Disclaimer: Too bad for me, I don't own Dark Angel. I do own Heather, Sara, Lauren, and Mrs. Woodman.
Time Frame: Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!
Author's Note: Thanks for all the awesome reviews: Winking Tiger, Sea Siren, WildGirl, hay25, bastgoddess, noor, and CharmedOneJayme! You guys rock my socks!
After you're finished reading this, click the little 'Go' button and tell me what you think. Was it horrendously corny, was it good, did it make you laugh because it was so stupid? Let me know!
Three - Hello, My Name is Logan, and I Have a Problem
The morning had gone by in a blur. People came, people went, and somehow, he had managed to get to his classes despite his perpetual state of sadness and longing. Teachers gabbed on and on about curriculum, grades, rules... it was a broken record each class period, only changed by different people and teachers' outfits.
His classes were boring as usual. Most of them were business classes his father wanted him to take to prepare for becoming a partner in the family business, Cale Industries. But, unbeknownst to his father, Logan had no intention to join the family business. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with it. Going to cocktail party after cocktail party and seeing Uncle Jonas every day until Jonas checked in to that big company in the sky was not his idea of living life to the fullest. Of course, his father didn't really seem to care about that. The only thing that mattered was Logan taking his place when he passed away.
Logan had managed to slip a creative writing class under his father's radar with a little help from his mother. His mother had signed the final paper, giving consent to his schedule, while his father was on a "business trip." Most likely he, Jonas, and some other stuffy executives were smoking cigars and drinking Bloody Marys and vodka until they all wound up drunk and slurring around a piano.
Logan was closest to his mother, since they both shared a passion for writing. Before she had married his father, Elise Coeur was a well-known novelist. She wanted to pass it on to her son, despite her husband's disapproval.
When Logan was younger, he could remember hearing their yelling as the moon and the stars slowly faded from the sky. His mother wanted him to be an author, while his father wanted him to be a businessman. And Logan? Well, he just wanted to save the world. When he was seven, he told his mother that he wanted to be just like Superman and save people. His mother smiled and put her hands on either side of his head.
"Someday, Logan, someday."
He walked into his first afternoon class and sat in a random desk. The walls were loitered with posters of Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway… the list could've gone on for days. Jazz music played from an unknown source, trumpets wailing and pianos beating out their souls. Half-healed wounds reopened and the memories poured out.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There. All better... Oh, who am I kidding?
The bell shrilled, a annoyingly cheerful proclamation of the beginning of one of the many hells of school. A woman with black reading glasses resting on her nose walked to the front of the class and sat on a wooden kitchen stool she had obviously brought in herself.
"Creative Writing. Woodman. If that's not on your schedule, get out and get to the class your supposed to be in."
Two or three students got up and walked out the door.
"Idiots," she mumbled loud enough for the class to hear.
After they had left, she began her mantra. "All right. My name is Mrs. Woodman, and you're stuck with me for the rest of the year. I don't accept late work unless you're dieing, you broke something other than your brain, or you were in a near death situation. Come as you are, but don't leave as you are. I want this class to change something about you. It may be your punctuality, it may be your attention span, hell, it could be your writing! I look at all of you and see something in you. Passion. Hope." Her eyes locked with Logan's. "Love. Regret."
He gulped. Damn, she's good.
"Whatever I see, I expect you to show it to me on paper. I'm not gonna do that journal baloney like all those other classes you've had. I'm not gonna make you write about your holiday with Uncle Joe and Aunt Susie and that stupid dog of theirs. I'm gonna make you write your soul. If you don't think you can handle that, get your sorry bums to the counselors and get an appointment to switch out. Cuz, angel babies, this is not English class, and I'm not gonna baby you. Got it?"
Stunned students slowly nodded their heads. One guy, obviously fed up with her opening comments, stood up. "Damn, this is whack. I'm blowing this joint."
Mrs. Woodman watched him leave. As the door slowly closed, she turned back to the rest of the class. "Any more?"
No one dared to move.
"Good. All right, angel babies, coming around is the syllabus for the next three months. You'll get a new one in the next three months and so forth. For your first assignment, I've succumbed to the whims of the English department and have given you the usual 'What I Did Over My Summer Vacation' la."
Logan felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn't move. His summer vacation? No, he couldn't write about that! That would mean reopening too many scars. That would mean telling the world about Max, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Where could he begin? He didn't want to share his love and heartache with his best friend, let alone the rest of the class!
"Hey, Logan! Logan! Take one and pass it around!" A stack of syllabuses from the student behind him came flying over his shoulder and landed on the floor, scattering everywhere.
Laughter burst out from the class as Logan scrambled to pick the papers up from the floor.
"You," she said coldly.
He looked up from the floor to see her short form towering over him.
"After class, got it?"
"O-ok," he managed to get out.
He returned to his seat with the disheveled stack of papers in hand, took one, and passed it to the next person. A hand patted him on the back.
"Smooth, Cale, real smooth."
"Thanks a lot," he muttered back.
"Back to the assignment. Summer vacation, chickadees. This isn't your usual summer vacation paper for the sole reason that is creative writing. I don't want just a page, no, you'll never get off that easily in my class. I want 10."
10? Damn, Cale. You're in it now. You can't write ten pages about her...Wait. That's bull. Of course you can, you can write thousands! But for Mrs. Woodman? I don't think so.
"Minimum."
Shit.
The teacher's eyes swept across the classroom of students. Some looked excited, some looked satisfied, others looked like they had just been condemned to die.
She started back up again. "I want detail, use of literary devices, imagery, whatever will make it sound like you did something over the summer. We'll discuss the other assignments when we get to them. Get some paper out and start a draft. While you do that, I'll see how many students have decided to show up for my class today."
Mrs. Woodman turned around and began to root around though piles of paper on the desk. When she unearthed a remote, she turned up the jazz music. The students looked up at her, confusion written all over their faces. "Write!"
Their heads turned back to their papers, leaving only Logan without a single word on his paper. Ok, Cale, you can do this. It shouldn't be that hard. You… can write about the whole summer as if she wasn't even there! Like that day on the beach never happened!
The sparkling sand welcomed him with its cool, soft texture tickling his feet. Moving closer to the lapping waves, he took off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the wet sand. Somehow he had survived the past school year without this beach, his beach of all places. The sun had just arisen from its watery grave, welcoming Logan on the beach with affectionate kisses of light. He sat down on his towel and pulled out his journal. 'There's nothing like an empty beach to jog your thoughts.'
His pen scratched noisily on the paper as thoughts poured out of him. He paused for a moment to look up at the waves quietly crashing on the shore. Only one thing could make it more beautiful...
"Watch out!" A voice yelled behind him.
He turned to see a yellow Frisbee flying directly at his head. Before he could get out of the way, the Frisbee smacked into his forehead.
"Oww," he spat bitterly.
"Omigod! I'm so sorry! Are you ok-" the voice trailed off.
Logan looked at the infamous Frisbee thrower. 'Oh my God.'
It was Max, clad in a black one piece. Her hair was still bouncy and curly, and the sun hit her face just right. He could have gone on describing every beautiful thing about her for days.
Max's jaw opened. "You," she remarked, disgusted.
She grabbed her Frisbee and started to walk back towards her sister. Logan quickly got to his feet and rushed after her.
"Max, what are you doing here? Do you just happen to follow me around where ever I go?"
She stopped and whipped her head around. "Excuse me? This said from Mr. Stalker himself?"
"I didn't stalk you!" he yelled in retort.
"Oh, yeah right! You don't call following me and my sister to the most desolate place in the whole freaking store then asking me to go to coffee with you stalking!?!" She waited, shoulders heaving.
A smile spread to his face. "But you enjoyed yourself."
She groaned and tilted her head back. "How many times have we gone over this? I-DON'T-LIKE-YOU!"
"Sis! No need to yell!" Heather walked up behind her and rested her arm on Max's shoulder. "The whole beach can hear your conversation! The seagulls are starting to complain." Turning to Logan, she held out her hand. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Heather, Maxie's older sister. Whatever she's told you about me isn't true."
Logan chuckled lightly and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Logan."
Heather looked at Logan, who was looking at Max, and then looked back at Max, who was staring angrily at him. She looked back and forth several times until she got the message.
"All right, I'm officially late! Lauren's gonna kill me!" She motioned in the direction of her car. "If you need anything, just call me on my cell! Oh, and by the way, Max, just so you know, you're not leaving this beach until you and Logan say something productive and not to mention considerate to each other." She turned back to Logan and smiled. "Nice to meet you! Must dash, I've got to find the nearest internet café. I'm late for my therapy chat!" Heather grabbed her bag and rushed to her car. "Remember, Maxie! Productive and considerate!"
She got in the car and drove off, leaving Max and Logan alone on a deserted beach.
'Oh the possibilities,' he thought to himself and smiled.
"What are you smiling about?" Max snapped, rather upset at the events of the last five minutes.
Logan smiled wider and walked past her. "Nothing."
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing? I know that Cheshire cat smile, and that, my friend, is not 'nothing'. " She trailed behind him as he walked closer to the waves.
"Oh, so I'm your friend now?" he tossed back. This banter thing was fun.
Max groaned and started to walk the other direction, leaving Logan still standing inches from the wet sand. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out heavily, taking in the sounds floating around him. He could hear her angry footsteps corrupting the sand, but they soon stopped. The soft crunch of the sand started up again, only softer and more cautious this time.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.
'About how my parents dump me in paradise every year, and only after the twelfth year back have I found an angel.' He opened his eyes and turned his head to the direction of her silky voice. "About you."
A small smile tugged at her lips, and after she resisted the urge to fight it, she gave in and a beautiful smile blossomed on her face.
"Do you always hafta use your charms on me or can ya give it a break everyonce in a while?"
"Always," he replied softly.
Max turned from Logan's gaze and looked out over the ocean. "Well, since I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, I might as well have some fun!" She looked back at Logan. "Care to join me?"
"Well," he cocked his head to one side and stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Considering that my schedule consists of nothing, followed by nothing, followed by some more nothing, I'm thinking-"
"Logan! Hey Cuz!" A deep voice rang out behind them.
"Loogie!" a much higher voice shrilled out behind them as well, causing Logan to put his head in his hands and groan.
Max turned around to see a guy and a skinny chick walking up to where she and Logan were standing. The girl, obviously rather prissy, was walking in her rather expensive Giorgio Armani swimsuit with Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses resting on her rather questionable nose. She was carrying nothing but a small handbag covered in sequins and beads. The guy walking beside her, however, had armloads of her stuff. He could barely walk, and looked tired from schlepping it across the beach, but she saw the way he looked at her.
"Bennett, what are you doing here?" Logan said warily. 'I can never get away from them, can I?'
Bennett put down the armload of bags next to Logan's belongings not too far off and came back.
"I saw your away message and decided to join you."
'Note to self: never tell the truth on IM away messages!'
"Hi Loogie! How are you today!" the blonde said with a little too much pep.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Max's body stiffen.
"He's just fine, thank you," Max spat angrily.
Sara shot Max a look. "If I had wanted a look into the world of the unfashionable, I would have asked you. But I asked Logan." Sara's gaze went back to Logan's like it had never happened and started over. "So Loogie, how are you?"
"The only one I see who has something unfashionable is that scar on your nose. How much did that cost?" Max spat.
Sara touched her nose sensitively and yelled, "Well... well- Urgh! You watch your back, girly!"
In a huff, she walked over to Bennett who was setting up their towels and shoving the rather obtrusive, pink umbrella in the ground.
Logan sighed out in relief. He turned to Max and was about to thank her but he stopped. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and he could see invisible lightning bolts of hatred flying at Sara, Bennett's airhead girlfriend. Was she...jealous?
He put his arm around her. "Thanks. Sara's been trying to get me through Bennett for a while now..."
She shrugged and kept her gaze on Bennett's struggle with the umbrella. "No big dealio," she said casually, her eyes finally moving to his.
The world slowed to a molasses pace and blurred around them. All he could see was her beautiful face glowing in the sunlight. Her deep, brown eyes shone back him, filled with hope and...love? He moved closer to her face and could feel her warm breath on his face. She slowly inched forward, continuing to erase the space between them. He could feel her aura absorbing him and washing over him. Closer, closer, closer... Her lips barely touched his, lightly brushing over them before he finally killed the space between them. He kissed her slowly and cautiously, not wanting to scare her away. She kissed him back, softly at first, but it quickly escalated. Logan could feel her fingers running through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as Max and Logan flew straight up to cloud nine. He moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, never wanting to let go.
"Max...Max..." he muttered as he kissed her ear softly.
"Logan..." she managed to get out as she moved her hand down his head and wrapped them around his neck.
He kissed her soft skin, leaving trails of passion on her jaw line. Logan kissed her lips again and could feel her melt in his arms. Suddenly Max pulled away hastily and looked at Logan.
"Girl needs her oxygen," she managed to wheeze out.
Logan smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. She rested her head on his chest as they looked out over the ocean resting in the comfort of each other's arms.
'Yep, one helluva summer.'
"Mr. Cale? Mr. Cale!" Mrs. Woodman's voice snapped him out of his happy recollections.
He looked around the classroom to find it empty.
"Mr. Cale, I've been watching you the whole period." She sat on a nearby desk and put her arms on her knees. "Now, I know something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," he mumbled.
"Don't lie to me," Mrs. Woodman spat. "I can see it in your eyes. You love someone."
Logan gulped. Damnit, Cale! How could you be dumb enough show your vulnerability to a teacher? A teacher for crying out loud!
"Yes," he choked. "I do love her."
His gaze fell to the floor, but he could still feel her eyes penetrating him.
"What happened?" Mrs. Woodman asked softly.
"She's gone," he said mechanically.
He picked up his backpack and moved towards the door. He was going to be late to his next class if he didn't hurry.
"Mr. Cale."
He stopped and turned to face her.
"Write about her."
Logan took a deep breath. "I can't," he said shakily.
With that he opened the door and started to make his way to Physics.
Time Frame: Total AU, 2005. No Pulse, no Manticore, no virus, no breeding cult psychos! Yay!
Author's Note: Thanks for all the awesome reviews: Winking Tiger, Sea Siren, WildGirl, hay25, bastgoddess, noor, and CharmedOneJayme! You guys rock my socks!
After you're finished reading this, click the little 'Go' button and tell me what you think. Was it horrendously corny, was it good, did it make you laugh because it was so stupid? Let me know!
Three - Hello, My Name is Logan, and I Have a Problem
The morning had gone by in a blur. People came, people went, and somehow, he had managed to get to his classes despite his perpetual state of sadness and longing. Teachers gabbed on and on about curriculum, grades, rules... it was a broken record each class period, only changed by different people and teachers' outfits.
His classes were boring as usual. Most of them were business classes his father wanted him to take to prepare for becoming a partner in the family business, Cale Industries. But, unbeknownst to his father, Logan had no intention to join the family business. In fact, he wanted nothing to do with it. Going to cocktail party after cocktail party and seeing Uncle Jonas every day until Jonas checked in to that big company in the sky was not his idea of living life to the fullest. Of course, his father didn't really seem to care about that. The only thing that mattered was Logan taking his place when he passed away.
Logan had managed to slip a creative writing class under his father's radar with a little help from his mother. His mother had signed the final paper, giving consent to his schedule, while his father was on a "business trip." Most likely he, Jonas, and some other stuffy executives were smoking cigars and drinking Bloody Marys and vodka until they all wound up drunk and slurring around a piano.
Logan was closest to his mother, since they both shared a passion for writing. Before she had married his father, Elise Coeur was a well-known novelist. She wanted to pass it on to her son, despite her husband's disapproval.
When Logan was younger, he could remember hearing their yelling as the moon and the stars slowly faded from the sky. His mother wanted him to be an author, while his father wanted him to be a businessman. And Logan? Well, he just wanted to save the world. When he was seven, he told his mother that he wanted to be just like Superman and save people. His mother smiled and put her hands on either side of his head.
"Someday, Logan, someday."
He walked into his first afternoon class and sat in a random desk. The walls were loitered with posters of Shakespeare, Robert Frost, Ernest Hemingway… the list could've gone on for days. Jazz music played from an unknown source, trumpets wailing and pianos beating out their souls. Half-healed wounds reopened and the memories poured out.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. There. All better... Oh, who am I kidding?
The bell shrilled, a annoyingly cheerful proclamation of the beginning of one of the many hells of school. A woman with black reading glasses resting on her nose walked to the front of the class and sat on a wooden kitchen stool she had obviously brought in herself.
"Creative Writing. Woodman. If that's not on your schedule, get out and get to the class your supposed to be in."
Two or three students got up and walked out the door.
"Idiots," she mumbled loud enough for the class to hear.
After they had left, she began her mantra. "All right. My name is Mrs. Woodman, and you're stuck with me for the rest of the year. I don't accept late work unless you're dieing, you broke something other than your brain, or you were in a near death situation. Come as you are, but don't leave as you are. I want this class to change something about you. It may be your punctuality, it may be your attention span, hell, it could be your writing! I look at all of you and see something in you. Passion. Hope." Her eyes locked with Logan's. "Love. Regret."
He gulped. Damn, she's good.
"Whatever I see, I expect you to show it to me on paper. I'm not gonna do that journal baloney like all those other classes you've had. I'm not gonna make you write about your holiday with Uncle Joe and Aunt Susie and that stupid dog of theirs. I'm gonna make you write your soul. If you don't think you can handle that, get your sorry bums to the counselors and get an appointment to switch out. Cuz, angel babies, this is not English class, and I'm not gonna baby you. Got it?"
Stunned students slowly nodded their heads. One guy, obviously fed up with her opening comments, stood up. "Damn, this is whack. I'm blowing this joint."
Mrs. Woodman watched him leave. As the door slowly closed, she turned back to the rest of the class. "Any more?"
No one dared to move.
"Good. All right, angel babies, coming around is the syllabus for the next three months. You'll get a new one in the next three months and so forth. For your first assignment, I've succumbed to the whims of the English department and have given you the usual 'What I Did Over My Summer Vacation' la."
Logan felt the blood drain from his face. He couldn't move. His summer vacation? No, he couldn't write about that! That would mean reopening too many scars. That would mean telling the world about Max, and he couldn't bring himself to do that. Where could he begin? He didn't want to share his love and heartache with his best friend, let alone the rest of the class!
"Hey, Logan! Logan! Take one and pass it around!" A stack of syllabuses from the student behind him came flying over his shoulder and landed on the floor, scattering everywhere.
Laughter burst out from the class as Logan scrambled to pick the papers up from the floor.
"You," she said coldly.
He looked up from the floor to see her short form towering over him.
"After class, got it?"
"O-ok," he managed to get out.
He returned to his seat with the disheveled stack of papers in hand, took one, and passed it to the next person. A hand patted him on the back.
"Smooth, Cale, real smooth."
"Thanks a lot," he muttered back.
"Back to the assignment. Summer vacation, chickadees. This isn't your usual summer vacation paper for the sole reason that is creative writing. I don't want just a page, no, you'll never get off that easily in my class. I want 10."
10? Damn, Cale. You're in it now. You can't write ten pages about her...Wait. That's bull. Of course you can, you can write thousands! But for Mrs. Woodman? I don't think so.
"Minimum."
Shit.
The teacher's eyes swept across the classroom of students. Some looked excited, some looked satisfied, others looked like they had just been condemned to die.
She started back up again. "I want detail, use of literary devices, imagery, whatever will make it sound like you did something over the summer. We'll discuss the other assignments when we get to them. Get some paper out and start a draft. While you do that, I'll see how many students have decided to show up for my class today."
Mrs. Woodman turned around and began to root around though piles of paper on the desk. When she unearthed a remote, she turned up the jazz music. The students looked up at her, confusion written all over their faces. "Write!"
Their heads turned back to their papers, leaving only Logan without a single word on his paper. Ok, Cale, you can do this. It shouldn't be that hard. You… can write about the whole summer as if she wasn't even there! Like that day on the beach never happened!
The sparkling sand welcomed him with its cool, soft texture tickling his feet. Moving closer to the lapping waves, he took off his shoes and wiggled his toes in the wet sand. Somehow he had survived the past school year without this beach, his beach of all places. The sun had just arisen from its watery grave, welcoming Logan on the beach with affectionate kisses of light. He sat down on his towel and pulled out his journal. 'There's nothing like an empty beach to jog your thoughts.'
His pen scratched noisily on the paper as thoughts poured out of him. He paused for a moment to look up at the waves quietly crashing on the shore. Only one thing could make it more beautiful...
"Watch out!" A voice yelled behind him.
He turned to see a yellow Frisbee flying directly at his head. Before he could get out of the way, the Frisbee smacked into his forehead.
"Oww," he spat bitterly.
"Omigod! I'm so sorry! Are you ok-" the voice trailed off.
Logan looked at the infamous Frisbee thrower. 'Oh my God.'
It was Max, clad in a black one piece. Her hair was still bouncy and curly, and the sun hit her face just right. He could have gone on describing every beautiful thing about her for days.
Max's jaw opened. "You," she remarked, disgusted.
She grabbed her Frisbee and started to walk back towards her sister. Logan quickly got to his feet and rushed after her.
"Max, what are you doing here? Do you just happen to follow me around where ever I go?"
She stopped and whipped her head around. "Excuse me? This said from Mr. Stalker himself?"
"I didn't stalk you!" he yelled in retort.
"Oh, yeah right! You don't call following me and my sister to the most desolate place in the whole freaking store then asking me to go to coffee with you stalking!?!" She waited, shoulders heaving.
A smile spread to his face. "But you enjoyed yourself."
She groaned and tilted her head back. "How many times have we gone over this? I-DON'T-LIKE-YOU!"
"Sis! No need to yell!" Heather walked up behind her and rested her arm on Max's shoulder. "The whole beach can hear your conversation! The seagulls are starting to complain." Turning to Logan, she held out her hand. "I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Heather, Maxie's older sister. Whatever she's told you about me isn't true."
Logan chuckled lightly and shook her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Logan."
Heather looked at Logan, who was looking at Max, and then looked back at Max, who was staring angrily at him. She looked back and forth several times until she got the message.
"All right, I'm officially late! Lauren's gonna kill me!" She motioned in the direction of her car. "If you need anything, just call me on my cell! Oh, and by the way, Max, just so you know, you're not leaving this beach until you and Logan say something productive and not to mention considerate to each other." She turned back to Logan and smiled. "Nice to meet you! Must dash, I've got to find the nearest internet café. I'm late for my therapy chat!" Heather grabbed her bag and rushed to her car. "Remember, Maxie! Productive and considerate!"
She got in the car and drove off, leaving Max and Logan alone on a deserted beach.
'Oh the possibilities,' he thought to himself and smiled.
"What are you smiling about?" Max snapped, rather upset at the events of the last five minutes.
Logan smiled wider and walked past her. "Nothing."
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing? I know that Cheshire cat smile, and that, my friend, is not 'nothing'. " She trailed behind him as he walked closer to the waves.
"Oh, so I'm your friend now?" he tossed back. This banter thing was fun.
Max groaned and started to walk the other direction, leaving Logan still standing inches from the wet sand. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out heavily, taking in the sounds floating around him. He could hear her angry footsteps corrupting the sand, but they soon stopped. The soft crunch of the sand started up again, only softer and more cautious this time.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked softly.
'About how my parents dump me in paradise every year, and only after the twelfth year back have I found an angel.' He opened his eyes and turned his head to the direction of her silky voice. "About you."
A small smile tugged at her lips, and after she resisted the urge to fight it, she gave in and a beautiful smile blossomed on her face.
"Do you always hafta use your charms on me or can ya give it a break everyonce in a while?"
"Always," he replied softly.
Max turned from Logan's gaze and looked out over the ocean. "Well, since I'm gonna be stuck here for a while, I might as well have some fun!" She looked back at Logan. "Care to join me?"
"Well," he cocked his head to one side and stroked the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "Considering that my schedule consists of nothing, followed by nothing, followed by some more nothing, I'm thinking-"
"Logan! Hey Cuz!" A deep voice rang out behind them.
"Loogie!" a much higher voice shrilled out behind them as well, causing Logan to put his head in his hands and groan.
Max turned around to see a guy and a skinny chick walking up to where she and Logan were standing. The girl, obviously rather prissy, was walking in her rather expensive Giorgio Armani swimsuit with Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses resting on her rather questionable nose. She was carrying nothing but a small handbag covered in sequins and beads. The guy walking beside her, however, had armloads of her stuff. He could barely walk, and looked tired from schlepping it across the beach, but she saw the way he looked at her.
"Bennett, what are you doing here?" Logan said warily. 'I can never get away from them, can I?'
Bennett put down the armload of bags next to Logan's belongings not too far off and came back.
"I saw your away message and decided to join you."
'Note to self: never tell the truth on IM away messages!'
"Hi Loogie! How are you today!" the blonde said with a little too much pep.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Max's body stiffen.
"He's just fine, thank you," Max spat angrily.
Sara shot Max a look. "If I had wanted a look into the world of the unfashionable, I would have asked you. But I asked Logan." Sara's gaze went back to Logan's like it had never happened and started over. "So Loogie, how are you?"
"The only one I see who has something unfashionable is that scar on your nose. How much did that cost?" Max spat.
Sara touched her nose sensitively and yelled, "Well... well- Urgh! You watch your back, girly!"
In a huff, she walked over to Bennett who was setting up their towels and shoving the rather obtrusive, pink umbrella in the ground.
Logan sighed out in relief. He turned to Max and was about to thank her but he stopped. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and he could see invisible lightning bolts of hatred flying at Sara, Bennett's airhead girlfriend. Was she...jealous?
He put his arm around her. "Thanks. Sara's been trying to get me through Bennett for a while now..."
She shrugged and kept her gaze on Bennett's struggle with the umbrella. "No big dealio," she said casually, her eyes finally moving to his.
The world slowed to a molasses pace and blurred around them. All he could see was her beautiful face glowing in the sunlight. Her deep, brown eyes shone back him, filled with hope and...love? He moved closer to her face and could feel her warm breath on his face. She slowly inched forward, continuing to erase the space between them. He could feel her aura absorbing him and washing over him. Closer, closer, closer... Her lips barely touched his, lightly brushing over them before he finally killed the space between them. He kissed her slowly and cautiously, not wanting to scare her away. She kissed him back, softly at first, but it quickly escalated. Logan could feel her fingers running through his hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as Max and Logan flew straight up to cloud nine. He moved closer to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, never wanting to let go.
"Max...Max..." he muttered as he kissed her ear softly.
"Logan..." she managed to get out as she moved her hand down his head and wrapped them around his neck.
He kissed her soft skin, leaving trails of passion on her jaw line. Logan kissed her lips again and could feel her melt in his arms. Suddenly Max pulled away hastily and looked at Logan.
"Girl needs her oxygen," she managed to wheeze out.
Logan smiled and planted a kiss on her forehead. She rested her head on his chest as they looked out over the ocean resting in the comfort of each other's arms.
'Yep, one helluva summer.'
"Mr. Cale? Mr. Cale!" Mrs. Woodman's voice snapped him out of his happy recollections.
He looked around the classroom to find it empty.
"Mr. Cale, I've been watching you the whole period." She sat on a nearby desk and put her arms on her knees. "Now, I know something's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong," he mumbled.
"Don't lie to me," Mrs. Woodman spat. "I can see it in your eyes. You love someone."
Logan gulped. Damnit, Cale! How could you be dumb enough show your vulnerability to a teacher? A teacher for crying out loud!
"Yes," he choked. "I do love her."
His gaze fell to the floor, but he could still feel her eyes penetrating him.
"What happened?" Mrs. Woodman asked softly.
"She's gone," he said mechanically.
He picked up his backpack and moved towards the door. He was going to be late to his next class if he didn't hurry.
"Mr. Cale."
He stopped and turned to face her.
"Write about her."
Logan took a deep breath. "I can't," he said shakily.
With that he opened the door and started to make his way to Physics.