No one knew about my relationship with Kevin, she reminded herself. No one knew about what happened with Mr. Hanson.
She was looping the track again, closing in on the bleachers, when she saw him up on one of the top benches, oversized coat on, hood pulled up. She slowed to a steady pace and studied Logan. He didn’t look up at her from his perch, just kept his head on the notebook he was scribbling on. He looked up once and caught Sawyer’s eye; she saw his eyes grow, his cheeks redden. He immediately dropped his head and his hand went back to his pencil, working on his notebook. Sawyer ran past him, but something weighed on her.
Logan was there when she left Mr. Hanson’s room.
But I didn’t say anything…but maybe he saw?
Her throat went dry and she coughed, her diaphragm closing in on itself painfully. Her legs seemed to spin uncontrollably, and she found herself falling. Her arms went out instinctively and she was chest-flat on the red clay track, dust floating up in choking clouds. Sawyer rolled onto her back, sputtering, choking, coughing. Suddenly, someone blocked her light.
“Are you okay, Sawyer?”
Sawyer blinked, then squinted. “Logan?”
He offered her a hand, and Sawyer looked at it for a beat before taking it, allowing him to pull her to her feet. She was surprised at how strong he was. Sawyer brushed the red clay dust from her damaged knees and coughed again. “I’m okay.”
“Let me get you something to drink.”
Logan disappeared, returning immediately with an icy bottle of water. He popped the cap and gave it to Sawyer, studying her as she drank. She took a large sip and held it in her mouth before swallowing, the cold liquid soothing the ache in her diaphragm.
“Thanks,” she said, breathing out icy breath. “That’s just what I needed.”
“You’re fast,” Logan said, smiling.
Sawyer nodded. “What are you doing out here?”
Logan looked sheepish. “I missed the early bus again. But it’s not like I expect you to drive me home or anything. I didn’t know you’d be out here running. Sometimes I like to come out here and think or write or whatever.”
Sawyer gestured to the red notebook tucked under Logan’s arm. “Is that what you were doing? Writing?”
“Something like that. Anyway, I’m really glad you’re okay. That was kind of a big spill. Kind of a Logan-style spill.” Logan’s smile went from sheepish to goofy and lopsided, and Sawyer had to smile back.
“Thanks, Logan,” she said, “I’m really fine though. I just got distracted. I tend to bail when distracted. You sure you don’t need a ride home?”
Logan seemed to focus on something just over Sawyer’s shoulder. She watched his goofy smile falter, saw his face pale.
“Logan?”
He pasted on a smile again, this one far less goofy, far less authentic. “No, thanks, Sawyer. I’ll be fine. I’ve got to go.”
“Hey.” She reached out and grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt. “Are we okay?”
“Us? Yeah.” He still didn’t look at her. “I get it. You’re not ready to date.” He turned on the last word and Sawyer almost thought she heard the word “me.” But he was already halfway up the bleachers by the time her brain processed it. She watched Logan snatch up his backpack and hop down from the bench, disappearing into the slatted shadows beneath the bleachers.
“That kid’s a weird one.”
Sawyer whipped around, sending a spray of ice water careening out of the bottle over her wrist, slapping her already soaked T-shirt and leaving a wet trail on Cooper’s chest. “Oh, crap.”
Cooper’s eyebrows went up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Sawyer’s heart was in her throat, still doing a choking pound. “You didn’t,” she squeaked. “Okay, maybe you did.” Her eyes went to his wet chest. “Sorry—sorry about your shirt.”
Cooper was dressed almost identically to Sawyer: he was wearing the green and white Hawthorne High track uniform, fearsome, fisted, fighting hornet smack in the middle of his nylon tank top. Sawyer took a second to notice Cooper’s chest—and his broad shoulders, the bubbly muscles in his bare arms. “Why are you wearing a track uniform?”
“Because this is what the track team wears…right?”
“You’re on the team? You’re a runner?”
“I was at my old school. I thought I’d give the track team a try here. Coach let me on without trying out. My old times were pretty good, I guess.”
Sawyer studied Cooper, the way the thin material of his shorts fell over his tanned legs; they were thick with well-defined muscle. He didn’t have the powerful, sinewy legs of a runner.
“I know,” Cooper said on a smile, “I don’t look like I can run.” He seemed to be reading her mind, and Sawyer felt an involuntary shiver run through her. A dark cloud passed over Cooper’s face. “Are you okay? Let me get you my sweatshirt.”