A/N: Okay, again I have to thank you all so much for the reviews. It means so much to me that you're enjoying the story! And I do mean to reply to some of the reviews when I get the chance, but things are sort of busy at the moment. Anyway, I'm glad you liked Logan's present to Quinn…hope it didn't disappoint. ;)

Read, review, enjoy!

"Nice haircut."

"I know," I said. I walked into Room 101 (without knocking) and flopped down on Zoey's bed. Zoey sitting on the couch with her laptop, and Quinn had her glasses off and was looking in the mirror.

Quinn tucked a lock of wavy, half-down half-up hair behind her ear. She had cute ears. Wow, that was a weird thought.

"Do you think I should get contacts?" she asked to the room at large. "Or give myself laser eye surgery?"

"Like you did for Mark?" Zoey said, looking up from her laptop. Involuntarily, my hands curled into fists, which was stupid. Mark was a lame idiot; I was quite possibly the coolest guy in existence. I mean, even Stacey Dillsen had dumped Mark (apparently he didn't exhibit enough excitement when she unveiled her cotton-swab bust of his head, so she threw the fake head at his real one and told him they were over). Obviously I had nothing to fear from such a loser.

"Yeah," Quinn said. "Logan, what do you think?"

Honestly, I thought she looked better with her glasses—she just wasn't Quinn without them—but I'd learned enough from my dad's dealings with women to know that these sort of questions were pretty much lose-lose situations, whatever you answered. So I said, "No comment."

"Oh, come on," she said, turning to look at me with puppy-dog eyes (she knew how easy I was to manipulate). "You must have an opinion."

"Um," I said. I got off the bed and wrapped my arms around her. "I think you look beautiful no matter what." I could be a politician with answers like that, but the important thing was that girls always fell for the mushy stuff.

Except Quinn, apparently.

"Nice try," she said, then pulled away to pick up her glasses and put them back on. "And nice haircut."

"Thanks," I said with a smirk. "Ready to go?"

"Go where?" Zoey asked from the couch. I shrugged.

"I dunno. Out?"

"Where are you going?" Quinn asked as Zoey put away her laptop and stood up. Zoey smiled.

"To meet up with Chase," she said.

"Again? Haven't you already seen him, like, twice today?"

Zoey looked offended. "Once at breakfast, once at lunch, and one brief meet-up in the lounge. That's not that much."

"Yeah, for a married couple," I said. She rolled her eyes.

"Bye, Quinn," she said, putting extra emphasis on ignoring me as she left. As if I cared. If it was permanent, I might be worried, but chances were she'd forget all about her annoyance with me after five minutes of being with Chase, and then later on she'd have to find something new to get annoyed with me about. Oh yeah, can you say predictable?

"Where are we going?" Quinn asked again as I pulled her out of the room after Zoey.

I didn't answer, since I wasn't really planning on going anyplace in particular, but I ended up leading her to a little place behind some bushes—where we had met up more than a few times during our secret relationship, where we had decided to start dating, and where Michael had definitely not seen us hugging.

Sure, we'd been public for months, but everyone needed some privacy once and a while.

Especially since I had something of a rep to keep, which might be ruined if I was seen Eskimo-kissing my girlfriend. Anyway, we sat down on the grass and just hung out for a while, talking between all the kissing (not always of the Eskimo variety). If you'd have told me six months ago I'd find it so easy to talk to Quinn Pensky about anything and everything, I'd have probably called you crazy and then laugh for about half an hour at the sheer ridiculousness of such a thing. But a lot had changed in the last six months.

Actually, now that I thought about it, our six-month anniversary was probably coming up pretty soon. I hoped Quinn didn't expect me to get her anything big or expensive, because my dad was a wee bit ticked that I'd bought another car without asking him last week. Seriously, he gives me a credit card and says I can buy whatever I want, then when I buy something really worthwhile he gets upset? What kind of crack joint is he running here? (Okay, I heard that on a cop show, and it sounded fun to say.)

I spent a good hour or so with Quinn before I got a text from Michael telling me I was late for our two-on-two basketball game. That hypocrite. He's never on time. ("Hypocrite", by the way, is a word I know especially well, after Quinn laughed for five straight minutes when I said "hippopotamus" by accident.)

"I should go," I said, rolling my eyes. "Michael needs to get his butt kicked at least once daily to keep him in his place."

"That's fine," Quinn said, referring to the fact that I needed to leave, not Michael's daily dose of butt-kickage. "I have to go work on my chemical defibrillator. I need to make sure it's depolarizing the critical mass as much as possible while still terminating the arrhythmia, because I'm not sure if it allows the sinoatrial node to reestablish normal sinus rhythm. I mean, I checked my ingredients against the corresponding parts of the electrical option—"

I nodded along like I understood as she went on. And when I got sick of the long words that probably Merriam-Webster didn't even know, I cut her off with a kiss.

We parted ways, and I stopped by my dorm to grab my basketball before heading to the courts. Not that I didn't like spending time with Quinn, but a guy needs balance in his life: a healthy mix of girlfriend time and sports with his peeps. (Quinn laughs at me when I say "peeps". She actually laughs at me quite a lot, now that I think about it.)

Chase, however, apparently doesn't understand this delicate concept of balance.

"Man, where is he?" Michael said loudly, startling several nearby freshmen.

I shrugged. I was sitting on my ball in the middle of the court, shielding my eyes from the hot sun. We'd only been waiting for Chase for, say, the last fifteen minutes.

James sighed as he hung up his phone. "He's still not picking up," he told us.

"He's probably still with Zoey," I said.

"Do those two ever spend any time apart?" Michael griped. "I've barely even seen Chase in the last few weeks. And we're roommates!"

"How are we supposed to play two-on-two when there's not two twos of us?" I asked. (Hey, it made sense in my head.)

James shrugged. "I guess I could call Vince to come play with us," he said.

"Yeah, okay," Michael said. "Seriously, though, we gotta do something."

"About Zoey and Chase?" I said. "Good luck with that. They haven't been separated once since he was in England. Like, they're making up for the time they lost by spending every waking moment together."

"It's always been like Chase to be so…lovestruck," Michael said. "And I can understand that, I guess. But he never used to blow us off for Zoey before. Much."

"Yeah, but they weren't 'the happiest couple alive!' before," I mocked.

"He's on his way," James said as he hung up with Vince.

"Right," I said, standing up to make some free throws. "Hey, look—there's Coco with Dan."

"Dan the Ravioli Man?" Michael asked, turning towards the parking lot to look.

"Yeah, getting out of the station wagon." I pointed.

I guess Coco saw me point, because she dragged Dan over (in all his dorky-glasses glory) to the court to talk to us.

"Hey, Coco," Michael said, raising a hand.

"S'up?" said James.

"Hi, guys," Coco giggled. She seemed to giggle a lot around this guy, but I couldn't imagine why. I saw nothing giggle-worthy about him. Plus, it was a little confusing to have Coco so happy all the time—I was used to her sobbing, not giggling. "Have you met Dan?"

"Well, not officially," Michael said. We all shook hands with Dan. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose and smiled at us. Seriously, how hard can it be to find a pair of glasses that don't look like he borrowed them from Betty on Ugly Betty and made them uglier? Not that I watch that show…

"Hello, boys," he said. He wrapped his arm around Coco's waist. "Coco and I were just on our way to a ravoli tasting for my company. I'm trying to decide between oregano, olive oil, or turkey for a new flavor."

"Right…" I said. From the way Coco was looking at him, I could tell she was in love, though whether with Dan or the idea of turkey ravioli, I wasn't sure.

"Well, have fun," James said.

"We will!" said Coco, sounding positively delighted. "Oh, and Logan—try to make sure your girlfriend doesn't blow up the school. Again. She's working on her chemical defrizzilator thing."

"Defribulator," I said.

"Defibrillator," James corrected.

"Whatever. Bye, guys!"

"See you."

We watched them make their way back to the parking lot. Then the silence was interrupted by Michael's cell phone buzzing. He read the screen, then gave a humorless laugh.

"What?" I asked.

"It's from Chase. It says, 'Stop calling me. I'm busy.' Yeah, busy with Zoey."

I shook my head. "We have got to do something."