Thoughts: yeah, pretty much head over heels with the feedback. I hope I can still keep you entertained.
Day 4.
Kendall woke me up at six to get ready for school. Mrs. Knight was taking me in to get tested to find out my school levels to see what grade I was actually in. I hadn't been in a school for more than two weeks, and the last grade I remember finishing was eighth. Mrs. Knight had planned on me staying for a long time, it had seemed. And honestly, I kind of wanted to.
Kendall took off to his classes immediately, and I went in to the office with Mrs. Knight. She talked to the principal for a while, and then she left, leaving me alone in the room with him. As usual, I felt awkward and slightly socially panicked but I kept my cool.
The principal, Mr. Tanner, spoke with me for a few minutes about the tests I was about to take. "They will include questions the average eleventh grader would know. Also, there will be questions that are very easy, like fifth grade, and eighth grade questions. Take your time. Relax."
I sat in a room by myself all day taking this test. The math, science, and history stuff was easy, but it was the reading comprehension that got me. I finished the test around eleven, and I had gotten to the school at seven thirty.
"How was it? Not too bad?"
"Not too bad," I agreed.
"Okay, so I've come up with a special plan for you. In order to graduate, the students here work throughout their high school careers to complete a portfolio in which they will have to present and pass in their senior year. Obviously, you cannot reach this requirement. It's impossible to get your records, or any school work you've ever done. Especially because you haven't had stability, which is what you need, you need to stay grounded.
"I'm going to review your test tonight and I will let you know your results in the morning. I'll give you a tour and Mr. Killian, who will be your guidance counselor, will make you a schedule based on these scores and what classes you are interested in taking. Okay?"
I nodded. "Sounds okay to me."
Mrs. Knight was waiting in the parking lot when I exited the building. "Did you wait here the whole time?" I asked, getting into the red Honda.
"No," she laughed, "Mr. Tanner told me when to come back by estimating what time you'd finish the test."
"Oh, um, okay."
"Was the test easy for you?"
"Some of it."
"Want to go out for lunch?"
"I don't eat lunch."
"You don't eat breakfast or lunch?" she questioned. I should have known she was going to be just like Kendall and make a big deal out of nothing. "That-"
"It's no big deal," I shrugged it off. "I don't eat a lot, that's just me. Please don't press me about it."
"I just worry about your nutrition…"
"I'm healthy as a horse," I said, "promise."
"Hey, do you mind if we stop at the church on the way home? Ken wanted me to help sort files in the office. You don't have to help, you could explore the church a little if you'd like."
"I don't mind," I said. I wasn't going to say no, I mean, I had nothing else to do.
We drove to the church and we got out. Mrs. Knight went straight to the office and I went in the sermon room and followed the stairs that I had seen yesterday. Up the stairs, to the left, where the stained glass window was, was a big, black grand piano.
I smiled at it, thinking of my grandmother.
My teenaged parents lived with my grandmother, my mother's mother. She had never known what had been going on; she was gravely ill since the moment I met her. But, boy, that woman loved to play piano. And she loved to teach me. By the time I was five, I could play piano extraordinarily well, and could read music. After my grandmother died, I still played. I played because it reminded me of her. I played because while I did, nothing else in the world could hurt me. Not my dad. Three days after her death was the day my dad told me the secret.
I sat at the piano and ran my fingers along it. I took in a deep breath. Oh, how I had missed these familiar keys. I hadn't played piano in years, and I the second I hit one note, I remembered every song that I'd ever learned. I started with my grandmother's favorite, Fur Elise, and made my way to Beethoven's Pathetique, in C minor.
After that, afraid someone was going to come looking for me, I went down the stairs and into the office.
"Hey," said Mrs. Knight. "Find anything interesting?"
"Not really," I answered. "How about you?"
She smiled. "Oh, everything in this room is interesting." She was very sarcastic about it. She did not seem thrilled to be filing papers. Mr. Knight was no where to be seen.
"Where's-?"
"He's at someone's home; when someone is dying, he goes there to make sure they get into Heaven."
"Someone's dying?"
"He is old," she said, sighing, "he's ninety eight. People die every day; it's the cycle of life. It's always sad, but God always is there to protect us, and our souls. Remember, he only takes the best."
"Doesn't God love everybody, and take everybody?"
"Because everybody is the best."
"What about the murderers and the child molesters? What about the people who are worthless? What about that guy who killed his baby daughters and used their bodies as-"
"Logan," she cut me off. "God has a way of teaching people their lessons before they can get into Heaven. They have to be at peace, or they will be stuck in front of the gates forever. He wouldn't have created them if there wasn't a reason for their existence."
My eyes shifted. "Mrs. Knight, what does God think about those people? I mean, didn't he want something different for them? He couldn't possibly want those people to hurt other people."
"I'm afraid God can only guide those who are willing to be guided."
I contemplated this. "Mrs. Knight, how do you find your God?"
She smiled softly at me. "You just follow what you believe in, and believe that no harm can come to you."
"What if that was the problem?" I thought aloud. I was thinking about my father, because I didn't make it obvious. My father was cruel, and rotten and he was really, really messed up in the head. Is entire life he'd had problems, and he just passed those onto me. But he was schizophrenic and he'd been in the hospitals when I was first born. That's what made my mom crazy, having to take care of me without him. She was lucky to have my grandma, but at the same time not so lucky because Grandma was very sick and sometimes needed to be taken care of.
Mom couldn't handle that. She couldn't handle me and Grandma, and then Dad when he came back, and she thought it was easier for her if she just let him do what he had to do. He beat her, too, and she didn't want to get hit. She didn't want to get involved and send him back to the crazy house when it came to him hitting me.
My mom did an awful job of taking care of my brother, and I ended up learning how to care for him the best I could. She just didn't care. She just drank all the time. She was depressed. She lived in the basement of her boyfriends' parents house, her mother was dead, she had post partum depression and wanted to kill her baby, and her boyfriend was a maniac and beat her and her kid. He never really hit my brother, thank God.
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Knight asked.
"Never mind," I said, not wanting to talk about it with her.
She looked disappointed, but didn't press it further. "Well, I'm almost done here," she said, "There was only a few left. I had been working on it while you were at the school."
"Um, okay," I said.
"So, what is your favorite dinner? If that's all you eat, I want to make it special for ya."
"…I don't really know…I guess chicken…?" I had never in my life thought about my favorite food. I'd always had chicken when I was younger. My mom loved chicken. Fried chicken, crispy chicken, grilled chicken, chicken nuggets, chicken flavored gravy, anything chicken, she always made chicken. Sometimes macaroni.
She smiled. "You guess chicken?"
"Yeah."
She laughed, but I didn't know why because I wasn't being funny. "You're so serious about everything," she said. "Loosen up a little. Relax."
"I'm sorry," I said seriously.
She chuckled, "Oh, Logan."
Mrs. Knight wanted to take me shopping to get me some clothes and supplies for school. I didn't want this to happen; I did not want her to waste her money on me.
"Don't be silly," she had said. "Not only do I want to buy you clothes, I'm obligated to. I'll tell you a thousand times, while your in my house, you'll be treated like one of my own kids. My kids have more than two outfits and a pencil."
"Hey," I said, "That pencil is a winner."
I got some notebooks and some mechanical pencils that had cost three dollars for a pack of two, but Mrs. Knight had honestly insisted I get those pencils because they were her favorite. I also got pens and three outfits and a pair of shoes where my toe didn't stick out the front. Let me tell you, I did not mind shopping with Mrs. Knight. She let me do my own thing, find my own things, as she browsed through racks in the woman's section.
I was really bored within the one hour it took for Kendall to come home after I did. I had put my stuff away, and was tapping my fingers on my headboard, waiting. But I had found an object in the closet that was rather interesting to me. Kendall had a guitar. It wasn't anything special, an acoustic by Yamaha, a nice guitar, worth about three hundred dollars. Scratches on it told me it was used often.
I left the guitar where it was, not wanting to invade Kendall's personal space. He came home and put his backpack near the door.
"How was the test?" he asked, flopping down on his bed.
"It was okay," I said from my bed. "How was school?"
"It was okay," he said. "I failed my Geometry test, though. Mom's not going to be too happy. I just don't get along with shapes."
"I could probably help you. I'm pretty good at math."
"Maybe later, my brain has done enough schoolwork for a while."
I was really good at math. I didn't know what it was, I just got it. It didn't confuse me, it wasn't hard. You worked for the answer, and there was only one. You just had to find the exact possibility, which was easy for my brain to do. It just came to me easily. It was words that confused me.
"Are you nervous about the results?"
"No," I said, "I honestly couldn't care less."
"Well, that's a great attitude," he said sarcastically.
I couldn't help but smile and shrug. "It just doesn't matter to me."
"Are you depressed? Do you need like a therapist to prescribe you Prozac or something?"
I laughed hard at that one. "Kendall," I said, "you're too much for me."
"It's not a joke. If you're depressed-"
"I'm not going to kill myself or anything."
I'd tried before. It didn't work out in my favor.
"You should get some help."
"I'll think about it," I said, "you keep your mouth closed. I can handle this."
"You should care about yourself more."
"It's not that easy."
"Yeah, it is. You just…look in the mirror and think, man, I'm awesome. That's what I do."
I was a little frustrated. "You didn't spend your entire life being convinced otherwise," I stated.
"What do you mean?"
I sighed and let my head fall back, looking up and studying the swirls on the ceiling. They were perfect. I didn't want to have to spell it out for him, but he wanted me to. I had appreciated Kendall and I wanted him to trust me. And if I didn't talk to him, he wouldn't. I didn't know what it was, but Kendall was different than any other person I'd met.
"I mean that for as long as I can remember, all the people in my life kept reminding me of how useless I am. I just can't look in the mirror and think I'm awesome because I've never liked myself."
"Why don't you like yourself? You -"
"I can't turn it on and off," I said. "You just don't get it."
"Help me to."
"Not right now. My brain has done enough on this topic for a while."
He tried not to smile at that. Kendall really liked when people copied what he said. He was a natural leader and it was obvious.
Kendall said, "Wanna play Guitar Hero? I have it for Xbox."
"We could play real guitars," I said.
"You saw?"
"Saw what?"
"The guitar."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You just…? You just said we should play real guitars!"
"We should."
"So then you saw!"
"Saw what?"
"The guitar."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You said we should play guitars!"
"We should."
"So you saw!"
"Saw WHAT.?"
"THE GUITAR." His hands went in the air, his fingers spread apart and he shook his arms.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT." This was getting amusing.
"Dude," he said, "The guitar, in the closet. You saw it."
"I don-"
"LOGAN!"
"Just show me," I said.
I don't know if Kendall would ever know why I did that. I didn't want him to know that I saw the guitar before he showed it to me. Obviously there was a reason it was kept in the closet, and if he didn't want me to see it, I would feel awful for invading his space. I hated having to depend on his family, but that was something I had to get used to.
He got up, and pulled the guitar out of the closet. "This guitar," he said.
I studied it, as if looking at it for the first time. "It's nice."
"She's okay," he said, looking at it, too.
"'She'?" I questioned.
He looked towards the bottom of his guitar and smiled. "Well, she's not a boy."
I couldn't help but smile either. "Well, play something."
He shook his head. "Uh, I'd rather not."
"Why?"
"Would you play for me if you knew how?"
"…probably not."
"Exactly."
Day 5.
I got up for school with Kendall, and Mrs. Knight gave us a ride. She came inside, too; Mr. Tanner had asked her to come to get the results. I guess it was something moms did, I don't know. We went into the office and spoke with the secretary, who told me to go into the principal's office, which was inside the main office.
He was seated at his desk, with his coffee. "Aha," he said upon our entering. "I'm very pleased," he said, "very pleased indeed."
I shifted my eyes, glancing at Mrs. Knight.
We sat down as instructed and waited for him to start talking again. I felt awkward.
"You did exceptionally well on the math and science portions of the test. History was proficient. English was slightly less than satisfactory. You are at a 12th grade math level, which is spectacular. You are passed EPS and Biology, and you could probably take Chemistry if you wanted. History, probably US History II.
"How our scheduling works is we have two days: red and white. We have four classes on red days that last 88 minutes long, and we have four different classes on white days that last 88 minutes long. One of them will be a study hall. You are at a ninth grade reading comprehension level. What I can do for you is put you in English on both red and white days. You should be able to catch up by graduation.
"I want you to earn twelve credits from now till graduation, and I want you to create a senior project. It can be absolutely anything you want. You just have to be able to present it. Does that sound easy?"
I nodded, agreeing it did sound pretty easy.
"So, I'm going to ask you to join Mr. Killian to do some scheduling. Mrs. Knight, I would like to speak with you…"
So Mr. Tanner escorted me to Mr. Killian's office. "This is Logan Mitchell," he said, "He's the one we talked about."
"Alright," said Mr. Killian. "Have a seat, Logan."
I sat down.
Mr. Tanner went back to his office and Mr. Killian looked at me. This man was short, tanish-red, gray hair, and wore a striped shirt that made him look like a candy cane, or Where's Waldo. "So, Logan, do you know what classes you're interested in taking?"
"Um, no."
"Well, we know you need two English classes. I've talked to Mrs. Rose, and she will have you in both of her ninth grade English classes and work with you explicitly. She is an excellent woman, and don't worry too much about being in a ninth grade class. There are sophomores and juniors in some of them, too. You'll have that class every day, second block. What do you want to take for math? Mr. Tanner says you're more advanced than Algebra 2, so we have trigonometry, and we have calculus, and we offer those in both college prep and honors."
"What's the difference?"
"Well, honors is a little bit more harder than college prep, you have to learn more, and you are expected to know more. It'd more advanced and moves much faster than college prep."
"Well, I guess I'll take Calculus, college prep."
"Okay, calculus will red four," he typed stuff into the computer. "You're considered a junior," he said, "And all juniors have gym this quarter, and health the next quarter. The quarter ends in November. Your gym is red one, which is today. What about science? We have animal science, physiology, chemistry…"
"Chemistry," I said, shrugging.
"Okay," he said, "Your chemistry will be red three."
"You have to have a history, and I would recommend U.S. History 2."
I nodded. "That's fine."
"That will be White 3," he said.
I had study hall white four, art white one, and English white two.
Mr. Killian showed me around the school, and it wasn't too hard to get. There were eight hallways. ABCDEF. A hall was the hall the office was in. B hall was the hall I had Calculus. C hall was the hall I had English. D hall was the hall I had gym. E hall was the hall I had chemistry and F hall was the hall I had art. I literally had one class in every hall.
Anyway, it was a big square, all the halls connected with each other, besides E and F, which both went off of the opposite ends of D hall. You couldn't possibly get lost because you'd just go in a circle.
Kendall was in my gym and chemistry classes, so that wasn't so bad. He compared my schedule to his and we also had U.S. History together. The school offered Vo-Tech courses, and Kendall was in Carpentry. He went over to the vocational school every day to be taught carpentry. He went there three times a week; first and second block on white days, and last block on red days.
Carlos and James were in the same gym class as us, too. I didn't know anyone in my English class, which was expected, and Kendall was in my Chemistry class and my lunch. Lunch took place during third block classes, so I would have lunch with Kendall every day. Mrs. Knight packed us the same thing, and I gave all of mine to Kendall. I knew nobody in my calculus class.
Kendall met me in the foyer of the school and he said, "It's not that bad, right?"
Most of the teachers I had on red days were very cool. Gym, obviously not even a teacher could make gym bad. My English teacher was literally a saint, she was one of the nicest people I'd ever met. The chemistry teacher, Mr. Mortimer, was a little crazy, but he adored Kendall, therefore immediately adoring me just by association. And then there was the calculus teacher, Mrs. Verily, who did not seem to like my presence.
I had told her I could try to take the test that everyone was taking that day, and she almost kicked me out of the class.
I did not tell Kendall this.
"I guess not," I said. "My calculus teacher is crazy, though."
"Who do you have?"
"Mrs. Verily."
"Oh," he said, "She was my ninth grade algebra teacher. She's a biiiitch. So, good luck."
"Gee, thanks."
He smirked. "Oh, look," he said, pointing out the red Honda Accord, "there's mom."
Kendall got in the back with me.
"Hi boys," said Mrs. Knight. "How was school today?"
"Fine," said Kendall.
"And Logan?"
"Oh, um, fine."
"Do you like your classes?"
"Um, yeah."
"Did you meet anyone new?"
"Um, yeah." Everyone was someone new to me.
"Did you learn anything?"
"Um, no."
She looked like she felt awkward, and for once, I didn't. "The church is coming along nicely," she said. "Daddy is there right now. He's doing paperwork. There was a woman there today with her three kids; she had no where to go. Daddy is trying to find somewhere that will help her."
"Can't he just call the shelter between Fifth and Main?" Kendall asked. "I'm sure they'd be glad to help."
"He called, yes, but according the receptionist there is not enough room for four more people. They have two beds. He's trying to convince them that the children are very small and can share beds."
"Well, they should listen. It's getting cold."
She nodded in agreement.
Kendall looked at me. "Do you want to play hockey today? I can find my old skates, I'm sure they'll fit you."
I shook my head. "Um, no," I said, "I don't play hockey."
"But you know so much about it."
"I know it. I don't play it."
"Why?"
I blinked. "You ask a lot of questions."
"All of which are necessary. You don't answer a lot of my questions."
"There are just other things that are more important."
"I'm just curious."
He was staring at me with big, blue, irresistible eyes and I caved. "My dad used to play hockey. I don't…I just can't play it."
"Have you ever played?"
"Once," I said. "And I was ten and I was scared, and things did not go well. Okay? Are you happy now?"
"None in the slightest," he said, clearly itching for more information. "Was he on a team?"
"I don't want to talk about him," I mumbled.
"But, don't you -"
"Kendall," Mrs. Knight cut in. "Knock it off."
"I was just going to ask if he ever wondered if he was better at it now."
"No," I said, "I don't wonder because I don't care about hockey."
"How can you - "
"Kendall!"
Kendall sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't worry about it."
My art teacher was crazy. I couldn't draw to save my life, and I didn't want to take art, but Mr. Killian had said I needed some kind of art, so he gave me this because it fit with the schedule, and it was easy and simple. Apparently.
There I was in art, and the only person I knew in there was James, and he didn't acknowledge me at all, so I sat in the corner by myself, and this crazy art teacher was trying to get me to draw a 3 dimensional chair.
"I can't," I said.
"Never say you can't, because you can. Art is free, express what you want."
"But you just told me you wanted me to express a chair, which, I can't."
"Just draw what you see."
"I can't."
"Can you try?"
"I did try, and it looked like shit, so I stopped trying."
At this point, we were entertaining the entire class. I didn't want to draw that damn chair. The time I tried, it looked like a person with a huge ass. I didn't want to do this project. I disliked it heavily.
"Don't curse," she ordered, "and don't give up."
"It's a little late for that because I did swear, and I did give up."
She was very frustrated. Her gray hair was wildly everywhere, makeup was stuck in her wrinkles, and she wore very weird, colorful clothing.
"Okay, go to A3."
A3 was the third classroom in A hall, and it was where the deans resided. I stood up, happy to get out of that class, and started walking to A3.
I entered. The receptionist looked up at me. "Hi," she said, "You must be new."
"I'm pretty new," I said.
"Are you Logan?"
"That's me."
"Mrs. Norton tells me you were being insubordinate?"
"If she's considered to have authority, then, yes, I was being insubordinate."
"What were you doing?"
"I wasn't drawing a chair. I can't draw chairs and she got all anal. It's not really a big deal to me, but apparently it is to her."
"So, you were refusing to do your work?"
"Basically."
"And you still refuse?"
"Absolutely."
"Mr. Grimes is probably going to give you detention if you do not do this assignment."
I shrugged. "Well, I'm not doing it. I'll paint, I'll cut and paste, and I'll use pastels, but I will not draw. I'm sorry, but I just won't. I suck at it, and I don't like it, and I don't think I should have to do something I suck at and hate at the same time."
"…well, it is art, sweetie, that's what you do in art."
"Can't I quit art? Or take something that counts as art but isn't art?"
"Well, you could take music," she said, "any kind of music. But there's only two music classes available, one is music history, and you have calculus then. The other is Music 3, and you have to have two years of music knowledge to take that class."
"Well, I mean, I've never really been in high school before so I haven't taken classes or whatever. I can read music and play an instrument. Couldn't I take it?"
"Well, Mr. Killian, and Mr. Grimes, would have to discuss this with Mrs. Norton and the music teacher."
"Well, Mrs. Norton hates me, and it's only the first day."
Then, the door opened and a tall, beefy man with crooked teeth and a pedophile mustache entered. "Ah," she said, "Mr. Grimes. This is your newest student, Logan Mitchell. Logan, this is Mr. Grimes, your dean. Mr. Grimes, according to Mrs. Norton, Logan here is insubordinate. He seems like a good kid to me, just one that doesn't like art. We were just discussing musical options that could count as an art. Mr. Killian didn't ask too many questions, I reckon. You know how well he is with communication."
Mr. Grimes laughed at her sarcasm. "I'm aware, yes. Logan, step into my office please."
I followed Mr. Grimes into the small section called his office, and sat across from him. "So what's the problem?"
"I got kicked out of art."
"Why?"
"Please don't make me explain it all again."
He laughed. "Okay," he said, "but you do have to tell me what you did."
"I didn't do anything. That was the problem. Mr. Grimes, I just can't draw. You can't ask a kid with no artistic ability or ambition to draw. It's like asking a mime to talk. It just can't be done."
"Okay," he said, "your argument is solid, it was your first day in this class, you gave it a try, that's all I can ask of you. However the only music class available to you is -"
"I know, Music 3."
"Right, music 3. You have to have taken-"
"I know, Music 1 and 2."
"Right, music 1 and 2. Have you taken any music class at all?"
"Well, like I was explaining to Ms. What's-Her-Face out there, I've never really been in high school long enough to take anything. I've just been bouncing around for the past three years. I haven't had a stable home since I lived in Itasca when I was thirteen. But I do know music. I can read music, my grandmother taught me when I was really little."
"Can you play an instrument?"
"Um, yeah. That's kind of the whole point of reading music."
"Okay, well, let's go talk with Mr. Singer."
"The music teacher's name is Mr. Singer?"
Mr. Grimes laughed. "I know. Ironic, isn't it?"
Mr. Singer was a nice guy. He wasn't too old, and he wasn't ugly and he didn't look like a pedophile or anything.
The class was full of seniors and juniors, and it was nice to not be surrounded by freshmen. Mr. Singer said, "Well, I'll let you into this class if you audition."
"Audition?"
"Yes. Right now. Play me something. What do you play?"
"…piano."
He went into the closet and pulled out an electric keyboard and put it on a desk. The students were watching intently.
"Um…okay, so you want me to play this? Right now?"
"Yes."
"Um…okay."
The keyboard is different than the piano, but it's slightly more simple. I turned it on, and it started drumming at me. Mr. Singer stopped that immediately. I took a deep breath before standing in front of it. It was weird to stand in front of this instrument; I usually sat in front of a piano.
I started playing it like a piano, though, but without the foot pedals. I wasn't sure what I was playing, I couldn't remember the name of the song, or the author, but I knew I was doing well. I stopped playing the second I'd missed a note, and looked at Mr. Singer, who's eyes were closed.
He opened them and looked at me. "Mozart," he said, "Beautiful. That was fantastic. I'm honestly pleasantly surprised. You're in, kid. Tell Killian to switch his schedule. Who needs art, right?"
Mr. Grimes didn't look pleased at that last part, but I smiled. For the first time in a long time, I was proud of myself. I was satisfied and it was phenomenal.
When I saw Kendall third block, however, he seemed panicky. "You got kicked out of art!" He asked.
"…no. Well, I got sent to A3."
"That's being kicked out! Oh, when Dad finds out…you're…don't let him find out! What happened? James said you swore at the art teacher!"
"I didn't swear at her," I defended, "I basically called art shit. Which it is."
"Still, you can't just go around swearing at teachers. What happened in A3? Did you get detention? Oh, please tell me you didn't get detention!"
"Relax," I said, "I didn't get detention. I got switched into a music class."
"What?" he said, "That's jenk, when I got kicked out of Mrs. Norton's class last year, I got three detentions and a referral!"
I shrugged. "It's my second day."
He nodded. "Good point. What music class are you taking?"
"Music 3."
"Wai-how?"
"I know music."
"Well, aren't you just full of surprises!" He did not seem enthralled. "What the hell kind of music do you know?"
"…music."
"What do you play, fool?"
"Piano, gees! There are some things I know, Kendall, I'm not just some brand new baby that knows absolutely nothing."
"I know, it's just…I'm just…how do you know piano?"
"My grandmother taught me when I was younger."
"You never told me."
"I've known you for five days."
"But, I mean, still. You know I play guitar."
"You showed me the guitar. I don't have a piano to show you."
"There's a piano at the church."
"I know."
Then, the teacher told us to settle down as we got started for the day, learning about Andrew Carnegie and the freaking railroad tracks
Note: First, I hope you enjoyed. Second, I hope you picked up on how differently Logan interacts with different people. He's a lot more comfortable with Kendall, which is why he's a lot more pushy and argumentative. And, he hates art.
Thanks for reading (:
