Dangerous Boy

by Hubbard, Mandy

  I flip to a page and see Logan holding a trophy.

  “That was the last year we both did soccer. They split me and Daemon up onto different teams, and in the final game, we ended up playing against each other.” Logan looks up and our eyes meet. “My dad cheered for me, Harper. Only me.”

  He looks back down and flips the page, and it’s a birthday party, an enormous cake sitting between Daemon and Logan. “Our sixteenth birthday was three weeks later. My dad got us the same gifts, but afterward, he gave me a watch his father had given him. He said he only had one, and that it would have to be our secret.”

  “But it wasn’t…”

  He shakes his head. “Daemon found it a month later in my room. That was the final straw for him. He got into a screaming match with my dad, and they almost lost it. I thought they’d throw punches for sure.”

  “They didn’t make up after that?”

  Logan snaps the book shut. “My dad died two months later.”

  Oh. I rub my hand on Logan’s arm. “How?”

  “A heart attack,” he says. “He was only forty-two.”

  Wow. I had no idea.

  “All this just happened a year ago?” I ask.

  “Yeah.” He stares down at the photo album, chewing his lip.

  “And your mom…”

  “She just died eight months ago.”

  I can hear the loneliness, the heartbreak, in his voice. The pain is so recent, so close to the surface, big and gaping and raw.

  “She was having such a hard time with my dad’s death, and Daemon was getting into more and more trouble at school. My mom told us to pack an overnight bag and that we were going to stay at some nice place on the beach, just get away from it all for a little while.”

  “But you didn’t make it,” I say.

  “No. It was storming, and the road we took was winding, with this rocky cliff side. A deer came out of nowhere and she swerved, and we went right off the edge. The car rolled twice and then hit a tree on the driver’s side. It completely smashed where my mom was sitting. I came to a day later, in the hospital. She was gone, and I went from having a real family to…” His voice breaks. “To just me and Daemon.”

  “If this was last spring, why didn’t you come to Enumclaw sooner?”

  “We stayed with some friends in Cedar Cove until my uncle bought the house here. We finished out the last two months of our sophomore year in Oregon. Of course, Daemon still screwed that up and got expelled, which is why he’s homeschooled now.”

  “I had no idea all this was so recent.”

  Logan twists his hands in his lap. “I know. I don’t like to talk about it. But I couldn’t let you think that I screwed up so badly at Evan’s Creek because I’m reckless and don’t care about you. All I want to do is to protect you.” He turns toward me so our knees touch, pulling my hand into his lap. My head spins with the things he’s saying, with the familiar feel of the warmth of his skin. “It was like I just…got lost in the memory of it. If you hadn’t smacked my arm, snapped me out of it, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  “Look at me,” I say. When he looks up at me, I see the raw pain swimming in his eyes. “I’m not going to go anywhere. But you need to be more honest with me about this stuff. I need to know you. Inside and out.”

  Logan nods.

  “Why was he expelled?” I ask.

  Logan is silent for a long moment, and I think he’s going to refuse the question, but then he says, “There was a fight. At a party. It escalated, and some people got hurt. I’ll tell you all the details, eventually. But can that just be enough for now?”

  I purse my lips. I want to say no, want to push for more, but for the first time, Logan’s giving me information, and I know I should let it all come out on its own time. He’s already bared his soul enough for one day.

  “Okay. But I still think we need to sit down with Daemon, demand that he stop harassing me. I got three more Facebook messages today. They need to stop.”

  “If you knew him, you wouldn’t want to sit down with him at all.”

  “I met him that once. I know enough. But he needs to hear it from me—from both of us—that he has to leave us alone, that I’m not going anywhere.” The solemn expression in Logan’s eyes changes to one of relief. “And if he doesn’t want to listen, we have to talk to your uncle or take another step.”

  “Really?” he asks.

  “Really what?”

  He leans in, his eyes so intense, so eager, I can’t look away. “You’re really not going anywhere?”

  I smile back at him. “Of course not.”

  Logan twists on his stool, so our knees are touching. When his fingers find the back of my neck, gently pull me closer, I don’t resist.

  I lean in and kiss him, relishing the warmth of his lips. A long moment later, he rests his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes.

  “You think you’re alone, but my mom’s gone too,” I say, forcing my voice to remain level. “And my dad barely pays attention to me.”

  The silence stretches on for an excruciating moment, and Logan squeezes my knee. It’s such a tiny gesture, and yet somehow, it means everything.

  “So she was adventurous?” he asks, softly.

  I nod. “Yeah. The polar opposite of me. I always took after my dad, and we basically watched her from the sidelines, you know?

  He leans into me, pulls me against him, and I exhale a shaky breath.

  “I need you as much as you need me,” I say.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  “For?”

  “For seeing the real me and none of the bullshit. For opening yourself up to me. For being you.”

  I blush, feeling warm all over as I sink into him. We sit in silence for a while, the house dark and quiet, until my eyes are dry and we’re just…comfortable again, no weird tension between us. He stands, pushing his stool back and standing. “Can we take a raincheck on the Daemon meeting? I think you’ve had enough excitement. We can get together with him next weekend.”

  I purse my lips, nodding.

  “Okay, well, I gotta get home, but I’ll see you tomorrow at school, right?”

  I sigh. “Yeah.”

  “Big day.”

  “Big speech,” I say.

  “You’re going to be amazing.” He kisses me one last time, then goes to the door. “Just remember. Picture everyone in their underwear.”

  I laugh, and it breaks the lingering tension.

  “Okay then, later,” he says, slipping out the front door.

  I stand and walk to the window, watching him pull out in his Jeep. After the taillights disappear, I turn away and walk to the back of the house, on my way to the kitchen. As I pass the back door, something catches my eye, and I backtrack.

  There’s a red rose tied to the screen door with a black ribbon, something rolled up under the bow.

  My stomach plummets, and I step onto the porch, pulling the rose off the handle with shaky hands. I glance around, half expecting to see someone watching, waiting. But I’m alone.

  I unroll the photo, smoothing it out against my leg. As soon as I see what it is, though, I snatch my hand away like I’ve been burned, dropping the photo to the floor.

  It’s a photo of me, taken from a wide-angle lens. I’m standing next to my car, wearing the gray hoodie I wore a few days ago. Its fuzziness makes me wonder if it was taken from far away.

  But there’s nothing fuzzy about the meaning: someone really is watching me.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Logan and I sit in politics the next day, side by side, as my stomach twists and turns. We’re only a few minutes from walking down the hall to the other classroom to give our speeches. Mr. Patricks is currently writing the numbers one, two, and three on scraps of paper to determine our speech order.

  As he drops the slips of paper into the bowl and walks up to Madison’s desk, I rip out my own piece of paper and scribble down a note for Logan.

  I found another ros
e.

  Logan reads the note, then glances up, his eyes wide and concerned. He scribbles something down and slides it back.

  Anything attached?

  He pushes it in front of me, studying my expression as I read it.

  Yeah. A photo of me. Like someone’s following me. And I found the rose AT MY HOUSE.

  I slide the note back, watching as Logan furrows his brow. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to this. I reach out, grab the paper, and scribble down, Do you think it was Daemon?

  Logan reads the note, glancing up at me briefly, then writes, He’s not like that. He wouldn’t go to all the effort.

  I slide the pen from his hand. You didn’t see how he was in the basement. Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think you do.

  Logan reads the note, his eyes narrowed as he taps the pen on the desk, like he doesn’t know what to write in response. “I guess that just leaves one piece of paper,” Mr. Patricks announces, jarring my focus back to him, where he’s standing at the front of the class, holding up a scrap of paper. “Harper, you’re the lucky winner. You’ll give your speech first.”

  All thoughts of Daemon flee my mind as my stomach jumps into my throat. I think I might throw up.

  “You can do this,” Logan whispers.

  I nod, fishing a stack of note cards out of my backpack.

  “Okay guys, let’s head down to room 203, shall we?”

  My stomach lurches again as I get up and follow the trail of classmates into the hallway.

  “You’re going to do great,” Logan says, coming up beside me. “You already faced two of your fears, right?”

  I want to point out that neither occasion went smoothly, but I resist the urge.

  Logan squeezes my arm. “Just read from the cards and glance up occasionally. We know our platform is more creative. There’s no way it’s not going to be more popular with the students. Just stick to what we rehearsed.”

  I nod, wishing it wasn’t so hard to hear him over my thundering heart.

  When we walk into room 203, I take in a deep, shaky breath. Lucas, Madison, and I walk to the front, where a long table with three chairs faces the class.

  Half of my classmates end up seated on the floor or standing in the back, because there aren’t enough chairs for everyone. Logan, meanwhile, manages to squeeze into the last empty chair near me and the other presenters.

  I take the seat at the far right, next to Madison. She leans over, flashing me a smile that sends butterflies raging to life. “I can’t wait to watch you humiliate yourself,” she mutters.

  Mr. Patricks walks to the front of the room, then turns to address the students. “Thank you, everyone, for accommodating us today. As you’ve probably heard, our first period politics class is running a mock election. Seated before you are our three candidates, and they are each here today to give you an outline of their campaigns. Please pay attention to their speeches. Soon, you will be given the opportunity to vote for one of these candidates.”

  Mr. Patrick turns to our table. “So without further ado, Harper, you may begin.”

  I gulp, shakily gathering my cards up as heat creeps into my cheeks.

  Madison leans over, whispering under her breath, “Don’t screw up.”

  When she sits back, her smile is cruel.

  I look around the rest of the classroom, desperate to overcome the feeling that there’s a hot spotlight shining down on me. Two dozen eyes stare back at me, watching me. And for one second, I forget where I am, thinking of something—of someone—else who seems to be watching me. I think of the roses. Of the pictures.

  When my gaze lands on Logan, I push away all thoughts of the flowers from a would-be stalker. He smiles encouragingly and mouths, You can do it.

  The strange thing is that as I stare into his eyes, I actually believe it. Then, before I know it, the first few words of my speech are out of my mouth. “Um, my name is Harper Bennett and I am running as an independent candidate.”

  I clear my throat and quickly glance down at my cards. “My platform is based around student life. And I can promise you that if I’m elected, your daily experiences as a student will improve.”

  My hands are visibly shaking, making it hard to read my cards. I force my fingers to release their death grip as I glance up at Logan. He’s nodding encouragingly and it gives me a burst of confidence. “Washington State law provides for longer break times than EHS currently offers. If elected, I plan to campaign to increase our break times.”

  Someone in the back whoops, and I smile for the first time since I walked into the room. Beside me, Madison huffs under her breath, like the mere idea of someone rooting for me is ridiculous.

  “Further, as your president, I would approach local restaurants such as Frankie’s Pizza to discuss the idea of allowing them a space in our cafeteria. This would increase student options for lunch without costing the school district any money.”

  A few people in the back clap, and I meet Logan’s eyes. I told you so, he mouths.

  As I smile back at him, I realize he’s right. Maybe this list of mine isn’t just a list of fears. Maybe it is a to-do list.

  And maybe with Logan’s help, I can cross off each one.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  From the cracked vinyl driver’s side seat of my battered old car, I lean across the console, arranging a couple of grocery bags on the passenger side floorboard. When the alarm of a nearby car chirps, I glance up. It’s Logan, decked out in a tracksuit and ball cap—stuff he never wears—walking toward me as he skirts a puddle. The rain pours down so hard he’s hunched over, chin tucked into his jacket.

  It only takes an instant to realize it’s not Logan.

  It’s Daemon.

  And even though I’ve been waiting to confront him, I can’t help but shrink down in my seat, so that only the top of my head pokes over the window. I watch as Daemon climbs into a dark SUV—one that I think belongs to his uncle—just two spots away from me, slamming the door hard behind him.

  He starts the car and backs it out of the stall, his headlights illuminating my car for a heart-stopping moment. I freeze, hoping he didn’t see me, hoping the raindrops trickling down my window were enough to blur my face.

  As Daemon pulls away, my eyes lock onto the oversized chrome grill on the front of the car. It’s bent in the middle, caved in.

  A wave of horror washes over me.

  It was a dark SUV that hit Bick. The grill could be bent because he rammed into Bick’s truck.

  I sit upright, twisting the key in the ignition and sliding the car into drive. Without a second thought, I turn to follow Daemon, turning onto Roosevelt Avenue just as the light turns green.

  My heart feels strange and fluttery, my nerves wound up, but I can’t seem to stop myself from following him as he turns again, down a back road.

  “Where are you going?” I mumble to myself. His house is on the opposite side of town, and as far as I know, he has no friends in Enumclaw. How would he make them when he’s homeschooled?

  I maintain a good quarter-mile between us as I follow him, my hands gripping the wheel so hard it’s almost painful. As he pulls up to a four-way stop, he seems to accidently hit his brights, because they flash a moment before his blinker clicks on and he turns left.

  I slow as he turns, and wait a moment longer at the four-way stop so that he’ll get further ahead. I don’t want to lose him, but I really don’t want him to realize he’s being followed.

  While I’m waiting, I glance up at the stop sign, shining under the lamplight, and realize it’s new. The original must have been one of the ones that went missing.

  I glance back down the street and decide it’s safe to follow at this distance. Still, I wish we weren’t the only ones on the road. It seems so glaringly obvious that I’m following him, but I can’t seem to resist. Daemon’s up to something, and I want to know what.

  By the time he makes it to a second stop sign, I’m only a few hundred yards back. This time, I can
see that he stops just shy of the sign and doesn’t immediately flip on his blinker, just waits.

  My stomach climbs into my throat. There are no turns between me and that sign. If I keep going, I’m going to come to a stop right behind him, bumper to bumper.

  I glance at the locks on my door and wonder if I should just whip a U-turn rather than catch up with him.

  But then he flashes his brights again, and the white-striping on the stop sign reflects the light. He flips on his right blinker and heads down the next road.