A few moments later Mom opened my door and peered in at me. “Logan Hansen is here to see you.”
“Why?”
Mom shrugged. “The guys who come to see you generally don’t give me lengthy explanations when I let them in. Why don’t you go downstairs and ask him.”
If it had been anyone else in the world, I would have told my mother to send him away. Santa Claus himself could have shown up to explain his whereabouts since my childhood, and I would have turned him out.
But somehow I wanted to see Logan, or at least I wanted to know why he’d come by.
Before I left, I checked my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were puffy, but there was nothing I could do about that. I trudged down the stairs. Logan was waiting for me by the front door.
“I suppose you think I look beautiful,” I said.
“I do.” He nodded toward the coat closet. “Get your jacket. If we catch an early dinner, we’ll have time for a movie.”
“I thought we weren’t going out till Saturday.”
He shrugged. “You need someone to cheer you up today.” My eyes were swollen, and I didn’t want to pretend I was in an upbeat mood. “Thanks, Logan, but I don’t think tonight will work out.”
“Why not?”
I said the only thing I could think of. “I’ve got homework to do.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Now you want to get serious about your schoolwork? Now, when I’m trying to take you out?”
I smiled despite myself. Somehow Logan made me feel as though things could be normal again. Suddenly I did want to go out with him, but still I hesitated.
“Go on,” he said. “Get your jacket, purse, and all that girl stuff you women lug around on dates. I’ve got reservations at the Hilltop, and they won’t hold the window seats forever.”
I found myself walking up the stairs to get my things, even though I still hadn’t quite decided to go with him.
“Bring your homework along too,” he called after me. “We’ll work on it while we wait for dinner.”
“And to think I accused you of not knowing how to be romantic,” I called back. I went to my room and picked up my jacket and purse but left my homework on my desk.
When I came back downstairs, he was leaning against the doorway. “I know how to be romantic. I thought I’d already proven that to you.”
“Oh yeah, at the prom, when you told me I was cliquish.”
“If you recall, I said other things too.”
“Some of which made me step on your foot.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I remember that. You’d better not wear heels tonight.”
I called to my mom that I was going to dinner with Logan, and she yelled back, “Don’t stay out too late.”
Then Logan opened the front door for me, and we walked to his car. I got in silently, and so did he. Perhaps neither of us felt like small talk. I stared out the window as he pulled into the street and wondered if we’d drive all the way to the restaurant without speaking.
Finally he said, “You know, Samantha, being president would have been nice, but you have a lot of other opportunities to do things with our class next year. And if you want to go into politics, you’ll have other chances. Just remember, Abraham Lincoln lost half a dozen elections before he won the presidency.”
I wondered, but I didn’t ask, what Lincoln’s SAT scores had been.
Instead, I fiddled with the safety belt strap on my lap and decided I’d better tell Logan the truth about my political ambitions, or I’d have to endure an entire evening of presidential triumph stories.
I looked at the safety belt latch and not at Logan. “It’s nice of you to try and cheer me up, but I just ran for president so I’d have a better chance of getting into a good college. I have no idea how I’m going to be accepted anywhere decent now.”
He looked over at me for a moment, then turned his attention back to the road.
“That’s it? That’s the only reason you wanted to be president? I stood on the steps and told people to vote for you all because you wanted something impressive to put on your college application?”
He had a way of always making everything seem so bad. “It was your idea,” I said.
“You were the one who told me they look at your leadership qualifications.”
He shook his head and let out a sigh. I thought he’d break into some sort of lecture, but instead he said, “Well, you can always put down that you’re head cheerleader.”
“They’d count that?”
“They count a lot of stuff. Of course, you’re still going to have to study to pull up your grades and get a decent SAT score.”
“But what if it still isn’t enough?”
“Well, then you go where you can get admitted and get good grades so you can transfer to the school you want to go to.”
It wouldn’t have been my choice of answers. I would have preferred Logan to offer up a magic solution, something quick, easy, and painless; but I knew it cou ldn’t be that way.
This was one of those things only hard work would solve.
“Your friends can help you study,” he said.
“Yeah. My friends are such study-holics.”
“Not your cheerleading friends. I’m talking about your other friends. Me, for example.”
He was my friend? Good news. “All right. When do you like to study?”
He pulled into the Hilltop parking lot, and in a completely serious voice said, “Mostly on Friday nights.”
“Friday nights?”
“I know it’s your big date night, but you’ll just have to tell the Brads and Joshes of the world that you have more important things to do.”
He got out of the car, then went around and opened the door for me with a flourish.
He waved a hand toward the restaurant and with a French accent said, “Mademoiselle, your lobster awaits.” Then as I climbed out he gave me a killer smile.
I looked over at him suspiciously. “Why are you being so nice to me? Last weekend you told me you didn’t even like me.”
He shut the car door, but didn’t walk toward the restaurant. “I never said I didn’t like you.”
“You said I was insulting, annoying, and thought only about myself.”
“But I never said I didn’t like you.”
I tilted my head at him and crossed my arms. “It’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not, because even when you were insulting, annoying, and thought only about yourself, I still couldn’t help but like you. That was one of the reasons you were so annoying.”
“Romance, and now flattery too. How did I ever let you go the first time?”
I started to walk toward the restaurant, but he reached out, took my hand, and pulled me back to where he stood. His voice was suddenly serious. “You’ve changed, Samantha, and so have I. I think it’s a good change, don’t you?”
I didn’t know exactly what he was referring to, and yet I knew exactly what he meant.
“Yes,” I said.
He put his hands on my waist, pulled me closer, and right there in the restaurant parking lot, he kissed me. And it wasn’t a friendship kiss, either. It was tender and real, and utterly romantic. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him back.
After a moment Logan seemed to remember we were in a parking lot, and he let me go but kept hold of my hand.
My heart was still pounding against my chest, and I didn’t know what to say next.
Finally I smiled up at him. “Do you still want me to go out with Doug?”
He smiled back at me. “I’d rather die first.”
I laughed, and suddenly I felt like everything had worked out exactly as it was supposed to. Logan squeezed my hand and said, “Poor Doug.”
“Poor Veronica,” I agreed, and squeezed his hand back.
THE END