“Look, your mom is coming home soon, and she’s going to make you some scrambled eggs and toast for dinner. Think your stomach can handle that?”
I nodded automatically, even though my stomach was now twisting with the fear that something had happened to Logan.
Over dinner, my parents chalked up my distraction to the stomach flu, and I raced to my bedroom promptly afterward, grabbing my laptop and scouring everything my classmates posted online, looking for mentions of Logan, Aiden, any kind of fight at the school...but I found nothing except snarky commentary about Pepper and Matt’s apparently renewed relationship status and repeated posts about their never-ending love for each other.
I shook my head at Pepper and Matt’s drama—when I was six, I would have aptly proclaimed it a Barf-a-rama—and shut my laptop, my imagination going into hyperactive mode, launching detailed scenarios where Logan was attacked by Aiden. The images blended together, assaulting my dreams as I fell into a fitful night’s sleep, my phone clutched in my hand in case he managed to call me from a diner or something.
But Logan didn’t call. My night was lost to bizarre dreams, nonsensical narratives full of demons and disapproving parents and Logan vanishing into mist when I reached out for him. And the next day, the hours after school came and passed again without any word from him.
“I think one more day and you’ll be fine,” my mom was saying after dinner, inspecting the thermometer in her hands. My temperature readout was only in the high nineties; I’d managed to slip it out of my mouth when my mom stepped away to say goodbye as my dad left for the night shift.
“Have you heard from your friend?” Mom asked, tapping my phone where it was charging next to me on the couch.
“No. He doesn’t have a phone, though,” I added, and my mom’s dark eyebrows shot up in surprise.
“A teenager with no phone? Talk about a mythical creature!” Mom laughed in surprise.
“His uncle’s strict,” I offered as a means of explanation, and my mom gave me an understanding smile.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll hear from your friend—” Mom loaded the word with innuendo “—very soon.”
But he didn’t call. And that night, I couldn’t sleep again. I curled up in bed, the tears that had streaked down my face and soaked my pillow finally starting to dry. I hadn’t heard from Logan in more than two days. Would Rego have bothered informing me if Logan were hurt? I laughed harshly to myself, pretty sure I already knew the answer to that. Maybe I could call the school tomorrow, pretending to be a relative with a family emergency, needing to speak to Aiden. At least I’d know if he’d come to school. If he’d shown up, Logan definitely would have fought him.
Thinking of the possibility that Aiden had killed Logan sparked a fresh round of tears, spurred on by more fears—that Cerus had ambushed Logan in the middle of the night, seeking vengeance for the earlier affront to his ego, or yet another nameless demon had shown up to end Logan’s life.
And then there was the other completely selfish but completely real fear: that Logan was avoiding me. He knew that I had feelings for him—the fact that I had been able to break Della’s spell was proof enough of that. So maybe the real reason why he hadn’t shown up was that Logan had taken a one-way train out of Paige’s Awkward Crushville.
My phone began buzzing, scaring my cat off the bed as it vibrated, the number of my corner bodega flashing on the screen.
“Hello?” I sniffled, wondering if I had underpaid for my bagel sandwich yesterday.
“Hey, it’s me. Can you meet me on your roof? I know it’s late, but can you sneak out?”
“Logan?” I cried, relief flooding my system. I ran to my bedroom door, shutting it. My parents’ bedroom was on the opposite end of our apartment, but I didn’t want to risk waking them.
“Are you okay?” I whispered, spinning my bracelet nervously.
“Yeah,” he replied, his voice rising in surprise at my question. “Listen, I actually asked if I could use the phone here instead of, well, you know, using my talents. I don’t want to stay on longer than necessary. Can you meet me?”
“You’re totally okay?” I repeated.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Give me a bit and I’ll be up there.” Of course I’d be there. I’d been panicking for more than two days. He sounded okay, but I needed to see that he was alive and well. Maybe he was lying to me so I wouldn’t worry before I saw him.
I splashed some water on my face, trying my best to hide my puffy eyes underneath my own baseball cap. I dressed quickly in dark blue yoga pants, a tank top and a hoodie, and pulled on my well-worn Chucks. I figured they were my quietest shoes, allowing me to stealthily tiptoe through my apartment. But what did I know? It’s not like I had a storied history of sneaking out late at night. I stood before the front door, making a silent bargain with it.
If you promise not to squeak too loudly, I won’t let you slam shut behind me anymore.
The hinges were silent until I’d opened the door enough to slip out through the narrow opening, and they unleashed one short—but shrill—screech, as if it were a warning sign to tell me they’d been my quiet accomplice long enough. I paused to listen for my father’s snore, which fortunately didn’t falter.
The door shut quietly, the hinges taking silent mercy on me, and I slowly started my ascent up the stairs to the roof.
The night was cold but clear, the moon and Venus piercing the cloudless black sky with bright white light. The roof was dark, illuminated with the soft hazy glow of traffic and streetlights below us. I braced myself to see Logan slumped in a corner, battle-scarred and weary.
Instead, I found Logan casually leaning against the low barrier over the air shaft that separated our building from the shorter one next door. He gave me a slow, easy smile as he pushed himself off the roof, holding out a blue cup.
“I brought you hot chocolate,” he offered. Logan looked the same as he had last weekend; his messy brown hair was tucked underneath a Yankees cap—a different one, since his regular cap had been sucked into another dimension. His gray hoodie hung open over a black T-shirt, and a smile was on his face as he held out the cup, the fragrant, sweet smell wafting through the cold air.
He really was fine.
And now that I knew he was alive, I wanted to kill him for making me worry.
I took the cup, tracing my fingers over the white plastic lid before I set it back on the wall.
“You’re okay,” I accused.
“And that’s a problem?” he asked, bewildered.
“Aiden never showed up?”
“No,” Logan said, a flicker of annoyance flashing across his face. “What are you getting at?”
“Didn’t it ever occur to you to let me know you were at least alive?”
“Come on, Paige. No one can get to you at home. It was just a few days.” Logan shrugged, as if his disappearance was no big deal.
“Just a few days? A lot can happen in just a few days, Logan.” I touched my cheek, which had been slashed open mere days earlier. “Look at what happened to me the last two days I was in school! I’ve been terrified that Aiden got to you—that he hurt you somehow. I’ve been home with no way to get ahold of you, thinking something happened to you!”
Logan’s face softened as he studied me, and he stood slowly, approaching me carefully.
“Paige, have you been crying?”
“No.” I shook my head, and he came closer, tilting up the brim of my cap. Damn stupid puffy eyes.
“You have been crying,” he realized, his voice barely higher than a whisper.
“Oh, of course I’ve been crying,” I said, blinking as a few tears threatened to make an encore performance, blurring my vision. I ripped my cap off and tossed it on the picnic table. There really was no sense in trying to hide it; I looked like I had biscuits around my eyes.