddenly was hard to breathe. “What do you want to do after high school?”
“I haven’t really thought about it.”
“You’re a senior in high school, and you haven’t thought about life after?” My voice almost sounded pleading. “College? Trade school? Gap year?”Give me just a little bit of you.
“Why?” Logan slowed as he entered Brentwood’s city limits, looking over at me quickly before turning back to the road. “What doyouwant to do after high school? Do you plan to try and continue cheering?”
Something inside me snapped. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” His voice was bewildered.
