Chapter 4

While I had curtailed my partying and class skipping the next few years at school, I can't say I learned to make good decisions. I still did dumb shit, frequently even. But I tried to keep it to things that would do less permanent damage. Pranking other fraternities, staying up all night with my friends, falling head over heels for a couple of crazy girls… normal college stuff. I also manage to study hard and get my GPA up to respectable levels. I avoided doing anything that my parents might hear about. No more trips to the ER, unless I was driving a friend. No drugs. Nothing Hillard would frown at, even.

I kept in touch with him, of course. He took a special interest in me- suggested classes I might like with professors who were interesting enough to keep me from falling asleep, giving advice on my major, which I decided to declare as econometrics and quantitative economics, giving me advice on friends and girlfriends. He was a lot like the Dad I wish my father had been.

Mom and Dad were failing at pretending to be happy now that I wasn't home much. They let all the petty squabbles turn into drag out screaming matches, if the neighbours were to be believed. When I was growing up I knew they weren't exactly happy but I didn't expect their whole marriage to devolve so quickly once I was away at school. By Christmas my second year at Princeton they were separated. They were divorced by the following Thanksgiving. I stayed away at school over the holidays that year, since Mom had checked herself into some sort of remote spa somewhere for 3 months and Dad was in California looking at possibly transferring out there. I let them think it didn't bother me much, but honestly it did. I always wished my parents were happier people, but I didn't want them to be happy APART.

If I had been honest with myself, I wanted them to be more like Bob and Linda. They were goofy, they were messy, but they loved each other. They were best friends; you could see it. They joked and fought and laughed and cried. Every time I was around them, I saw them functioning as a partnership. After my parents split, I decided that's what I wanted. A best friend who would be my equal partner. Someone to make me happy to come home.

Hopefully now that they got divorced, my parents could find the same.

Even still, I decided that just because I wanted a partner to spend my life didn't mean I couldn't date around. Which I definitely did. Only thing was, I may not have had the best choices in bed buddies. Meaning they were usually brain dead, insipid, vapid bottle blondes that bored me to tears unless we were actually having sex. Which is why I usually didn't date any one of them for long.

One particular girl managed to hang on a couple of months my junior year, even going so far as to visit me back home over the summer. I can't say I wasn't pleased, since by then I had enough saved from both my parents who felt guilty for "ruining the family" and threw money the problem, as well as from Fischoeder, and I was able to get an apartment all to myself so I was able to entertain her alone. I peeked in her fancy designer tote bag she left in my bedroom the night she arrived. It had nothing in it but lingerie, condoms, and a couple of very short skirts. Well, at least I knew I wouldn't have to introduce her to my mom. She was not prepared for Cynthia and I wasn't either.

This town wasn't really a party spot, more like a family beach getaway. We didn't have any funky nightclubs or even a ritzy piano bar. But while I was away at school, one building which had been a revolving door of disparate businesses over the years had been turned into a quirky dive bar, the Swanky Panky. So when Charlene started climbing the walls with the desire to get out of my apartment and go somewhere, I had a place to take her.

We were carded at the door, but the employee didn't seem to care about our obviously fake IDs. By 9 pm we were toasted. By 10:30, she was practically ready to jump me right there in the bar. Something about a bayberry breeze made her handsy. She even stepped out to the ladies room and came back to hand me a wad of fabric. I realised with a start that they were her underwear. It was definitely time to go back to my place.

We left a large tip on the bar, which seemed to make the bartender more inclined to forgive my rather dissolute and sloppily drunk date. As we stepped off the curb to cross over to my car, I patted my pockets for the keys. Driving drunk was not a good decision but I needed to get my phone out of my car to call a cab. My pockets contained only my wallet. I leaned over to gaze in the window of my Trans-am, a belated birthday gift from my father this year. There sat my phone and my keys on the centre console.

"Fuuuuck," I swore out loud. Charlene gave me a look of confusion and I pointed at the window. "My keys are in there."

"So, we can walk right?" Charlene purred in my ear, pinching my ass in the process.

"It's several miles back to my apartment, babe," I explained while looking at her very sexy but not at all sensible high heels. Then I looked around and realised we were next door to Bob's Burgers. I was too drunk to be embarrassed about anything at the moment but I wasn't so drunk that I didn't remember that Louise picked locks. "Oh, come with me. I have a fix." I pulled Charlene along to enter the restaurant next door.

They looked like they were closing down for the night but the door was still unlocked so we walked right on inside. Tina was cleaning up a table when we came in and almost immediately turned around.

"We're closed-" She started to say and that's when I realised. This wasn't Tina; This was Louise. When had she grown up into a girl? The expression on her face when she saw it was me, though- that was pure Louise. She hadn't changed on the inside, I guess. "Oh, it's you. What do you want, Logan Bush?" She went back to wiping down the table.

"You." I said simply. Her hair smacked her in the face as she turned around, she spun so fast.

"Excuse me?" she squeaked out. That's when I figured I might have come across wrong so I quickly continued.

"Do you still pick locks, Louise?" I asked. Her face changed from terror to understanding, then contempt. She could see we were wasted. And then things got worse.

Charlene leaned over, pressing her breasts out and began the annoying whining she did when she wasn't getting what she wanted. In this case, she wanted to be back at my apartment or perhaps just my attention.

"Loooooh-gan! Why are we here talking to this little girl? I wanna go back to your place," her voice dropped to a lower register and she practically purred in my ear, "and take all your clothes off."

In psych class I had learned that cognitive dissonance is when one experiences two emotions that contradict each other. In this instance I was experiencing both a deep desire to fuck Charlene but as Louise was looking at me, I also wanted Charlene a million miles away. The highly judgemental expression on her teenage face was not helping matters. I could practically taste her disdain for Charlene, and by extension myself, from here.

Louise threw some insults, I chose to ignore them, and in the end we settled on a hundred bucks for her to unlock my car. I expect she thought I would lowball her so I just offered a large amount upfront to move this conversation along.

Since I had Charlene hanging off my arm the entire time, I couldn't exactly apologise for her without starting trouble, so instead, I slipped a few extra fifties into my hand before giving it all to Louise. I hoped this would be enough in the way of an apology and maybe it would mend some fences as well.

As soon as she walked away, I grabbed my phone, called a car service, and then fifteen minutes later, Charlene had me back in my bed while she tore my clothes off.

It wasn't a match made in heaven, and I knew I was an ass for thinking it, but she was fun… for now.

I didn't see Louise again until the next spring, shortly after I graduated. I had come home with a diploma, a sense of self and responsibility, and an assurance that I had grown up. Well, not all the time, but I knew I wasn't the 18 year old kid who first arrived at Princeton anymore. Coming back to my hometown everything felt new. I saw things from a different perspective. And though I wasn't sure what I was going to do long-term, I knew I had a job waiting for me at Wonder Wharf.

Fischoeder was as good as his word. I called him on my first day back and he answered the phone on the first ring, as if he had been awaiting my call. So, with a bit of training and a little stumbling, I began my first real job. I had my own apartment, did my own laundry, and made it a point to only call my mother once a week. I wasn't going to let her turn my life into her game to play. I would not be her puppet again.

Dad moved away to California a few months before, so I didn't have to worry about him. Most of my old high school friends hadn't bothered to keep in touch, nor I with them. My frat brothers were wide-spread but there were a few nearby I talked to regularly. James lived in New York and offered his place to stay if I were to come visit; we had known each other since the second grade. Megan, my girlfriend, lived a couple towns away, so I was able to see her all the time too. Life was going great, for once.

One afternoon in May, shortly after I took over management, Fischoeder had me giving a guided tour of the Wharf to some businessmen colleagues of his. I did the "look at the things we are doing right, no don't look at that it's not important" dance to impress them with the success of the park all morning. After a lunch of sushi, they wanted to see the actual Wharf itself and not look at any more spreadsheets and profit projections in the office so I relented and started showing them the grounds. With school not being out yet, there wasn't a lot to show off, really. A few workers tried to act busy when they saw us come by, some young parents played with their small children, and a few lone elderly patrons enjoying their afternoon were pretty much all there was to see. They took some pictures on their phones and wore looks of polite interest but I knew I better find something else before I lost their attention.

Lo and behold, the next person I saw walking around was Louise Belcher. Unless I missed my guess, she should have been in school at this hour. Ditching? I was once again struck with the notion that had we been closer in age, we could have been good friends seeing as how we were a lot alike.

I didn't mean to insult her. I honestly didn't. But sometimes around Louise I would open my mouth and insert my foot without thinking. It would just happen.

Before I knew it I was in an embarrassing bitching contest with a 15 year old girl in front of businessmen I was supposed to impress. I could feel my cheeks burning red. I don't know how she found out personal, private, humiliating stories about me to share with the world, but I was hellbent on finding out. "You stupid little bitch. How did you know that? Did Kyle squeal?"

"I'm not about to reveal my sources. But I don't know Kyle, Lolo," I flinched at the nickname my grandmother used to call me on her lips. "I guess I could have told your friends about the boner you got when you were asking Maria to the homecoming dance but I thought the bed-wetting story was funnier. Don't you think so?"

I pieced the puzzle together. "How did you get my journal? How, Louise?" I felt my hands making fists over and over in an attempt to give me something to focus on besides my abject humiliation. She had the wisdom to look worried. "Your room," she stammered.

"And what were you doing in my room? Why were you in my mother's house? Are you picking locks there too?" I towered over her. She was a full head shorter than me; next to me she looked like a child, yet in this situation neither of us was an adult.

People who a moment ago were watching us to laugh at me were now watching this interchange with rapt fascination. I could sense dozens of watching eyes on us. They didn't look like they would intervene. I wish someone had told me to calm down but my pride had been hurt. Also…

I thought she was better than this. I thought we were at least okay with each other. I guess I had been very wrong.

"I helped your mom during the days after her divorce from Tom- your Dad." she explained, though it did not in the least excuse WHY she took my journal.

"Give it to me Louise. Give me my journal," I demanded. "NOW."

"I don't have it anymore," she taunted. "I threw it into a dumpster behind Pancho's Tacos. The good one- on Riverside." My old lie, used against me. Maybe I deserved it back then, but that was years ago. I had grown up. I suppose she hadn't yet.

Nothing to do here but walk away I guess, so I turned to leave and hopefully get the business meeting back under control. But then some yahoo in the crowd had to speak. He had to put in his two cents. "That's it? She STOLE from you, man!" I stopped and felt my vision go red.

She had. She STOLE from me. She gained my mother's trust and then went into my childhood room and stole something private and personal. I used that journal throughout high school. There were stories and thoughts and memories and dreams written in those pages, words sharing things I had not wanted anyone to read, ever, especially not some teenage bitch to use against me, possibly fucking up my first real job.

So I turned and gave her what I could only hope was my cruellest stare. I wanted her to hurt just as much as I was hurting. Maybe if I inflicted as much damage to her psyche as she had to mine, I would feel better. "You. You waste of space. I cannot believe I ever wasted any time on you. I was so wrong." Don't say it, Logan. Don't do it.

Too late. "I made a huge mistake walking into that fire. I should have let you burn." I turned away and left her there to feel as shitty as I was feeling.

The business meeting was more or less ruined anyway. I said farewell to them all and went back to the office where I tried to lose myself in emails. I ended up just staring into space, berating myself for several hours. It was a lost cause. As I zoned out, I let my thoughts run in circles. What should I have done? I acted like a petulant brat. She did too but she's a kid. I should know better.

But she baited me! Fish can choose not to bite, you idiot, I could hear Hill saying. One of things he always warned me about was my temper and how I would let it get the better of me. I thought I was above this bullshit. It was probably a lost cause, getting the journal back. Just say your goodbyes now. Hopefully I had made her think twice before rooting through someone else's private things but somehow I doubt it. From now on, I decided to simply avoid her as much as possible. It would be for the best.

After several hours of woolgathering, I just went home, making sure to go out the back where patrons had no access. It was a long walk around to get to my car, but it was nice to know I wasn't going to get jumped at the front gates. I had parked my car towards the middle of the lot so it was clear of other cars by now. There were no shady figures hanging around, ready to break my kneecaps. As I walked closer I checked for obvious signs of boobytraps. Nothing. With a sigh of relief and an effort to try to think of other things for the rest of the night, I drove home.

My apartment wasn't the flashy one I dreamed I would have as a kid. If I was honest… It was boring. My mother desperately wanted to get her hands on it and redecorate; I absolutely refused. I wasn't much for fine art, so the walls were pretty bare, except the odd clock. I also had my diploma framed and meant to hang it up, but always forgot to, so for now it sat on top of some books in my bookcase. Despite never reading much, I did have a few books here- mostly textbooks I hadn't sold yet, though undoubtedly a new edition had since come out and these were worthless now. But sitting among them were some graphic novels, a few staple classics, and books gifted to me. Those were on the ever-growing to-be-read list. Somehow that list never shrunk by even one.

The furniture was new but very plain. Sensible furniture for a subdued apartment. I was lively enough for everyone. My apartment didn't have to be. Unless I was playing music, that is. One of the few splurges in my life was my stereo system. Surround sound speakers from all angles, woofers, turntables, lps, cds, cassettes- I had it all. Thankfully the lady below me was legally deaf. It was, quite literally, the perfect arrangement for me.

Imagine my surprise when, one morning, I'm making coffee, still in my underwear and nothing else, there's pounding on the door. This wasn't a pleasant knock of a solicitor trying to sell something or the brisk knock of my landlord or even the sharp rapping of my mother. This was "if you don't answer this door in 5 seconds I will break it down" type pounding. Hurriedly I answered, concerned mostly for my door, having no expectations for what's on the other side.

Sergeant Bosco and about 4 uniformed officers were standing on my stoop, along with my irate landlord. The officers went in around me, leaving me dumbly standing in the open door, looking at Sergeant Bosco with no idea what was going on.

"Can I help you-" I started to say before he cut me off.

"We got an anonymous tip about a large quantity of drugs on the premises. Namely: methamphetamine, ecstasy, and LSD. We believe our source to be reliable so we are here to search your apartment, Logan Bush." With those incredible words, Bosco shoved past me too and joined his buddies ransacking my whole place. I stood there with my jaw on the floor. Then my landlord began a string of accusations and threats that, had I been paying more attention, would have freaked me out.

"You promised you were a serious young man, Mr. Bush. You've been staying here on and off for years. I run a nice building, you hooligan. I don't want that stuff here. We have families and children in this building. Your neighbours all say nice things about you. They'll change their tune when they hear about this. I can't believe I was wrong about you. Is there anything else we'll find here? Prostitutes? What about that girl that comes by a lot? Is she your dealer or do you sell to her? Oh my word I have a drug dealer in my building!" His litany of ridiculousness kept on the entire time the police were there.

My couch cushions were opened and dumped out. My fridge emptied. They turned over all my dresser drawers so that my entire wardrobe lay in piles next to my stripped bed and ransacked closet. They tore off the backs of my speakers. They even opened the back of the toilet tank. My entire home was completely upended and destroyed in fifteen minutes. As the disgruntled officers filed out of my place, Bosco didn't even apologise. He simply said they must have gotten misinformation and thanked me for my time. My landlord just pointed his bony finger at my chest and said "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Mister. One toe out of line and you'll be out of here." He huffed off, leaving me wondering if I should be looking for a new apartment. The neighbours were peeking out their doors and windows, trying to tell what the commotion was about. I slammed my door shut and turned to see the federal disaster area that had become of my apartment. Maybe the red cross would come soon.

I waded into the mess in search of something to wear to work. In the end, I found a slightly wrinkled shirt and slacks buried in a mess on my bedroom floor and my shoes ended up under my coffee table (which had been flipped for no reason I could see.) I was only slightly late for work and spent most of the day trying to focus on everything but the growing certainty that I knew exactly what was behind this.

My landlord, saint that he is, had both my parent's information since they were my references on file. By lunch I had received a voicemail and several angry text messages from my father. My mother refused to use voicemail and just called incessantly until I answered my phone, and then she proceeded to yell at me for a solid 15 minutes. She threatened rehab more than once. It wasn't until she ran out of curses that I was able to explain it was a prank gone wrong, the cops found nothing because there was nothing to find, and everything was actually fine. I told her she could meet me at my place tonight if she wanted to look at the thorough chaos that was all my worldly belongings and she was also welcome to call Sergeant Bosco for confirmation. She eventually calmed down and demanded we do dinner sometime soon so she could "keep an eye on me."

I ignored my dad's messages for now because one deranged parent was all I could cope with today. What I didn't do was stop thinking in circles about the whole thing.

This was her revenge. I said cruel, heartless things to a fifteen year old girl, sunk completely to her level, and now I was paying the price. This had to stop and I had to stop it.

In an effort to get her alone, I waited outside the alley door of the restaurant, knowing she would have to come out sometime tonight. The alley smelled like rotten lettuce, dirty street water, and car exhaust. It really wasn't meant as a hang-out spot. But soon enough, after the dinner rush, the door opened and it was Louise. Seeing her, I let loose the anger that I had been building up while I waited out there. I slammed the door closed behind her and moved right into her way so she couldn't get away from me.

"A drug bust at my apartment Louise? Really?!" I was so angry I spat the words out.

"Did I ruin your weekend Logan? Any big plans you have to cancel now?" Her face, angry but vindicated, sassy and decidedly laughing at me, smirked up at me in the fading light.

"There was nothing for them to find, you stupid cow. But now my apartment is trashed, my landlord wants to evict me, and my family is talking about rehab. I haven't done drugs since freshman year, Louise. I got my shit together and grew up. You should do the same thing!" I stepped back and spat at her feet. "You're toxic. I'm done." I left and didn't look back