Chapter 2

I pulled on my favorite faded jeans and a soft gray sweater, hoping to blend into the background. Blending in was my specialty. I was the girl who sat in the back of the classroom, who never raised her hand, who let her grades speak for her. I liked it that way. It was safe.

Ava was waiting for me by my locker, her curly red hair a beacon of chaos in the otherwise orderly hallway. She was wearing a neon yellow hoodie that hurt to look at, paired with mismatched earrings that jangled when she moved.

"Maddy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around me. "I have so much to tell you."

"Good morning to you too," I said, extracting myself from her grip. "What's the news?"

"Okay, so, rumor has it that Chloe Anderson is throwing a huge party this weekend to celebrate her 'reign' as queen of the senior class." Ava made air quotes with her fingers. "And Logan Carter is obviously going to be there, which means you should totally come."

"Why would I want to go to Chloe's party? She hates me."

"Because it'll be fun! And because you can show her that you don't care about her or Logan."

"I don't care about Logan."

Ava raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. That's why you've mentioned him approximately forty-seven times since yesterday."

"I have not."

"You have. I counted."

I groaned and shoved my backpack into my locker. "Fine. Maybe I'll think about it. But only because you'll nag me until I say yes."

"Exactly!" Ava beamed. "That's the spirit."

We parted ways as the first bell rang, and I made my way to AP English with a sense of dread settling in my stomach. The classroom was already half-full when I arrived. I took my usual seat by the window, third row, and pulled out my purple pen, hoping that the familiar ritual would calm my nerves.

It didn't.

Logan walked in exactly thirty seconds before the bell, his presence filling the room like a tide. He didn't look at me. He didn't even glance in my direction. He just sauntered to his seat in the back, dropped his bag on the floor, and leaned back in his chair with the casual confidence of someone who owned the place.

Good. If he was ignoring me, then maybe we could pretend the coffee incident never happened. Maybe we could go back to being strangers who coexisted in the same space without incident.

Mr. Harrison stood at the front of the room, clapping his hands together. "Alright, everyone. Settle down. Today, we're going to discuss the semester-long project that will determine a significant portion of your grade."

A collective groan rippled through the classroom.

"I know, I know," Mr. Harrison said, holding up his hands. "But this project is designed to challenge you. You'll be working in pairs, and you'll be researching and presenting on a topic of your choice related to American literature."

Pairs. My heart sank. Please don't let it be Logan. Please don't let it be Logan.

"I've already assigned partners based on your seating arrangement and your first-day writing samples," Mr. Harrison continued. "I believe in pushing you outside your comfort zones."

He began reading off names, and I held my breath. When he got to mine, the world seemed to slow down.

"Madison Bennett and Logan Carter."

No. No, no, no.

I turned around in my seat, my eyes wide with horror. Logan was already looking at me, a slow, amused smile spreading across his face. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, Well, this should be interesting.

I wanted to sink through the floor.

The rest of the class passed in a blur. I couldn't focus on anything Mr. Harrison said. All I could think about was the fact that I was going to have to spend hours—days, maybe weeks—alone with Logan Carter. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

When the bell rang, I gathered my things as quickly as possible, hoping to escape before Logan could corner me. But he was faster. He appeared at my desk before I could stand up, leaning against the edge with his arms crossed.

"So," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Looks like we're partners."

"Lucky me."

"Hey, I'm not thrilled about it either. But Mr. Harrison seems to think we'll make a good team."

"Mr. Harrison doesn't know me."

"He knows your writing. He said it was 'compelling and insightful.'" Logan's eyes flickered with something—respect? curiosity? "I read your sample too. It was good."

I blinked, caught off guard. "You read my writing sample?"

"I read everyone's. I like to know my competition."

"We're partners, not competitors."

"Same thing." He shrugged. "Meet me in the library after school. We can start brainstorming."

Before I could protest, he was gone, disappearing into the hallway like he had never been there at all.

I sat there for a long moment, my heart pounding in my chest. This was going to be a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

The library was quiet when I arrived after school, the kind of quiet that felt heavy and expectant. I found Logan at a table in the back corner, his laptop open, a stack of books already piled beside him. He looked up when I approached, and for a split second, his expression was open, almost vulnerable. Then the mask slid back into place.

"You're late," he said.

"I'm five minutes early."

"Exactly. You should have been here earlier."

I dropped my bag onto the chair across from him. "I'm not going to apologize for being on time."

"Noted." He gestured to the chair. "Sit. We have work to do."

For the next hour, we worked in surprisingly efficient silence. Logan had already done preliminary research on a few topics, and his suggestions were thoughtful and well-reasoned. I found myself grudgingly impressed.

"What about the theme of identity in The Catcher in the Rye?" I offered. "It's overdone, but there's a lot of material."

Logan shook his head. "Too cliché. What about the portrayal of ambition in The Great Gatsby? We could tie it to modern social media culture."

I considered it. "That could work. But we'd need to narrow it down. Maybe focus on the performative nature of Gatsby's identity."

"I like that." He made a note on his laptop. "We can start with that."

We fell back into silence, but this time it felt different. Less tense. Almost comfortable. I caught myself glancing at him when he wasn't looking, studying the way his brow furrowed when he was thinking, the way he bit his lower lip when he was concentrating.

Stop it, Madison. He's still the same arrogant jerk who made fun of you yesterday.

But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't entirely true. There was something beneath the surface, something he was hiding behind that perfect smile and those piercing blue eyes.

As we packed up, Logan hesitated. "Hey," he said, his voice quieter than I'd ever heard it. "Thanks. For not making this weird."

"It's a project, Logan. Not a date."

"I know. But still. Thanks."

I nodded, not trusting my voice. As I walked out of the library, I could feel his gaze on my back, and I hated how much I didn't hate it.

That evening, I found Ethan at our usual spot, the bench near the oak tree. He was sketching again, his pencil moving in quick, sure strokes.

"How was the library?" he asked without looking up.

"How did you know I was in the library?"

"Ava told me. She also told me you're working with Logan Carter." His voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the edge underneath.

"It's just a project, Ethan."

"I know." He looked up, and his eyes were soft, earnest. "Just... be careful, Maddy. Logan Carter isn't the kind of guy who plays fair."

"I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry."

I smiled, a real smile this time. "Thanks, Eth."

"Always."

He went back to his sketch, and I watched him for a moment, grateful for his steady presence in my chaotic world. Ethan was safe. Ethan was familiar. Ethan was everything Logan wasn't.

So why couldn't I stop thinking about the way Logan had looked at me in the library?

The next morning, I found a note tucked into my locker. It was written on a scrap of paper, the handwriting sharp and angular.

Coffee Girl —

Same time, same place. Try not to spill anything this time.

— L

I stared at the note, my heart doing something strange and fluttery in my chest. I crumpled it up and shoved it into my pocket, but I couldn't stop thinking about it.

This was going to be a long semester.

And I had a feeling it was only going to get more complicated.