THEN:
At age thirteen Logan Stanfield already knew about bad timing-- his parents got divorced, he moved to a new town, and was forced to start his life over again from scratch. But when he walked into the classroom that first day and laid eyes on M...
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MAISY
When I first open my eyes I don't know where I am. I blink up at the nondescript, white ceiling and my heartbeat picks up. This happens often enough that I should be used to it by now, but I still have to remind myself not to panic.
"Maisy."
At the sound of my name I bolt up, taking in the room around me, the sofa I'm sprawled out on, and the worried face in front of me.
Logan.
His house.
The car.
It all comes soaring back and my cheeks color. I let down my guard and fell asleep. I shouldn't have done that.
"What time is it?" I ask, my voice sounding about as groggy as I feel. I wipe my hands over my face, trying to snap myself out of it and erase any possible remnants left behind by my impromptu nap, but this still seems like a dream.
"It's about five."
I remove a soft blanket from around me, not remembering when I grabbed it, and swing my legs off the couch. Did Logan tuck me in? I peek over at him, perched on the opposite side of the L-shaped sofa, and wonder how long he's been sitting there. "I'm sorry," I apologize, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I must've dozed off..."
"It's fine. You looked like you needed it. I didn't know if I should wake you, but your phone was ringing. I thought it might be the garage."
The garage. Of course. I'm sure Logan is as eager for me to get out of here as I am. I pick my cell phone up off the coffee table. Two missed calls and one text. The calls are from the garage. They left a message saying that my car would be ready around 10 AM tomorrow and an estimate for all four tires that was a lot more than I was expecting. My skin breaks into a cold sweat and all my hope deflates as it all sinks in. There will be no getting out of here tonight and on top of that, my bank account is about to take a serious hit.
I don't read the text, not with Logan in the room. Besides, I know who it's from and would rather wait and read it privately. I put my hands on my knees and push myself up. It's time for this little reprieve, or whatever it is, to end. It's time to get back to my real life.
As I start to fold the blanket I can feel Logan studying me. He's dissecting my every movement and suddenly the simplest thing, like folding this stupid blanket, feels foreign to me. "The mechanic said my car would be ready in the morning." I speak without looking at him as I place the blanket down on the end of the couch. "Thanks for letting me hang out here."
There's a part of me that doesn't want to go; I've felt safe here with Logan, but there's a bigger part of me that knows I have to. Every minute spent here is a minute wasted, a minute where I'm closer to being caught, and where there's a greater risk of getting Logan involved in my bullshit.
