Focus - Logicality

Logan - We'll Have To Fix That(Part 1)

It hasn't even been 5 minutes since lunch started. I've just gotten out my books and my star charts when I hear a panicked cry of alarm, followed by a loud thud and what sounds like multiple stacks of toppling books. When I look up, the pair I remember as Virgil and Roman are digging through a huge pile of thick hardcover biographies that must have fallen from the empty cart nearby.

Pinned beneath the impossibly large mountain of books is a boy with naturally wavy, brownish-blonde hair and a gray cardigan tied around the shoulders of his light blue polo shirt. The clothing combination should look childish, but on him, it almost looks nostalgic; like the warm feeling of revisiting a favorite childhood memory. A large pair of wiry, circular glasses that are far too big for his small, round face partially obscure the spray of freckles that litter the bridge of his nose and spill onto his cheeks. He must be in my grade, because I'm pretty sure he's in my Astronomy class. His last name is Foster, or something like that. I don't remember his first name, but it was something irregular.

Before I can think better of it, I spring from my chair and help them excavate the boy.

"Are you okay, Patton?" Virgil asks. His name is Patton. Patton Foster. The name sends a rush of warm adrenaline--almost like hot cocoa on a cold day--through my body. It has no logical explanation, however, so I push it out of my mind.

"Yeah," Patton murmurs, rubbing his head. "My ankle is throbbing, though, and I'm pretty sure I bruised my head. Hardcover biographies are big and painful, and surprisingly sharp."

I extend a hand to help him up, as do Virgil and Roman. He interlocks his fingers with mine and help him gently to his feet, slide an arm under him as I do to support the majority of his weight just in case he injured his ankle in the fall. He did say it was throbbing, which may indicate a sprain.

I can't help but wonder why he'd choose me over his friends; maybe my hands were the closest. I doubt it means anything. When it comes time to let go, he releases me a second too late. I don't think I want to release his hand at all, so I don't mind.

"I can't help but wonder why you would be heading to the biography section of all places," I note. "Might I ask why this is?"

The boy, Patton, opens his mouth to speak; Roman, the cocky-looking one, beats him to it. "We could say the same to you."

"This is why I didn't want to bring you, Princey." Virgil elbows him. Roman starts to complain, but after an intense whisper-shouting argument with Virgil, he admits defeat. While they argue, I retreat a few steps and pretend to examine one of the books on a nearby shelf.

"I'll wait outside," Roman announces as he turns to leave.

"You were saying, Patton?" Virgil raises an eyebrow at the place where Roman was standing a few seconds prior.

"I didn't come for the biographies," he admits, blushing. "You're new, right? I saw you come in here, and I just wanted to make sure you had someone to sit with."

I look pointedly down at my star maps, cheeks flushing. Suddenly, illogically, my core temperature seems to spike upwards by approximately 50 thousand degrees. It feels like I'm burning up, or maybe melting. Am I sick? No, I'm not sick. This is illogical. Very illogical, and...emotional? This likely has something to do with emotions. I don't care to figure out what.

"Thank you, but--" I start. Patton takes a step forward and I'm interrupted by a panicked squeal as he falls again. This time, I catch him easily. I'm not sure how I crossed the span of seven feet in a matter of seconds, but suddenly I'm right beside him supporting his weight.

I motion for Virgil to take my place while I bend down to examine his ankle. I touch it gently and he winces, letting out another pained whimper. Virgil bares his teeth protectively, but Patton waves him away and he nods warily.