“This is good information,” he says underlining something on his pad three times. “Anything else?
“He shows appropriate respect for—” I’m about to say superiors, but he still has his moments with me, like fifteen minutes ago. “Our instructors,” I finish. That’s true.
“Okay, great. I’ll continue to check in to see how he’s doing. Do you mind if I reach out to you again?”
“No, not at all.”
We shake hands again, and then he leaves. I lean against the fence and watch Logan on the track. At least he’s doing better now, so I had some good things to share. Part of me feels a little guilty about leaving out the video game incident and his bouts of disrespect, but honestly, how relevant are those now? His disrespect is only directed at me and Alex. It doesn’t seem fair to potentially hurt his future over a few eye rolls and middle fingers when he never committed the original crime in the first place. If he had, I’m sure I’d be more inclined to be completely open with the lawyer.
Of course I would.
CHAPTER 16
LOGAN
It’s study hall, and I just finished tutoring a sophomore in algebra, which leaves me about an hour to finish my own homework. Luckily, there’s not much tonight—just some physics problems and a few chapters for my literature class.
As I’m finishing the problems, Paige comes strolling in to the library. She often studies here and will usually sit near me. I’m still shocked by how nothing changed after our almost kiss. It’s like it never even happened, which is good.
Even more surprising is how Paige admitted she thinks I’m good-looking. Okay, she said she likes my smile and eyes, but I’m assuming that can be extrapolated to my looks as a whole. Maybe not. Maybe it really is just my smile and eyes. Even so, those aren’t bad parts of you to be attractive. It’s certainly better than your feet or ears.
Luckily, I didn’t have to admit to anything. Saying I’m beginning to find her hotter and hotter the more time we spend together would feel like I’m cheating on Lora. Instead, I try to ignore it. Some days it’s easier than others. Civilian clothes days are rough.
“Hey,” she whispers as she pulls out a chair across from me and lowers herself into it.
“You’re later than usual.”
“My dad sent me this great book. I started reading it earlier today and couldn’t put it down.”
“Yeah? What kind of book?”
“Nonfiction.”
“Shhh!” says the one other guy sitting at our table as he sends a nasty glare our way.
“Sorry,” Paige mouths to the guy. To me, she whispers, “I read mostly history, but I like memoirs, too.”
Of course she reads boring shit, not best sellers. “So what was this riveting book about?” I whisper.
“A woman who held the record for the fastest known time on the Appalachian Trail. She did it in forty-six days—Maine to Georgia. Can you even imagine?”
“No.”
The guy from earlier slams his book shut and sends another glare in our direction before moving to a desk at the back of the room.
Paige leans across the table and says more quietly, “She averaged forty-seven miles a day. That’s almost two marathons each day.”
“I’d die on day one.”
She laughs and drags her backpack onto the table. “Not if you trained beforehand. I think I’d like to try it sometime. Can you imagine how awesome it’d feel to accomplish something like this?”
“Nope. I can’t even imagine thinking about doing something so crazy.”
She smiles as she pulls a textbook out of her bag. “You need more ambition.”
“If I can get a job that puts food in my stomach, clothes on my back, and gas in the car, I’m good.”
“There’s got to be some big goal you have in life?”
“Nope.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope.”
“Become fluent in a foreign language?”
I shake my head.
“Travel to every continent?”
“No.”
“Get a black belt in karate?”
I give her a sideways glance. That sounds more like a goal she’d have.
“Nothing? Absolutely nothing?”
“I mean … I guess a goal is graduating from Wallingford and staying out of jail.”
“Well, at least that’s something, but goals should be about setting a high bar for yourself, not a bare-minimum bar.”
I shrug. “There are two kinds of people in life—the Paiges and the Logans. I’m totally comfortable with who I am and see no reason to improve upon what is already perfection,” I say, waving my hands down my body like a game-show model. “You, on the other hand, seem to have serious self-esteem issues with your need for constant self-improvement.”
She rolls her eyes.
She freaking rolls her eyes.
My mouth drops open and I point my finger at her.
“What?” she whispers.
“You rolled your eyes.”
“No, I didn’t. I would never do that.”
“You did! I swear.” I am rubbing off on her. Miss Proper is starting to crack and turn into a normal teen right before my very eyes.
With a shake of her head, she says, “You’re delusional, too, in addition to being ‘perfect.’”
“At least we’re in agreement on my perfection.” I give her a wink as I open my book. She has to know I didn’t mean anything I said. I’m about as far from perfection as one can be, and I’ve never met someone with more self-esteem than her.
She meets my eyes and offers me a small smile before starting on her own physics problems. I try to focus on my book—1984—but I’ve already read it twice. Instead, my eyes are repeatedly drawn up to watch Paige. She taps her pencil on the table as she reads the problem, and I immediately recognize the rhythm. Her lips silently move to the lyrics of the song, and I wonder if she has a good singing voice.
I’d love to see her at a school dance, letting loose. Back when we first met, I’d have sworn she would never let loose, but I’m beginning to think there’s a wilder Paige under the regimented facade that has been perfected over the years. It’s been suppressed and pushed deeper and deeper, but it’s not totally gone yet.
Maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to see it someday.
* * *
I erase my answer and start over. This is an easy problem, so I don’t know why I’m having difficulty. Scratch that—my lack of sleep last night is why. Paige convinced me to read that damn memoir, and I was up until one in the morning finishing it. She was right—it was riveting. I still have no desire to speed walk the Appalachian Trail, but it did make me feel a little lazy. Okay, a lot lazy. I could probably run a little farther during athletic time or do a few more reps in the weight room.
I roll my neck and take a deep breath. On top of being tired, I have a kink in my neck from trying to hold the book and a flashlight under my covers after lights-out. I really need to invest in one of those clip-on book lights if I plan on continuing to be rebellious. Of course, it’d probably be confiscated during our room inspection since I’m sure Jernigan would figure out its purpose.