“That I believe,” I say quietly.
“Good.”
He’s been here a week and a half, and this is the first time I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse into the real Logan Evans. He’s struggling, like all DQs do, and they each handle it differently. He’s tried to hide it or maybe cope with it through his dry sense of humor. I suppose there are worse coping mechanisms. And I probably should have realized this earlier and been a better mentor.
“I can’t control most of your issues with this place,” I say, “but I’ll try to stop fighting with you. I don’t enjoy it, either. And I’ll try to be more lenient with your … sarcasm. But please be judicious in its use. I don’t want it coming across as being disrespectful to me or others.”
An unusual expression flits across his face—maybe surprise or appreciation. It was too quick to know for sure.
Then he gives me his trademark smirk as he says, “Can I roll my eyes again?”
I cringe.
“C’mon,” he says, knocking his elbow into me. “It’s nonverbal sarcasm.”
I rub my temples. This is going to cause me physical pain every time he does it. “Okay, fine. But please keep it to a minimum.”
“Did you just give in to something?”
“As hard as it may be for you to believe, I’m not completely unreasonable, especially if I see a DQ trying. I do understand how difficult it is the first few months.”
His smirk transforms into a genuine smile. “So I’ll work on showing more respect and you’ll better appreciate my sense of humor and we’ll both stop fighting?”
I nod. “Let’s get back to work … Logan.”
* * *
“Hey, Leah, you awake?” I whisper to the blue-and-white-striped mattress above me. Lights-out was twenty-five minutes ago, and we should both be asleep by now.
“Huh,” she replies groggily.
“Can I ask you a question? About Logan?”
Rather than answer, she climbs down from her bunk and plops herself in the middle of my bed, seeming much more awake than she was moments ago. I draw my legs to my chest and sit up, resting my chin on my knees. It’s dark, but I can just barely make out her face from the orange glow of my alarm clock. She’s smiling.
“It’s Logan now? Not Evans?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Oh, yeah, we had a … breakthrough in the gym tonight.”
“What kind of breakthrough?”
I readjust my position so I’m sitting cross-legged. “He let down his guard. Admitted to how hard this has been for him.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah, but it made me think I haven’t been as supportive as I could be,” I say with a sigh. Seeing all those emotions from him made me feel bad for him. And disappointed in myself.
“There’s a fine line between getting them where they need to be and being supportive,” Leah says.
“I don’t think I walked the line very well. I was all drill sergeant and no friend.”
“I wouldn’t be too hard on yourself. The dean put you in a difficult situation. Most DQs have two weeks of boot camp before being partnered with someone. I think all their anger comes out then, so it’s easier for us to be a friend afterward. You know, when they’ve quit fighting.”
I nod. “I guess so.”
“You got the angry, resistant Logan, the one the drill sergeant usually gets.”
I nod again. “Although I don’t think he’s angry or too resistant anymore. Just sad and lonely.”
“Resigned to the way things work around here?”
“Yeah, for the most part. He’s accepted it but doesn’t like it.”
“Then it seems like you gave him an appropriate boot camp under unusual circumstances.”
Maybe, though I still feel like I was too rough on him. And it’s not like all my other stress helped. Between my dad and the CFA, and Alex now wanting me to help him and some artist design new rank insignias, I’m constantly worried about something. I want to be a perfect mentor, I do, but apparently it’s not as easy as it used to be when I had fewer responsibilities. Unfortunately, poor Logan took the brunt of my anxiety.
“Anything else bothering you?” Leah asks.
“Mostly my dad and the CFA.”
“You’ll easily pass your CFA. And I told you to talk to your dad weeks ago.”
“I know,” I groan.
“He’s going to notice when August rolls around and you head to Colorado instead of Maryland.”
“Ugh,” I say, flopping back on my pillow and staring at the bottom of her mattress again. “What if he tells me I’m joining the Navy whether I like it or not.”
“I don’t think he’d do that.”
“You realize we’re talking about my dad, right?”
She pats my knee. “I know he’s kind of controlling, but this is important to you. He loves you and will want you to be happy.”
I wish I felt as optimistic as her, but he’s not “kind of” controlling—he’s thoroughly controlling. My dad was a Navy SEAL. My grandpa was a quartermaster in World War II. My great-grandpa was a gunner’s mate in World War I. I’m next. If I’m not marching around reciting “Forged by the Sea” next year, the whole Durant family line may come crashing down. In my dad’s eyes, at least.
“Plus, it’s not like you’re completely avoiding the military—you’re just going to a different branch.”
I hope she’s right, about my CFA and my dad. And Logan—the current reason why I’m not getting any sleep.
Sitting back up, I say, “So you don’t think I scarred Logan too much already?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, he seems pretty tough, though it sounds like he’s ready for a friend.”
“A friend,” I murmur, wondering about the chances of that happening. “Do you really think he and I can be friends?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“You’re just being optimistic, Leah, like you always are.”
“No,” she replies, shaking her head. “I really believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because I like both of you. And if I like both of you, then you should like each other. Isn’t that the transitive property or something?”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “You don’t even know him.”
“He’s in a couple of my classes. I know him a little. All right, I’ve got to get some sleep,” she says, swinging her legs over the edge of my bed, “but let me know if you’re having boy troubles again. Or dad troubles. Or any other troubles.”
“Thanks, Leah,” I reply with a smile as my mind starts to settle a little. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Logan and I can turn this all around and have a more typical mentor-mentee relationship.
We say good night to each other, and Leah climbs back into her bed. I close my eyes and try to forget about Logan for the moment so I can get some rest. Unfortunately, I end up tossing and turning for another hour, which is not like me. I’m usually exhausted from my packed day and immediately fall into a deep sleep. Right now, my body feels exhausted like usual, but my mind refuses to give in, instead replaying my earlier conversation with Logan and trying to figure out a way to make him less miserable while still maintaining appropriate cadet conduct. It’s what a friend would do, and I need to take on that role now. I owe it to him.