Chapter 8 #2
Logan’s eyes widen, and he quickly shakes his head.
“No, it’s okay. I know you didn’t. I’m just—not having the best night.”
I nod slowly. “Okay. Still, I really am sorry. I promise I’ll put my dry humor in the tip jar, never to be touched until the end of my shift, okay?”
Thankfully, Logan’s smile returns.
He eventually concedes to my offer of a lemon square. After I hand it over, he tips me a five-dollar bill and chooses a table across from the register.
“He’s back?” Simon whispers as I pass the drink ticket over for him to make.
I nod. “I think we might be converting him into a caffeine addict.”
Simon smirks. “You mean you’re converting him.”
I scoff. “I am not. I’m just the gateway. You’re providing him with the good stuff.”
“You’re delusional.”
I smirk. “Aww, thanks, man.”
I sigh and lean on the counter, thinking about going back to cleaning the syrup pumps, but Logan has already piqued my interest.
He’s a new data point in my study of the student body and its caffeine habits. Logan is an especially interesting data point, since I’m fairly certain he’s never had caffeine before—or at least not since becoming an athlete at Montgomery.
What I really want to know is… why?
Mason said Logan wasn’t on the team anymore. He still wears their sweaters and hat, yet if he’s not on the team, that suggests he’s covering something up.
Maybe it’s nothing nefarious, but I’m a journalist to my core. I have a deep desire to figure out what makes people tick and uncover the truth.
I watch as he opens his laptop and textbook, then rests his thumb against his lip, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“You wanna bring this over?” Simon asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I notice the latte art Simon made. It’s in the shape of a heart.
I squint at him, trying to determine whether he has some kind of ulterior motive.
“Sure.”
I pick up the small saucer with the mug perched on top and the lemon square balanced beside it, then carry them over to Logan’s table.
He smiles up at me and starts rearranging his things to make room for the drink and pastry.
“Thanks,” he says with a toothy grin, making me realize just how white his teeth are.
And that he has dimples.
How have I never noticed those before?
“No trouble.”
I stand awkwardly, trying to decide whether Logan wants to focus on his work or keep talking for a little while longer.
But I remember he has to study for his history quiz, and I really don’t want to pester him, even in my boredom, so I turn to walk away.
“You got any other plans after your shift?” Logan asks.
I spin around.
I finish at ten. Does he think I’m some kind of night prowler?
I intend to head straight home, or at least play some video games on low volume so I don’t wake my mom and Naomi.
I smile. “No, I’m heading straight home.”
“No hot date?” Logan asks.
I cough. “No. I’m, uh, single. I just—I, uh… like going to bed early. I’m more of a morning person.”
Logan rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry. I don’t know why I asked that. Uh, me too. Single and an early bird. Kind of have to be when you’re an athlete.”
I take this as my chance.
“You’re on the Hornets football team?”
He mulls over his answer. It looks like he wants to say the right thing, like he feels he has to impress me.
“I… I was.”
I cross my arms. “Was?”
He averts his eyes from mine.
“I… I got injured, and it was bad enough that I can’t have a football career anymore. At least not playing it.”
Logan’s voice is barely above a whisper.
My heart falters as I realize an injury destroyed his dreams.
I immediately feel terrible for asking. This must be a very sore subject for him.
That’s why Mason was so cagey about talking about Logan.
“I’m really sorry. I’m sure football meant… a lot to you.”
Logan nods, still avoiding my gaze.
“It does. Still. I still like to be involved… but it’s not the same.”
He swallows.
“I’m sort of an outsider now.”
I want to sit down and ask him how all of that makes him feel, because I feel terrible for him.
His dreams were ripped away, and now he has to grapple with the fact that he will never become who he wanted to be. My heart aches for him.
Even though I barely know him, I want to put a hand on his arm and comfort him.
“And my ex-girlfriend is dating a guy on the team now, so…” He shrugs. “I just feel more disconnected from it than ever.”
He has an ex-girlfriend.
I tuck that away in my mental filing cabinet of useful information.
“I’m sure you feel kind of… unmoored right now, huh?”
He finally meets my gaze. “What does that mean?”
“It means lost and confused, I guess. Unmoored can also refer to a boat that’s no longer attached to a dock. You’re kind of lost at sea, not sure where to go.”
I already feel like I’ve bored him. He’s just trying to get some work done, and here I am trying to teach him new vocabulary words.
He gives me a wry smile. “Do all the baristas here give vocab lessons?”
“I’m in journalism. It’s my job to educate.”
Logan’s eyes light up, a welcome reprieve from the sadness that was there moments ago.
“That’s dope. What do you want to do with your degree when you finish?”
I hum. “I’d love to work for The Meridian Tribune or some other big newspaper. I want to write about what makes people tick and the true reality of human nature.”
Now I feel like I’ve completely nerded out. Maybe I should stick to my day job as a barista.
Logan grins. “That’s sick. How would you do that?”
“By talking to people like you. About their experiences. Learning about their lives.”
Logan raises an eyebrow. “So am I just a data point to you?”
I almost drop the saucer in my hand.
He just read me like a book.
Has he been learning telekinesis in his downtime after football?
I put a hand on my chest in fake offense. “I can’t believe you think so little of me.”
I might not see Logan as a data point, but he intrigues me. He’s an outlier, and I want to learn what makes him tick.
He’s more fascinating than anyone else I’ve met in this cafe.
“I know you don’t see me that way, Alex.”
My heart stutters when he says my name, but I chalk it up to the novelty of hearing it come out of his mouth.
The bell tinkles, and I immediately slip back into my customer-service posture.
“Good luck with your studying,” I say, giving him a parting smile.
“Thanks. Definitely gonna need it,” Logan mutters.
I go to greet the customer who just came in and take their order. But I can’t stop looking over at Logan—the look of concentration on his face, the way he jiggles his knee and sticks out his tongue as he tries to remember something.
There’s something about him that just seems… different.
I’ve never been drawn to the world of sports or athletes. I’ve been to one football game with Mason, but it didn’t really do it for me the way it did for him.
I’m focused on words and how to reach people with them, and for some reason, it feels like there’s a lot more to Logan than he’s telling me.
What did he injure? How did he get injured?
I think of the scar on his knee.
It must have something to do with that.
The rest of my shift mostly consists of cleaning syrup pumps, stamping sleeves, and stacking takeaway cups.
Riveting.
When Logan leaves a few minutes before closing, he gives me a smile and a small wave.
“See you around, Alex.”
I wave back, heat rising in my cheeks at the surprise of him saying goodbye to me.
“Bye, Logan.”
Logan is the last person to leave, so I walk over to the door and flip the sign from “OPEN” to “CLOSED.”
At first, the thought of working evening shifts sounded horrifying and soul-sucking, but now I think I like the idea of them.
At least if Logan keeps showing up when I’m there.
“Bye, Logan,” Simon mocks in a high-pitched voice.
I take off my apron and throw it at him.