Love In a Small Town (9 page)

"Hey, Logan," she whispered as she slid into a chair beside him. They weren't supposed to talk in the library.

He closed the book quickly and put it in his backpack. "What do you want?" He looked annoyed as he raised his head and jerked it to get rid of the hair, which fell back into his eyes.

"I want to apologize for dissing you in the cafeteria. It was a mean thing to do and I know I hurt your feelings. I promise it'll never happen again."

"Sure it will. The next time Ashley tells you not to talk to me. You do everything she says."

"Not true."
A lie,
she thought instantly. She was getting tattooed, wasn't she?

The librarian came up behind them as the bell rang for the end of the school day. "You two take that outside."

Logan rose and headed for the door, Sarah trailing after him.

"Logan, walk home with me. Please? I'm sorry." She took hold of his arm to stop him from walking away, and dropped it instantly when he flinched as though she had hit him.

"Oh, forget it." She hated this place. "It's too hard to make a friend in this school." She shoved her way past him.

"Hey, wait."

Sarah turned. The determination in his eyes made her want to hear what he had to say. He frowned while he struggled for words.

Finally, he spoke. "Okay, I'll walk with you, but don't ever do that to me again."

Obviously, talking to someone was hard for him, and Sarah's respect for him grew. He didn't trust her; she could see that. He had every right to be mad, and that added to her shame. Like a lightning bolt, it became important to her that she had his trust. She held out her hand.

"All right. Let's get past this and start over. Hi, I'm Sarah Graham, and I want to be your friend."

He gave her a blank look, and then he grinned. It was going to be okay.

Taking her hand and shaking it, he said, "Hello, Sarah. I'm Logan Biesterman, and I'd like to walk you home."

Tiffany, Ashley and Madonna were standing at the door when they walked past. Sarah braced herself, waiting for some nasty comment from one of them. Her eyes narrowed in warning, she glared at each of them in turn, daring them to say something mean. They all shifted their eyes away before looking back at her. She felt empowered. She had made her point.

"We'll see you Saturday," Madonna said, eyeing Logan with distaste, but keeping her tone neutral.

"I'll be there." She and Logan walked by.

Logan looked at her, curiously. "What are the Terrible TAMs up to?"

"The TAMs?"

"Yeah, that's what I call them. Their initials spell TAM. With you a new member, I should change it to 'TAMSies.' They're such a bunch of airheads, why are you even with them? You're way better than them, Sarah. You're the only person in school who hangs with them."

First her dad and now Logan, but his criticism rankled more. "I don't care what you think," she defended them hotly. "They're my friends, the only ones I have, so don't expect me to give them up."

He looked so sympathetic. Not what she wanted. She wanted him to understand. "Back home, I had a lot of friends and we did things together," she said.

After a moment, she confessed. "I need friends. I don't know how to be alone, Logan."

Smiling at her reassuringly, he carefully took her hand and waited, apparently expecting her to object.

Sarah realized what a brave thing that was for somebody as wary as Logan to do. His hand felt so good, so strong and warm. She smiled back at him, accepting his gesture.

"It isn't forever, Sarah. The kids here will like you, if you give them time." He shrugged. "Anyway, if you don't find friends here, you'll move on and find them someplace else."

From him, it sounded so simple. Resentment flared. He could say that because he knew everybody. He couldn't understand what it was like for her. Feeling spiteful, she said, "Is that what you tell yourself?"

The sudden pain in his eyes shocked her.
Ohmigod, I didn't mean to hurt him again.
He tried to pull his hand away. She held on tightly, determined not to lose him.

"Logan, I'm sorry. You're only trying to be kind and help, and all I do is hit at you. I don't want to be mean; it just happens. Please, I take it back."

He looked at her solemnly, not speaking. At least he still held her hand.

"I don't understand you, Sarah."

She tried to make light of it with a wry laugh. "My therapist would say I was mad at my mom and trying to punish you for what she did. How can I be mad at my mom? It wasn't her choice to die."

"Your therapist?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, I had to go to one after Mom died. My dad insisted. It didn't help."

"How did she die?"

"She had cancer. Last year. It was awful. My dad—he's really my stepdad—and I stayed with her all the time."

Logan squeezed her hand, giving comfort. "I'm sorry. I guess that can kind of get you messed up in your head."

"Do you have your mom?"

Logan stiffened, his expression turning grim. Plainly, his mom was not something he could talk about. She tried again by changing the subject.

"What were you reading in the library?" That didn't work either. Now he looked suspicious.

"Why?"

"Well, gee, Logan. I'm trying to have a conversation here. You pick the subject. I don't care about your stupid book." They resumed walking, slowly.

Grinning sheepishly, he said, "Okay, you win, but don't laugh. It's my mom's book.
Shakespeare's Sonnets.
We don't have many books at our house, but this is one of them. When I was little, she used to read it to me to put me to sleep. After a while, I began to understand what he was saying and now I really like to read his stuff.

"You don't have to look at me like I'm crazy. My mom doesn't read books, but she was hooked on this TV show about some monster guy who lived in underground New York and he loved this woman who lived in the real world, so he'd visit her and read
Shakespeare's Sonnets
to her. My mom thought they were really romantic, so she bought this book. I got to like them. They're cool. He really knew how to say what he felt. I wish I did."

"It wouldn't matter." Sarah looked at him sadly. "Knowing how doesn't mean you can, even with friends. You can't say what you really feel to people. They get embarrassed or think you're dumb, or don't like you anymore."

"Not if they're the right kind of friend."

"There's more than one kind?"

"Well, sure."

"So what kinds are there?"

"Two kinds. There are the ones you don't really care about, but want to be with so you won't get pitied for having to be by yourself."

The TAMs.
"And the other?"

He looked so earnest, intent on explaining. "What you said—the real kind who like you no matter what. The kind you can say anything to without being afraid they'll laugh, or tease or try to embarrass you."

His gaze searched her eyes, like he wanted to see inside. Sarah's feeling of connection as her heart opened to him was so intense it took her breath away. Absolutely, she knew what happened here with Logan would be a majorly important moment in her life.

His expression serious, he said, "If you want, Sarah, I'll be that kind of friend. You can talk to me about anything, and I won't get mad, or think you're stupid, or being silly. I think you're beautiful, and I'll never say anything to hurt you. That's a promise."

They were at her house. She stopped, still holding his hand. For the first time she looked at him, really seeing the person he was, moved almost to tears by his solemn offer of friendship. There was something so solid, so constant about him. His look, as he stood there, waiting for her response, told her that he made the offer without expecting anything in return. Logan. Even his name sounded solid, dependable. She wanted his friendship more than she thought possible. That surprised her.

Her heart in her eyes, she said, "I'd like that. Let's be friends, Logan."

They had reached her front porch. "Come into the house and meet my dad." David said she should make new friends. He probably didn't have Logan in mind. "We'll have some cookies, if you can stand weird cookies. That's the only kind my dad makes."

"Sure. Weird is good. It goes with the rest of me."

She laughed, happy at last, when she led him up the steps.
Logan Biesterman, you don't know it yet, but you've just acquired a BFF—Best Friend Forever.
She'd tell him later.

David had been working in his office for several hours when he heard Sarah on the back porch, calling, "Hey, I'm home."

"In the office, Sarah."

She came through the door, leading a tall, thin boy who looked vaguely familiar. He wore a faded gray t-shirt and wrinkled, green camos. His lank, dirty, brown hair was parted in the middle and hung along his face to his chin. David thought a minute, and recognized the boy who had been watching Sarah—the one she referred to as a tool. No doubt the kid brought the appellation on himself, looking like that. If this was her idea of finding new friends, the project wasn't showing much promise.

Well, she took his suggestion, so he had only himself to blame for the result. She had come through in typical, rebellious Sarah-style.

Sarah dragged the obviously reluctant visitor into the office, holding him firmly by the hand.

"Dad, meet Logan Biesterman. He lives a few doors down. We just met today."

Her expression dared him to react any way but positively. She had done what he told her—found a new friend.

For an instant he regarded the boy. The wariness and uncertainty reflected on his face touched an answering chord in David. With a start, he recognized feelings he often had as a teenager when confronted by an unknown adult who had the capacity to treat him as a freak.
Interesting. Why, besides the obvious lack of grooming, did this boy consider himself an unacceptable outsider? A genuine, welcoming smile might ease his suspicions.

"Hi, Logan, I'm David Martin, Sarah's father." To Sarah, he said, "I'm almost finished here. I'll be with you in a minute. New cookies in the kitchen."

"What kind?"

David smiled as she eyed him doubtfully, knowing that she hoped for something plain and ordinary for her young friend.

"Carrot ginger, with pistachios."

Logan grinned over the disclosure, and glanced at Sarah. She looked back, delightedly. Obviously Logan had been forewarned about the 'weird cookies,' as she called them, and they shared the joke without saying anything.

The two seemed to be easy with each other. She might have made a friend after all, however unsuitable.
Don't be stupid
, he warned himself.
Don't pull a Lindsay Keith and rush to conclusions. He might be okay.

The cookies were out and milk poured, including a glass for him, when he came into the kitchen to join them.

"How's the outside world today, Dad?"

With a good-humored wink, he said, "Fed's not going to launch QE4. Interest rates are holding steady at zero, but not for long, another dot-com has tanked, Google hit a thousand, and there are two new IPOs about to be launched. Not bad for a Thursday."

"You're involved in the stock market, sir?" Logan's eyes brightened with interest. He seemed to have forgotten his early uneasiness.

Surprised, because the boy's appearance didn't suggest he was much of a student, and any interest in economics was unusual at this age, David answered, "Somewhat. I'm a Financial Analyst and a Wealth Management Specialist. I manage investment portfolios, guide clients on what to buy and sell—predict trends, and whatever."

Sarah rolled her eyes, looking at Logan. She never understood David when he talked about his work, but apparently Logan didn't have any trouble following him.

"Are you interested in economics, Logan?" David asked, not expecting a response.

The boy surprised him, again. He hunched his shoulders, as though trying to be less visible, clearly unsure of how his answer would be received. Head down, eyes focused on his milk, he said, "I'm a fan of Adam West. I've read
Wealth of Nations.
I don't believe in Keynesian theories. It's never seemed logical to me."

This kid's read Adam West? He knows about Keynesian Theory?
Stunned, David gazed at him, puzzled. "How so?"

Logan looked up to see if it was okay to continue, then rushed on with, "Well, take the stock market, for instance. It's just gambling. The price doesn't have anything to do with PE ratios; it's all about hedging your bet. It says on the share of stock that its par value is fifty cents, and most of them don't pay much dividend, so why buy it for fifty dollars expecting it'll be worth even more?" He lowered his head, as though waiting for ridicule.

David was intrigued. "You've certainly cut to the significant part. The small investor doesn't have much chance because the market is rigged. Derivatives, high frequency trading, and the hedge funds control the price."

Logan shrugged. "I'd rather invest in a sure thing. I can see buying shares in a venture, like they did with shipping in the seventeen hundreds, maybe, as long as the numbers are there."

David looked hard at the kid. He had a brain, for sure. "Gambling on the outcome is as old as human nature. Without it there would be no commerce. This country thrives on entrepreneurial capitalism." He threw that out there wondering if the boy could follow what he said.

Encouraged, the boy continued, "Yes, sir, I agree. On the other hand,
Wealth of Nations
made a lot more sense. Socialism has never worked."

Apparently that statement had come out of him uncensored, and now he sat, paled and crouched behind his milk glass, as though afraid of being judged and found unworthy.

A strong feeling of déjà vu struck David. Many times, as a teenager, adults would either disparage his ideas or ignore him. He sensed Logan searched for words that would give him enough credibility to be able to continue the conversation.

Kids this age read Adam Smith? Not hardly. This was a most unusual young man.
With a shock, he realized the boy reminded him of himself.