Two Roads (21 page)

Logan comes over to me after a minute, looking way too smug considering he too is losing. I slump into my seat, glaring at him, even though inside I’m glad to see him here.

“Has someone given up already?” Logan asks. I try to hate his cocky smile, but the melting feeling it gives me is undeniable.

God, he gets on my nerves.

“I was just taking a break to watch my competition and pity their terribleness,” I say, returning him an exaggerated wink.

A hint of those dimples flickers across his cheeks. “I am hurt, Cali Monroe.” He mock clutches his heart.

“Darn,” I say blankly, tossing another Skittles into my mouth. “Oh no. How will I ever live with myself after I hurt
the
Logan Waters.”

He slides into the seat next to me, and I hate how much I like the return of his warmth. “It’s going to be hard,” Logan says, “but we can make it through this. Shall I kiss you to make it better?”

“Shall I punch you to make it better?” I shoot back, giving him a killer smile.

“You drive a hard bargain.” He laughs. He looks like he’s in his own little world when he talks to me, like he genuinely does not care how stupid he sounds, like all that matters to him, all that
really
matters to him, is the person he’s talking to. Is me.

“So how did
your
exploration go?” I pop another Skittle into my mouth.

Clapping roars from the corner of the room where people are hosting mini-poetry recitations, and I suddenly remember the poem I wrote last night, the one Logan dared me to recite tomorrow. My stomach seizes. I can’t read that poem--not to Logan, not to anyone. Not anymore. I barely remember what I wrote, but I know the basics; I poured my heart into it, I wrote
to
Logan, and whenever that has happened before, nothing good has come of it. The only place speaking from the heart and being honest gets me is deeper into the miserable rut that is my life.

A part of me wonders what Logan’s poem could possibly be about. It’s probably something entirely stupid and geeky about math and Pi and whatever. There is no way he wrote a poem to me, like I wrote to him. I mean, why would he? He has nothing to say to me, and these thoughts I’m having, these raw and alarming thoughts, are just my own insanity backfiring on me.

“My hunt for The Roadkeeper went just delightfully, thank you,” Logan says. “I had a really heartwarming conversation with an old woman whose husband either died in a car accident or is currently hostage in some foreign prison camp--I couldn’t tell which--and I even flirted with several gorgeous ladies.”

“Were these gorgeous ladies… under sixty?” I say, smiling.

“No they were not,” Logan says. I roll my eyes, and he adds, “They said I still got it, though.”

“I’m happy for you,” I say, the laughter bubbling inside of me despite everything. “I hope you two have a charming time spending the rest of
her
life together in an old person’s home.”

A small smile flickers across his lips. He watches me, those blue eyes trained on mine so strongly it almost makes my heart skip a beat. “I really hate you,” he says.

“I know, Logan. I know. And I consider that an accomplishment. It’s only normal for a nerd like you to be resentful of a totally hot and awesome girl like me. You wouldn’t understand,” I add. “Not everything in life can be found in textbooks.” It’s a low blow, I admit, but that’s what our rivalry is all about.

Logan grins. “You’re going down, Cali Monroe,” he says, narrowing his eyes at me and smiling. “You are
so
going down.”

“The feeling is mutual.” I shove some more emergency Skittles into my mouth and turn to face him, my eyes piercing his. I shift closer to him. Our stares are intense, our faces hard and strong, our bodies stiff and so weirdly natural this close together. I feel everything when I’m next to Logan, feel like all of my thoughts are going to spill out of me and I’m going to wrap my arms around him and hold him, just hold him, until everything from Ben and my parents to my developing feelings for him fades away. Logan’s lips are those full kind of lips that make me just want to kiss them, and his dark hair is messy in that totally gorgeous kind of way. His teeth are all white and perfect, and all I want to do is put my lips to his lips, my side to his side, my skin to his skin. As I look at him, he seems more attractive than ever. Even those glasses, which I used to hate, look so freaking hot right now.

I just glare at him, forcing myself to breathe, feeling all the tension in the world between us. My heart races and I want to lean in more than anything else in the world, to just kiss him already, but I can’t. I bite my lip, pull back.

I can’t.

I can’t.

“I can’t wait to make you pay up,” Logan whispers, his breathing slow, his blue eyes still trained on mine.

“And I can’t wait to learn all your secrets about Ben,” I whisper, biting back a smile. It takes all the effort in the world for me to look away from Logan, but I do it--barely--as I stand up. If someone dropped a match between us right now, I swear to god the tension would make the whole building explode.

I can finally breathe evenly when I’m not standing next to him, but a piece of my heart, something deep and full of desire, tugs at me. I regret standing up. I regret not kissing him. I regret not having the guts to go right in there and take him.

“I’ll see you once I find The Roadkeeper,” I say, shooting him a fighting look, and he grins as I start walking away.

“Good luck,” he says. “You’ll need it.”

I make a face, stick my tongue out at him like the mature adult I am, and turn. I start heading over to the one part of the room I have yet to search, when Logan’s voice stops me. “Cali?” he calls after me.

I spin around, and there we are, meeting gazes once again. My toes curl, and I have to fight off the overwhelming urge to run at him and kiss him until this whole room is gone and it’s just us, forever and ever. I hate how much I want that, want
him
. “Yes?” I say instead, because it’s the only non-creepy response I can come up with at the moment.

He smiles a little bit. “Trust me when I say that the moves I’ve learned were not taught from textbooks.”

And as I meet his gaze, I know he isn’t talking about video game moves.

~

She used to be so confused

so lost

never knowing what she wants

never finding her salvation.

Always afraid to open up

to do anything but hide

and not figuring out what it truly is

that makes her happy

that makes her… her.

But now

now

now

as she watches the boy

all of that confusion is gone.

And just like that,

she knows what she wants,

and

it

is

him
.

~

I would
not say the rest of the search for The Roadkeeper is unsuccessful, but successful is also definitely not the word for it. I don’t find her, although I do meet a few other bloggers and professional poets, and it feels amazingly refreshing to talk to them. I’ve never talked to anyone like me before that date with Logan. I never thought there
was
anyone like me who didn’t live in fictional stories, to be perfectly honest. But now, in less than a week’s time, I’m surrounded by a sea of people who are exactly that: like me.

It is insane in the best way possible.

I eat as many snacks as possible during the rest of the convention and go out of my way to shove past Logan as we pass each other, just because I know it annoys him.

I’m about to give up on the whole search and whine for Logan to bring me to dinner for more food, savoring the moments I have before he discovers what I did, when I run into the lady who spoke at the podium early today, the Katherine Fischer person.

Following a whim, I step in front of her while she reaches for a glass of champagne, and stick out my hand.

“I’m Cali,” I say simply, blocking her path to the drinks. She seems decidedly irritated by this, but she takes it in stride and glances at me. After a second, she shakes my hand, and her face slips into a genuine smile.

“I’m Katherine,” she says like I’m her peer. She looks maybe twenty-four years older than I am, all blissful and sophisticated, but there is a certain softness to her face, a strength to her brown eyes, a power and assertiveness I could probably worship.

“So you’re a blogger,” I say, cocking my head to the side and watching her closely. A turquoise earring hangs from either of her ears and they dazzle in the light, complimenting her smile. I keep my face blank as I speak to her.

I think she can tell I’m interrogating her because she raises her eyebrow at me, thoroughly amused. “I am,” she says, but not unkindly.

“What’s your blog?” I say. I give her my best “I mean business” look.

“Forward, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.”

She laughs a little. “What’s your favorite poem, Cali?” she says, reaching around me to get her coveted champagne. She looks calm, too calm considering she’s dealing with me.

“What does that have to do with--” She waves her hand before I can finish.

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours.”

I sigh. She’s good. “’The Road Not Taken,’” I say. “That’s my favorite poem.”

“Ah,” she says, taking a sip of her champagne and watching me with a certain intensity that only Logan has ever looked at me with before. “Let me guess: you have a big personality and you’re afraid to show it.” She studies me, and I feel myself blush. “You’re afraid of other things, too...” she continues, narrowing her eyes and pausing for a moment, and then all of a sudden her face lights up like she understands. “You’re in love,” she says quietly. “You’re in love and you’re afraid to say it.”

Okay, so I might be staring at her in awe right now. My heart skips a beat and I open my mouth to say something stupid and senseless but even that refuses to come. “How did you--” I start to say.

“I’m magical,” she says so seriously I could laugh. “Just kidding,” she adds, noticing my stunned expression. “People aren’t really hard to read when you know what to look for. Then you factor in their favorite poems, which tells you the themes they cherish in their lives, and also add in their physical expressions and then it isn’t hard to tell the rest.” She takes another sip of champagne, tossing her red hair to the side like her figuring me out from one look is nothing. “Plus, you’re a special case, because I see myself in you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been in love like that before. I loved a guy who I never thought loved me back.”

“Your best friend,” I say.

“Right. And it kind of sucked. I was afraid to tell him what I felt for so long, because I knew there was no way he could love me back. I mean, I guess we were always perfect for each other, but we were best friends and I thought there was no way that was happening… Anyway, I did a lot of stupid shit to get close to him and hide my feelings, and when I finally came out and told him, he rejected me.” She leans in. “But now I am happier than ever with him,” she says quietly, “and all of it was worth it. I can tell you’ve been in love for a long time, too, just by your eyes. I don’t even know if you realize it, because yeah, it’s hard sometimes. But with a love as strong as yours, with that kind of passion you have, you can’t let it go. Don’t let him or her or whoever it is go. It’s scary, I know, but it’s worth it, because like I said, sometimes the best love is the love that is right in front of you all along.”

She pulls back then, and once again I am speechless. I look into her eyes and she just smiles at me, one of those motherly sort of smiles like she is telling me to go out and fulfill my dreams, which, considering the graphic dream of Logan I had last night, she kind of is. She seems to get me, though. Like, really get me. I feel like I know her, or I’m supposed to know her, or something, something deep and something strong. “Thanks,” I say after a minute, unable to think of any other words that will express my emotions right now. “I… I will.”

She just nods at me.

A few more seconds pass before I regain coherent thought, and then I focus back on my original goal. “Okay, so you’re a brilliant psychic with great hair,” I say curtly. “Now answer my question: what is your blog?”

She drains her champagne glass, looking amused. “You really want to know?” she says.

“I do.”

She sighs. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone?” she says after a while.

“Um.” I glance at my feet. “Um… yeah. Yeah, I won’t.”

She smiles lightly. “Good,” she says. She steps closer to me after that, and she whispers, “I run the
Two Roads
blog. I’m The Roadkeeper.”

Then, she brushes by me, clicking her heels on the hardwood floor, and when I finally get the sense to turn around and run after her, my whole heart pounding like crazy, she is gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

~

I think
I might actually jump up and down a billion times as I race over to the lobby, where I saw Logan slip away into.

The Roadkeeper! I just met The Roadkeeper! I won the bet and I found her, the woman whose blog has been keeping me afloat these last six months, the woman who I have pictured in my head so many times recently, the woman who I idolize more than anyone in the world--well, maybe aside from Robert Frost.

And she was totally awesome.

And weird.

And creepy in all of the best ways.

And to top things off, I did not go into fangirl mode and make a fool out of myself, although I totally would have had she waited around any longer.

My heart races so fast as I skid into the lobby, wanting to jump up and down and up and down and up and down until everything else goes away. A weight seems to be lifted off of my chest, and I feel all weird and gooey, something that would piss me off if it wasn’t so welcome right now.

When he isn’t there, I head up the seven flights of stairs to our room. I find Logan sitting in the front of the door, his eyes on something in his hand, and I keep on beaming as I run toward him, ready to tell him that I found The Roadkeeper and that I won the bet and that he finally has to tell me about what happened.

It’s night now, and no one is here but us. I am starving despite all I’ve eaten today, but I push the feeling aside and just head straight to Logan. As I get near him, though, I find myself slowing down, and whatever imaginary water I was walking on seems to shatter under my feet.

He’s looking at something in his hands, a picture maybe, and he looks so painfully vulnerable it makes me want to do nothing but hold him, just hold him, until we forget everything else except for each other. “You found The Roadkeeper?” he says, still not looking at me.

It takes me a second to realize the picture in his hand is the hostage I never destroyed, the one of Ben and Logan on the beach all those years ago.

“Yes,” I say, standing over him. My pulse is pounding as I stare at the picture. Everything hurts all of a sudden. Everything rises up and fills this void between us, and the silence is the worst part of all.

Logan is leaning against the door, his eyes locked on the photo. “Then I guess it’s time for me to ‘fess up.” He laughs, but it isn’t funny, and the tremor in his voice makes my heart break.

The air in the hallway feels off for some reason, too thick and too cold and too ominous. Something about this whole situation is wrong. I move closer to Logan, leaning in and watching him breathe, breathe, breathe.

“Do you want to know why I feel guilty?” he asks. My insides twist and I look away, because suddenly I realize that I don’t, in fact, want to know but I can’t stop myself.

“Tell me.”

Logan hesitates. “You know the night he died, how you were at a friend’s house and I was at mine? How he was alone the whole time?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly.

“Well, he wasn’t alone the whole time.”

My heart rate picks up speed. “What?” I whisper. “Were you--”

“Yes.” It’s all Logan has to say. “Yes, I was with him before it happened.”

“H-how?” It’s all I can get out, because just the thought of my not being there makes me want to curl up in a ball and hide until everything else goes away. But I know that I can’t, that I have to be strong, and so I just watch him and wait.

“He invited me over,” Logan says quietly. “Said he had something he needed to tell me. And then… well… he asked me what I thought of him as a person, and I told him he was the greatest human being I’d ever met, and it was true. He didn’t seem to notice, though, because he continued to ask me questions in this weirdly urgent voice.” Logan takes a deep breath. “And then he told me to leave. And at first I refused because I knew he was acting weird, because I knew something was wrong, but then he promised me he was okay. He said he was just having a bad day and that he really wanted to be alone, and so I left. But,” he says, dropping his voice and meeting my gaze for the first time. “I remember right before I stepped out of the door, remember pausing and thinking to myself: should I wait here? But then I told myself it was stupid, because of course he was fine, and I stepped out of the door thinking nothing would happen. And I was wrong,” Logan says, biting his lip--and hard. I see Logan’s hands trembling, his body shaking, but he keeps his gaze strong and emotionless. “I was wrong. I had the chance to save him, and I didn’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I whisper, because that’s all I can think to say. “It wasn’t. It wasn’t either of ours.” I’m not so sure I believe it, but as I sink against the wall beside Logan, the mantra is the only thing that makes me feel somewhat okay. My hands shake as I brush against him, and I can feel the stiffness of his whole body, the sadness racking through him, and it hurts more than anything in the world. “Why did he do it?” My voice is hoarse and sad, but I’m unable to keep myself from asking it. “Why… why did Ben kill himself?”

Logan just shakes his head. “Because he just wasn’t happy,” he says. “It wasn’t anything in particular, and I know that now. He loved us, Cali, he really did, but he…” Logan squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying not to cry. “He just didn’t like being alive. I think he was unhappy for a long time, and he kept fighting through it because he loved us and didn’t want to leave us… but then he just couldn’t. He gave up. It wasn’t our fault,” Logan whispers, squeezing the photo of Ben in his hand, and then we’re flooded in the worst silence in the world.

I feel myself choke up, feel the tears threaten to come out in a downpour, and I don’t know what to do. Don’t know what to say. Don’t know how to stop this. Don’t know anything.

And then I look into his eyes.

And my heart breaks.

No. “Breaks” does not even begin to cover it.

My heart completely shatters.

It’s worse than a glass bowl flying into a million pieces after it hits the ground. Worse than getting punched in the gut over and over again. Because as I look into his eyes, all blank and desperate and laden with tears, my heart is wrenched out of my chest.

I don’t even know what to do. It’s like I’m frozen in my place, like I can’t move a muscle. I can only look into his eyes, so deep and so strong and so powerfully broken, and force myself not to cry. Only one tear runs down Logan Waters’ face, but it is the most heartbreaking goddamn thing I have ever seen. My heart shatters and shatters over and over again as I watch him, unable to speak, to move, to do anything but gulp and stare.

I think about what he said about Ben, how he did it because he was unhappy and not because of anyone, and then I think about all the signs, all the times Ben looked so sad to me, and I hate how real it feels.

It wasn’t my fault, wasn’t Logan’s or my parents’ either, but there is nothing comforting in that because it doesn’t change the fact that he is freaking dead and never coming back.

Logan does not say anything for a long time. He just gives me the most piercing stare I’ve ever seen, and I feel myself breaking under his gaze, just waiting for him to mention the picture. His lips tremble ever so slowly, and he feels so stiff against me, so real and raw in a way I’ve never seen him before. The laughter is gone. The smiles are gone. It’s only a thick wall of emotion between us, a pane of glass that I can feel shattering as I inch closer and closer into his arms, his warmth. His body is on fire and so is his whole face, all white hot and passionate. My heart hammers in my chest, and I force myself to keep from crying, to breathe once, twice, three times.