"Why, Carlos, why? Why did you have to take Honors? 'I can handle it' my ass. Why did you have to spend the entire class muttering Spanish phrases at that girl? God, I am so screwed. So very screwed." I thought. Anxiety settled to misery, and I threw my head unto the table in the student lounge. "Ow, ow. Okay, okay, bad idea." I thought, letting out a small moan of despair. I then heard squeaking and saw a pair of patent leather shoes appear at my right.
"Hey, man, this is a library, so can you please shut-" I cut whoever it was, probably a teacher, with another groan, really not prepared for a lecture on my third day at school.
"Alright, what's wrong with you?" A rough, but surprisingly small, hand grabbed my shoulder and jerked me up to face them. I blinked. The face staring back at me was young. It was a kid. Not a teacher but dressed like one. Black hair side-parted and neatly combed, brown eyes, mint green oxford shirt…Logan, Logan Mitchell, was staring at me like I was a moron. "Damn, don't say the name." I scolded my self silently. "Wait, James can't hear your thoughts. Holy crap- man up." While I was having this conversation with myself, Logan's face grew more impatient.
"Well?" He asked. I didn't have a response prepared, I just stuttered.
"I- l-l-look, I'm n-not s-s" His eyes narrowed, but not dangerously, more in thought, and his eyes drifted to the pile of make-up work I had to do. "Is it this?" He asked, holding up the work.
"Oh, god. Do" he began slowly, as if speaking to a slow person "you-" he pointed at me "speak" he pointed to his mouth, "English?" he pronounced slowly, and then as an afterthought, "Ingles?"
I blinked, shaking my head, trying to find words.
"Yes!" I snapped indignantly, making a grab for my homework that he was rifling through "I speak Ingles," I sneered, "perfectly fine, thank you." He took a step back from my grabbing hands, and let out a laugh.
"Ms. Grislow, youch, she's a bear." He pulled a chair up, and sat beside me. I raised my eyebrows. "Here I'll help…" He said, pulling his bag off his shoulder, setting it on the ground.
"You'll…you'll what?" I asked with a mix of confusion, anger, and a bit of surprise.
"Help" he pronounced slowly, making fun of…himself, I think. "This," he picked up my book, "is shite. Let me show you what'll really help."
"Who says I want your help?" I spat, faintly thinking of James, trying to be a good friend. But, really, the kid looked smart…
"Well, you weren't getting far on your own…" He said, pointing to the place where my head had lain.
I huffed, but didn't say a word, as I knew I would get farther with his help. He pulled a sleek laptop from his bag, my jaw might have dropped, it looked really expensive.
"Dude, where'd you get that?" I pointed to it's sleek silver body.
"This old thing?" He asked, holding it up "my mom." His smile shifted to something mildly…proud, his tone lifting at the word 'mom.' He set it on the table, shoving my stuff to the side.
"It really is old," he said, mildly fondly, "had it almost six years. It was a gift when I started Middle School, haven't changed the background since Katie-" he paused, pulling himself off topic, "well, anyway…"
It booted up so quickly, the start screen appeared almost immediately. He logged on quickly, his desktop appearing. He shifted the computer slightly, almost so I couldn't see, but I could, and he attempted to start Chrome quickly, but it wasn't connected to the Internet, so I got a good look at the background aforementioned.
"Awh- it's so cute!" I careened, staring at the collage pasted together by a young child. "Did your sister make it?" I asked, pulling the computer towards me.
He made a grab for it, but with no use.
"My almost sister." He laughed, but it quickly fell, "well, used to be, I guess. An old friend's baby sister. I scanned it in 6th grade, haven't changed it since…" His sentence fell off by I guess the look on my face. My eyes widened, it couldn't possibly be…
At the center of the collage was a picture of a much younger Logan, sitting in a wheel chair with a broken leg, which wasn't completely unusual, but the people surrounding him… I was so sure I was staring at a younger James, the James Diamond, leaning on the handles, grinning down at Logan, and Kendall, the Kendall Schmidt, with a seven year old on his shoulders, holding a trophy of some sort triumphantly. I began to look at the other pictures. A really small James and Logan covered in frosting, Kendall, James and Logan holding skateboards, young Kendall soaking wet, James laughing, Logan throwing a firecracker, the boys by a cabin, Kendall with the girl on his back with Logan on James' back, Kendall and Logan throwing water balloons...so many more, so many memories in the fifteen inch, crudely made collage. There were others in the pictures, but the most recurring faces were in fact the boys that weren't talking to each other now. I turned to him "what happened? Is that…?" I asked quietly, and he snatched the computer, his eyes clouded.
"Look, maybe I should get going…" He grabbed his bag off the ground, making for the exit.
"Logan! Logan, wait." I grabbed unto his forearm, "I w-won't ask questions, I, uh, promise. I could just…really use your help." He looked back at me warily. But, eventually, he nodded. He sat.
"You know my name?" He laughed, and rolled his eyes "well, yeah. Well, what's your name?"
"Carlos Garcia." I told him, offering him my hand as a handshake, and sort of an apology for prying.
"Right. I should really already know that." He laughed, and took my hand in a shake.
"Why?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows.
He raised his, "didn't anyone tell you?" He let go of my hand, opening his laptop with a somewhat lopsided, arrogant grin on his face. He turned his head back to me "I'm Junior Class President."
Fifteen minutes, and a really useful website later, I was starting to understand the impossible math. That's when Logan's phone, another sleek, new looking product, rang. He pulled it from his pocket hurriedly, as we were still in a Library. He silenced it, and then looked at who had called. "Frick." He muttered quietly. "Sorry, man. I gotta call her back, or there'll be heck to pay." He took his phone into the hall, dialing furiously.
My fingers itched to look through the computer. My leg returned to its bouncy state. I shut the browser, and returned to my investigation of the background. That had to be them. Who else would be holding a bloody comb in almost every shot, who else had that nose? They were young, definitely young. What did Logan say? Six years ago? But, they looked so happy…my eyes narrowed. "Then what happened?" I asked the computer. I realized my mistake, and my head darted around the library to make sure no one had heard. I sighed with relief, and peered through glass at Logan in a heated conversation.
My leg was bouncing again, and I tried to shake it off. My head was doing that spinning thing, and I felt the need to go. To move, to run. I sighed, setting my head on the table, replaying Antonio's familiar, stern words in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to picture him. Trying to picture him and Anne, and Edilio, who probably would have done the goddamn math for me. My breathing slowed slightly, and then I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.
"Get stuck again?" A comforting voice asked, and I looked up to see Logan's smiling face, phone off in his hand.
"I've got 30 minutes, so we'd better hurry if we want to get this done." He told me, and sat back in his seat.
"Who was-" I cut my self off, remembering my previous promise.
"that?" He finished for me with a small grin. "Some questions are okay. Some questions need to be asked." He finished the thought to himself, staring off at the books surrounding us. He shook his head a big. "It was Eleanor." He said, shaking his phone in my direction, then set it on the table. "My Vice President." He told me, pulling his computer towards him, "my girlfriend." He added as an afterthought. Then laughed a bit to himself.
"Still getting used to it?" I asked lightly, returning my attention to my homework.
He laughed again "shouldn't be. It's been…gosh," he broke off in thought again, seemingly a repeated habit "six years."
I spluttered, how the heck does a man date a girl for six years? "Six years?" I coughed out.
"Yeah," he thought again "yep. Dear gosh, since sixth grade." He grinned at me. "Really, that shocked?"
I nodded, "yeah, a little" I told him. "Is she that perfect?" He scoffed.
"Well…you'll meet her."
(This is Our Someday)
Forty-five minutes later the library door slammed open. A girl, short, thin and feisty stormed in, moving too quickly for me to get a good look at her. "Logan Mitchell!" She called, crossing to stand beside him. "Thirty minutes?" She tapped the computer screen by the time.
"Look, I'm sorry" he apologized honestly, ignoring me. He began to pack up his things quickly. Finally the girl stood still. She had thin brown hair that was pulled into a ponytail that probably was once neat, but now pieces fell, framing her face. Her face was gaunt, pulled into itself, as if she hadn't eaten a good meal in a few days, or more. Her dark green eyes were large, but didn't blink often. Her lips were thin, but probably because they were pressed together in irritation.
"We've got too much to do for this, Logan." She told him bitterly, as his arms flew wildly, packing a lot into his leather case. I wanted to ask so many questions. My leg bounced, my eyes darted between them.
"Look, I'm ready. See, ready! Let's go." He flew out of his seat. She took him by the arm, and began to lead him from the library, but I stopped them.
"Wait, Logan!" I announced, standing. His eyes widened and she huffed.
"Well, what?" Eleanor demanded. I shifted awkwardly, hoping not to piss her off more.
"Would you know where Hockey practice is?" I asked awkwardly, and her eyes narrowed, and bam, she hated me. I could tell.
"Hockey? Hasn't started yet…" he drifted off, mind reaching a conclusion, "oh….Oh. You're looking, you're looking for them." His tone turned darker, his eyes became clouded. "You'll find Kendall, Kendall and friends" he spat, "in Gym A or by the track. With the season, likely by the track, they try and build endurance." Eleanor's eyes jumped to Logan, clearly asking him how he knew that. "I'm Junior Class President, Eleanor." He told her "I have to understand the interests of all students." He seemed to be mocking, or repeating or something, but I didn't really have a clue. He turned on heel, exiting the library in a small huff.
Eleanor turned to follow, but turned back to me. I shrunk slightly in my seat, mildly afraid of the words to come. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn't say a word. Instead she lifted her lips in an almost scary smile "Welcome to Unionville!" she said, twitching slightly, obviously choosing to avoid confrontation. She then strutted out of the room, straightening her slightly disheveled appearance.
I got up to leave the room, shoving the contents of the table into my backpack, when I saw, and almost stepped on, a small silver object. It was a watch. I pocketed it, mentally disputing whether or not to turn it in, or keep it for myself.