Love Songs & Other Lies(52)
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There have been countless times over the years when Logan and I have gone for days without talking. It’s always Logan’s fault. Usually it’s over summer break, or when he gets a new girlfriend. Or if his brother is in town for the holidays. When something occupies Logan, it isn’t uncommon for him to forget to call. And if he doesn’t call me, I refuse to call him. Until we inevitably cross paths. He acts hurt for not hearing from me, I act like I don’t know what he’s talking about, and things go back to normal. It’s a familiar, choreographed routine. It’s another reason the two of us would never work as an actual couple. We’d be the worst kind of dysfunctional.
So this little stint of radio silence between me and Logan? It’s not a first. And it’s not like we never see each other. We’re at band practice twice a week, in calculus class together, and we eat lunch at the same table five days a week. Logan sees me more than my mom does, and one hundred times more than my dad does, but we haven’t actually been alone together in months. I don’t think we’ve really talked in weeks. My life feels fuller than ever. I’ve been pleasantly wrapped up in my “whatever” with Cam, and I’ve kept busy setting up gigs for the band. I’m actively avoiding thoughts of college and what I plan to do. Because The Plan—it’s been teetering on the edge for a while now, and I think it’s about to fall off a tall building and splatter all over the sidewalk. The Plan feels like it’s in a million unrecognizable pieces lately, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe because I feel like I’m in a million unrecognizable pieces.
Last night, Cam and I played at the beach. Our beach. It was just the two of us, playing for the waves, but I felt vulnerable and exhilarated and terrified all at once. And as scary as it was, it was also incredible.
“Hey, Vee.” Logan is crossing the parking lot toward me as I lean against Cam’s car and fiddle with my phone. “How’s it going?”
I straighten up and try my best to sound normal. “Good. What’s up?”
Logan shoves his hands in his pockets and leans his hip against the car next to me. “Nothing, I just—haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“I’ve just been busy.” This is not my fault.
“Right. It seems like things are good with Cam.”
“We’re just friends.” I don’t know why I said it—why I just outright lied. Once the words are out of my mouth, all I can think about is how wrong they sound. “But yeah, things are good.”
“Oh.” He’s looking at me like he wants to say something, but he’s not. Logan and I have been friends since third grade, and for the first time since I was ten, I don’t know what to say to one of my best friends. Instead, we just mirror each other, leaning against the car, him looking at me, as I look at him, in a verbal stand-off.
“I’m going to visit my brother at State this weekend. You should come.” Logan dips his shoulder and lets his backpack slide down his arm. “Check out the campus again?”
Right, The Plan. I shake my head. “I’m still not sure about State.”
“Well, you should be. Going to the same college will be awesome. Anders is going. And he’s working on convincing Cort to transfer. We’ll all go.”
“Seriously? He’ll never convince her to go to State. She loves it in Chicago and she has a scholarship. Plus, there are about a million colleges out there that I want to check out.”
“Since when?”
Since I’m thinking about music again, feeling like maybe I could actually do it. Since I realized State wasn’t the only option. I shrug my shoulders.
“Think about it, Vee, if we don’t go to college together, when would we see each other? I’ve hated not seeing you the last couple months.” I feel a twinge of guilt as I look him in the eyes and see that he means it.
“We’d see each other,” I say.
“When? Holidays? I’ll get tired of coming home for those, eventually. Holidays are depressing.” Logan doesn’t talk about his parents much anymore, but I saw the Logan most people never did. The first day of third grade, I walked onto the bus with an apple cinnamon donut from my mom. My favorite. Going down the aisle, I looked at all of the names posted above the seats, looking for the spot I’d spend the rest of the school year. Logan was sunk down in his seat, his knees wedged up against the seat in front of us. Even at nine, I could tell he was upset. He didn’t talk to me that whole ride, but before we got off the bus, I gave him half of my donut. And the next morning, we talked about our favorite TV shows. It was three weeks before he told me his mom had disappeared two days before school started. At Christmas, he still hadn’t heard from her. By the end of the year, we were inseparable.
“We’ll visit.” Won’t we?
The look on Logan’s face answers my question. He doubts it.
“Just think about it. State would be amazing.”
It would be amazing at State, and if we don’t go to college together, we’ll drift apart. It would be amazing at State, and if you don’t go, I won’t make an effort to see you. It would be amazing at State, and if you go somewhere else, you can plan on our friendship being over.
“And it fits in The Plan. You know it does,” Logan says.
I can’t keep talking. The hot sting of tears is pricking at my eyes. “Mmhmm.”