If You're Out There(12)

I turn a sharp corner, past a row of thrift shops and a street performer playing an amped keyboard with looped glow sticks around his neck. “Is he a staple of the neighborhood?” calls Logan.

“Glow-stick guy? Oh, big-time. Out here twice a week at least. Even in the snow!” I’m weirdly enjoying this—whisking this boy away on his bike, chatting him up with the wind in my face.

Even if he does think I’m about to get us killed.

We round another corner, past the little theater where Arturo does his shows. “Please tell me this is almost over.”

“It’s almost over,” I say. And with that, we come to a halt.

“You’re a madwoman,” pants Logan. Through the window of the restaurant, I can see Arturo wiping down a booth. He looks up, shooting me a bulging stare before running out to meet us.

“I know, I know,” I say, catching my breath. “I’m sorry. Are the vegans out for blood?”

“Huh? No, no,” says Arturo hurriedly. “I managed to cover all the tables. I’m exhausted, but it’s pretty much cleared out. You should have seen this place an hour ago.”

I blink, wary. He’s smiling like he froze that way. “What’s with the face? Why so happy?”

“Zan!” Arturo bugs his eyes at me, like it’s obvious, then leans in with a stage whisper: “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s an actual human person with you right now.” He reaches out to shake Logan’s hand. “I’m Arturo. I love you already. Please keep hanging out with her. She’s been terribly lonely.”

“Arturo!” I can feel my face burning.

“I don’t mean that in a pathetic-loser sort of way,” says my soon-to-be-dead boss, still shaking and shaking and shaking Logan’s hand. “Not at all. Zan’s the coolest. Way cool beyond her years. We all love her. Although I should warn you she is a bit stubborn, and bossy.”

“So I’ve noticed,” says Logan with a smirk. “Logan. Nice to meet you.”

“You hungry?” asks Arturo, giving Logan a manly slap on the back.

“He was just leaving,” I say.

Logan holds my stare, clearly enjoying this. “Actually, I’m starved.”

Arturo opens the door and gestures happily to the inside. “It’s all vegan,” I tell Logan flatly. “You’ll hate it.”

“I’m sure I’ll find something.” He locks his bike to a pole and returns to us.

“Attaboy,” says Arturo.

“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper to my boss as I slip past.

“Worth it,” he whispers back.

Inside it’s empty, aside from a group of guys at a four-top still lingering, with cash already thrown down for the bill. “You two sit,” says Arturo. “I’ll have Manny whip something up.” He swipes the other table’s check and disappears into the kitchen with a skip.

Logan drums his fingers on the table, admiring the restaurant’s glittery booths and poster-plastered walls. Above us, Ella Fitzgerald’s voice comes slinking through the speakers—the soundtrack of my childhood, one of my dad’s old favorites.

“Cool place,” says Logan. I nod, feeling suddenly exposed and fidgety. Even Ella can’t calm me down. Logan studies my face from across the booth. “So . . .”

“So.”

“You’re on a no-human streak, huh? I must say I’m honored to be the exception.”

I look at him, defeated. “Please don’t laugh at me.”

Logan’s expression twists into something like worry. “I wouldn’t . . . I wasn’t . . .”

“It’s okay.” He’s kind of sweet. “I guess I was having fun . . . talking to you. And I didn’t feel like getting into the fact that I’m kind of a depressed and friendless loser at the moment.”

“So you’re not a grazer.”

“Not a grazer. Just got dumped.”

Logan frowns abruptly. “Well, then he’s an idiot.”

“Not a guy,” I say, smiling a little. “My best friend. But . . . thanks.”

He leans forward, elbows planted on the table. “So what happened?”

I meet his eyes, and it strikes me that I really want to tell him. There’s something about Logan. He’s so . . . clear. Like staring straight down to the bottom of a lake. And while I have no idea why, he seems to genuinely want to listen.

“Nothing happened,” I say. “That’s kind of the problem. She moved away. We hugged and cried and said we’d visit every break until summer. We were even planning to volunteer together in India after graduation. It was all we talked about. And now . . . nothing. She won’t pick up her phone, or write back to my texts or emails. It’s been months but I still can’t get over it. I hate how I feel. It’s like nothing makes sense anymore. Like I’ve lost all control.”

Logan nods. “And therein lies the danger in loving people.”

“Speaking from experience?” I ask.

“Something like that.”

“Being a hermit is definitely the safer option.”

Logan thinks a moment. “Maybe she’s depressed?”

“She hasn’t had the easiest life,” I say. “But I don’t know. It doesn’t seem like it from her posts.” I grab my phone from my bag and pull up her account. “If anything, it’s like she’s being extra happy just to make me feel like crap.”