When my phone starts ringing and Logan's name appears in the caller ID, I know exactly what he's going to say. I know because Patton sent a stream of frantic, despondent texts to Roman and I five minutes prior. I know what he should ask and won't because he confided in me yesterday over text that there are only four people in his contacts: me, Roman, Patton and his dad, because this is the first time in 12 years he's attempted to make friends. He also told me how he used to feel about making friends, and I find it understandable considering what happened to his mom.
Instead of answering Logan's call, I text him saying that Roman and I will be there in five minutes. When he says it's unnecessary, I tell him to shut up and power my phone off before realizing that I'm in the middle of consoling a desperately confused and angry Patton over text. I power it back on and simply ignore Logan's texts with the alibi of having turned my phone off, which technically is not a lie. He doesn't have to know that I turned it back on. I tell Patton that I have to go--this is also technically not a lie--and ask if we can finish this in an hour or two, then power my phone off for real this time.
Roman, who is sitting next to me on my bed and reading over my shoulder, immediately starts complaining, but I tell him to shut up and then shout down the stairs to my parents that I'm going to Roman's house. Why don't my parents know Roman is here? Why didn't I warn them? Because I didn't know, either. He climbed in through my window--which I need to stop leaving open so he'll stop seeing it as a viable option--about five minutes ago.
Why did Roman climb in through the window without telling his parents or mine where he was going, leaving me to explain to his frantic mother over text that yes, he arrived here five minutes ago and no, I didn't know he was coming? Because Roman wouldn't know foresight if it bit him in the ass. And I should know; I asked him when he came in if he'd ever heard of foresight, sarcastically of course, and he asked me what it meant. I don't know how he passed the ACT with decent marks--he told me that he guessed on a third of the answers, and it's because he's a good guesser.
I tell Roman to go back out through the window, then say good-bye to my parents and exit through the front door, only to realize that my keys are in the pocket of my hoodie, which I took off along with my crop top before Roman arrived, because my parents were busy and I wasn't expecting anyone. When he tumbled through the window and crashed onto the carpeted floor, I was sprawled out on my bed, wearing nothing but a pair of tattered boxer shorts, scrolling through Tumblr. That's when I realize that my crop top and jeans are also sitting on my bed and I'm still shirtless. I sprint back up to my room to find that my hoodie and my crop are gone. Thankfully, my jeans are still there, so I pull them on quickly.
I stick my head out the window to see Roman and 8-year-old sister, Camille, sitting on the grass together laughing. Roman has the hoodie in one hand and the crop top in the other and Camille is holding my car keys and the camera I bought her for her birthday. If I didn't know better, I'd say that the camera is surgically attached to her hand. I roll my eyes and, still wearing nothing but my underwear and ripped black skinny jeans, climb out through my second-story window, purple hair blowing in the wind. When I'm about 10 feet from the ground, I let myself drop, crashing down on top of Roman with stunning accuracy.
Camille, bewildered, tackles me and pulls me into a hug. Laughing, she hands me my car keys. "Here, Vee. You earned it. Also, I took pictures." She smirks the smirk I taught her when she was 6 and hands me her camera. Sure enough, there are pictures of me sticking my head out the window, pictures of me climbing and falling and landing on Roman. Camille is a good photographer, especially for an 8-year-old.
"Will you delete those, sweetheart?" I give Camille my best puppy dog eyes.
"What's the magic word, Vee?" She asks sweetly.
"Please?" I guess.
"No." She takes her camera back and turns it off, hanging the strap from her neck. "The magic word is I'm developing them and you can't stop me."
"I'll pay you twenty dollars for them," Roman laughs as he hands me my clothing.
"Deal!" Camille hugs him. Twenty dollars is more money than she's ever owned.
"You're encouraging this?" I demand, shoving Roman playfully. He nods and pokes my bare chest. I pull my top and hoodie on quickly then turn to Camille. "Don't learn anything from him, okay?" I motion to Roman.
She just smiles. "I like shirtless Vee better than regular Vee." Seeing the stunned look on my face, she quickly adds, "sorry. Roman said he'd give a dollar if I say that." I turn and glare at Roman, who is fishing through his wallet. He pulls out a dollar and hands it to Camille.
"Stop bribing Camille!" I shout. "You're tainting my sister!" My face is beet red, but we're all laughing, even me. Princey raises his hands in the air as a sign of surrender. "Camille, we need to go, okay?" I take on a calmer tone. "Mom and dad won't know about these pictures, right?"
She just winks noncommittally and gives me finger guns. Dammit! I taught her that too. I hug Camille one last time and drag Roman off to my car. When Camille tries to follow us, I tell her that I'll pick her up from school tomorrow and take her out for ice cream if she stays home and doesn't tell mom and dad what happened. Thankfully, our high school lets out an hour earlier than her primary school. She tells me that Roman has to come, too and that she still wants to give him the pictures in exchange for 20 dollars. I agree begrudgingly and drag Princey off to the car. As I pull out of the driveway, he's giving me that stare. I can't see it--I'm focusing on driving--but I can feel it. Smirking, he opens his mouth to speak. I cut him off before he can start.
"Not a word, Princey," I growl. "Not a word." He just laughs, then we sit in silence until I pull into Logan's driveway. I turn off the car and shove the keys back into my pocket, then allow my hands to rest on the steering wheel. My head flops back against the head-rest and I squeeze my eyes shut attempting to slow my fast, shallow breaths. Princey lays a hand on one of mine and squeezes it lightly.
"Are you okay, love?" He asks gently.
"I'm fine, babe. Just a little stressed." A lie and an understatement respectively. Princey must sense this, because he exits the car without a word, walking around to the drivers' side door. He opens it then takes my hand and helps me out. Instead of releasing my hand as I expect, he sits down and pulls me onto his lap. Instead of complaining as I usually do, I close my eyes and lean into him, letting him hug me. I have nothing against helping my friends through emotional problems, but it's tiring and stressful. That's why it's usually Patton's job, because he likes feelings and seems to have an infinite well of patience to draw from. He's also a hell of a lot less anxious than I am; the gift of common sense is my blessing and curse, but it's a blessing and curse that my friends, with the possible exception of Logan, distinctly lack. I've told Roman all of this in the past, so he knows exactly what's wrong.
"It'll be okay, love," Roman murmurs, startling me out of my thoughts. "It'll be okay. Let's go help Logan, all right? Then you can go back to consoling Patton and stressing yourself out while I inevitably end up observing your aesthetically pleasing form and attempting to calm you down and convince you to stop overextending yourself." I nod mutely and squeeze his hand, trying to draw upon his seemingly infinite well of mental strength as we stand slowly and make our way to the door. After all, this was my idea.
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Focus - Logicality
FanfictionIt's hard enough being the new gay junior at a hole-in-the-wall homophobic high school, and Logan doesn't need such illogical things as love, friendship, or even feelings to muck up the one thing he has left: his meticulously-crafted master plan for...
