When Logan was ten years-old, his fourth-grade teacher, Mr. Jehue, gave him a book entitled "The Anatomy of a Rat," after seeing his interest in Dizzie the rat, the class pet. Logan scrutinized the book cover to cover, marveling at the colorful diagrams of the creature's bodily systems. But midway throughout the school year, Dizzie grew sick and died. Mr. Jehue, not wanting to let an educational opportunity slip by, conducted an impromptu biology lesson: slicing through the rat's belly and showing the class its tiny organs—although now that Logan thought about it, that was probably illegal.
Most of the children couldn't handle it: the boys making retching noises, and the little girls crying and refusing to look. But Logan's attention was rapt; his eyes wide and watching the teacher's every move; excited to see the book's illustrations played out in real life. Then, suddenly, he felt a deep pity for the rat pour over him—the poor animal, organs splayed out for all to see.
That was what he felt like now, exposed. Dissected.
"Hi Kendall," he managed.
Kendall looked at him, and for a moment, Logan was sure he saw fear flit across his eyes. Then his gaze grew nonchalant. "Hey Logan."
Minutes went by, and they were silent: Kendall sitting on the desk, staring at the carpet; Logan standing awkwardly and trying to look everywhere but his face. He knew he had to speak at one point, but really, where was he supposed to start?
Suddenly there was a loud banging at the door. "I don't hear any talking!" Carlos shouted, and then there was James, hissing: "Carlos! Shh!"
Logan took a deep breath, forcing himself to finally look at Kendall.
"Kenny?" he whispered, surprising himself.
Kendall seemed to be caught off guard as well. He looked up at him, suddenly blushing. "Yeah?"
"I'm really sorry," Logan said quietly. "For—for you know, yelling..." His voice grew even softer, "what I yelled."
Kendall looked away. "It's not your fault," he offered after a pause. "It's mine."
Of course he would say that. He just always had to be the perfect best friend—the kind that wouldn't let anyone take the blame for anything. Logan felt a lump begin to form in his throat, swallowing it away.
"No, it's mine," he protested, taking a step forward. "Why would it be yours? You didn't do anything."
"Yes I did," Kendall insisted, looking over to the wall at his left. He took in a visibly large breath. "It's my fault that I actually believed we could be more than just friends," he said softly.
Logan didn't know what to say. It was different hearing it from him, as opposed to Carlos and James.
"Is that why you let me kiss you in the attic?" he asked. "Because you like me?"
Kendall looked at the ground. "Yeah."
Logan sat down on Gustavo's cot, feeling even more terrible by the second. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
Kendall continued to stare at the floor. "Because I knew you didn't see me that way, and I didn't want to lose you, as you know, my best friend." He sighed. "So when I met Jo, I thought maybe I could finally get over you. And it seemed to be working for a while—until last night." He finally looked at him. "Then I realized I'd never gotten over you."
Logan felt his eyes begin to ache again. He stared down at the ground. "So does this mean you're into girls and guys?" he asked, curious, but at the same time trying to avoid what he ultimately had to say.
"I guess so... kind of. I mean, I think girls are pretty and all, and then there's just you."
There was a long silence after that.
Finally he drew up the necessary words and the courage he needed. "Kendall," he started, still not looking at him, "I'm not gonna lie to you—I felt something up there, too. But I don't know if I like- like you or not. Can we just—" He looked up, swallowing the lump that had formed again in his throat. "Just go back to before?" he finished hesitantly.
Kendall's eyes sparkled with genuine shyness. "I'd like that." He smiled. "Whatever you want, Logie."
There he was again: being the sacrificing best friend. Logan forced himself to smile, but on the inside, he felt like kicking himself.
Dinner was a different scene that night: Kendall and James made up and Gustavo and Kelly had managed to get corn-dogs from somewhere, which made everyone's night, especially Carlos's.
"It's like the corn-dog god heard my prayers!" he shouted the moment Kelly dropped the grease-stained box on the box-table.
Katie raised an eyebrow. "What kind of weird religion are you into?"
Carlos made a harrumph noise. "Whatever one the corn-dog god is in," he said as-a-matter-of-factedly. "He's giving you dinner, so shush and appreciate!"
Katie laughed. "This is true. But who says the corn-dog god is a guy? I say it's a girl."
"And I say her name is Kelly," Kendall joined in, and the room immediately burst into laughter, including Kelly herself.
Logan sat on the floor next to Kendall, and for the most part, it was great. But as dinner went on, the he began to feel more and more uncomfortable and discontent. He watched James and Carlos go along with their usual antics: using their corn-dogs as light-sabers and pelting each other with little pieces of the bread; James getting mad when Carlos smashed a tater-tot into his hair, and then the giant hug of forgiveness in which he tickled him half to death.
Then Logan looked at he and Kendall, and he grew even more upset. There wasn't any happy squealing and messing around, and although they were sitting together, they were an entire foot apart. Kendall was busy with his sister, listening to her business plans on selling Big Time Rush merchandise, and their mother was putting in her two cents as well.
Logan looked toward James and Carlos again. They were still at it, except that now Carlos had tater-tots in his hair as well. Their laughter was loud but not obnoxious, and no one reprimanded them for it, not even Gustavo.
Logan stood up and quietly slipped from the room.
In the studio, he began to rifle through his suitcase, searching for a scrap of paper. Suddenly he spied the corner of a dog-eared, much-loved book. He grabbed hold of it and pulled it out.
"The Anatomy of a Rat."
He smiled. Then he flipped to the back, and in one determined motion, ripped the end sheet out. Grabbing a pen, he wrote:
"Meet me in the attic tonight at one-thirty."
It was simple, but he was content with it. He folded it up into fourths and quickly ran back to join the others.
