dedicated to maya for the lovely cover she made!
* * *
"It's Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday!" my father sang quite passionately, dancing along to Rebecca Black's viral hit. No, you didn't hear me wrong. Yes, my father was indeed singing to that god-forsaken song as it played from the speakers on his phone.
"Looking forward to the weekend! Partyin', partyin', yeah!" and he fist-pumped the air. "Come on, Park sing along with me!"
"No."
"Come on, sweetheart. You have to get into the spirit!"
"It's not even Friday," I said, taking a sip of my coffee. "It's Monday."
"Alright, Ms. Technical," my father said. "Go ahead and ruin your father's mood in the morning, won't you?"
Before he could keep on complaining about my lack of energy at six-thirty in the morning, the doorbell sang its melody and he shut up. My father was occupied with washing the dishes at the moment, so I got up and wandered down the hallway towards the door. Through the peephole, I could see Cross--I mean, Logan standing there.
I unlocked the door and pulled it open. His cheeks were flushed from the slight cold in the morning air. He looked at me with sleepy eyes and wrinkled his expression when his gaze drifted upwards to my wig.
"It is extremely weird to see you with red hair now," he commented. "It's uglier than I remembered."
"Well, you're just as ugly as I remembered," I retorted coolly. "Would you like coffee? You look dead on your feet."
"Talk about a complete 180," he mused. "And no thank you, since we're talking so civilly. You probably spat in it."
"How can you think so lowly of me?" I gasped in mock horror. I moved aside, gesturing for him to head in, but Logan merely stood still until I took the initiative and moved towards the kitchen. Logan followed me then, closing the door behind him. While I resumed my spot on the kitchen counter, Logan paused in the entrance to the kitchen, gawking at my father.
"Do you like my apron?" my father asked, looking down at the frilly white apron decorated with pie and apple prints tied at his waist.
"Good morning, Your Highness," Logan greeted, clearly avoiding having to answer the question.
"He didn't answer," my father pouted, turning to me with a frown as though I was supposed to do something to fix it."
"That's because it's an ugly apron," I shrugged.
"No!" Logan protested immediately. "It's beautiful! It's really...majestic."
My father turned to me again, though this time, his wide, beaming smile challenged the morning sun's radiance while Logan looked at me with desperation in his eyes.
"See? Logan has manners," my father said before he turned back to my new bodyguard. "Would you like some coffee?"
He could say no to me, but under the pressure of my father's smile, Logan only nodded in an eager manner. I sighed, sliding off the counter to grab a paper cup from besides our coffee machine before pressing the 'BREW' button.
When all the coffee had gone into the cup, I aimed to grab some sugar from the container beside the machine when Logan's hand snatched my wrist and pulled it back.
"No sugar," Logan instructed before he dropped his grip, sticking his hand into the pocket of his slacks.
"Do you want crème?" I asked but Logan shook his head. "So you want it just black like your soul?"
"I'm sorry, I think you mean black like yours. If you had one, that is."
"Excuse you," I huffed. "My soul is a sparkling fuchsia. If anyone here lacks a soul, it'd be you."
"Park, that's not very nice of you," my father reprimanded me. "Logan is your bodyguard and I didn't even have to warn him about your personality before he signed up. Willingly, if I may add. So, you are going to be polite to him and on your best behavior."
Meanwhile, Logan's cheeks had turned a beet red and he averted his eyes from my smirk. I recalled the conversation on Friday, how he had made it seem like this whole arrangement had been personal and made voluntarily--now I had my father's words to support my suspicions.
"We should go," Logan coughed, shifting from foot to foot. "The bus will probably leave soon." Then, he bid my father a good day before he turned on his feet and quickly exited into the hallway.
"Did I say something wrong?" my father inquired. "He was all red."
"You, old man, just provided me with the perfect method of blackmail," I grinned while dumping two packets of sugar into Logan's coffee and pouring some creamer into the thick black liquid. My coffee was just about out and I had planned on stealing Logan's--but I needed some substance of sugar and sweetness.
When the color of the coffee had changed, I capped the cup and grabbed my bag off the chair it had been sitting on. Then, I wrapped my arm around my father's waist. "Have a safe trip back, Father."
He dropped the sponge in order to return my embrace. "Take care, sweetheart. I'll see you soon," he said into my hair before pecking my crown. When I let go, I gave my father a wide smile before I left the house, finding Logan leaning against the railing of the patio.
I handed him his coffee, and the two of us began our walk in silence. My favorite times of the day were dusk, midnight, and this hour right here. The atmosphere was always quiet and calm during the motionless morning, when people were just beginning to wake up and the streets weren't quite so busy yet.
The silence cut off when Logan decided to initiate a conversation. "Your father's...interesting. He's not how I remembered him."
"And how was he portrayed in that oh-so brilliant mind of yours?"
Logan ignored the jab and continued talking. "Royal," was his answer. "He was exactly the way a fairy tale would describe its prince. I used to be in awe of him. Don't get me wrong, I still am. He's just more..."
"Kooky?" I suggested.
"I don't want to use that word to describe the prince of Cimeria."
"He used to be that way. He knew I loved fairy tales, so he and my older brother would try and compete to be the best prince. And then--" I cut off because I could feel my throat beginning to clog up. Just thinking about my older brother managed to make me feel like someone had just stabbed me through the heart. Repeatedly. In the most painful manner possible.
It's not a great feeling let me tell you that.
"Are you okay?" Logan asked.
"Let's not talk about it," I dismissed, detaching myself from the subject. "Alright?"
"Sparrow, what's wro--"
I stomped on his foot, causing Logan to cry out in pain and anger from the surprise attack. Needless to say, he lost all tone of sympathy in his voice (which was a good thing, because the compassion-for-moi façade was beginning to touch the borderline between odd and insanely creepy). The foul look of hatred was back in his eyes, and the rest of our walk down the just-waking neighborhood was filled with angry bickering.
If one of us were too slow, we'd snap at each other and throw in a not-so-friendly insult. If I happened to snag the front of my boots against a pebble on the sidewalk, Logan would sneer at me and say something crude and if he was walking too fast, I would purposely slow down just to piss him off.
On and on this effortless battle went until we finally made it to the front of our neighborhood and saw the most dreadful sight.
The bus was driving away.
"This is all your fault," Logan grumbled angrily.
"Me?" I snarled. "Who's the one who took forever to walk?"
"That was you!" All because I said you were a slow walker!" he argued. "A turtle could be racing you, take a nap, and still beat you."
"Well, I'm not the one tripping over small rocks in my way!"
"Again, that was you!"
Neither of us were willing to relent and admit whose fault it was that we were late. Instead, we chose to stand there, arms crossed, staring daggers at each other for quite some time before Logan suggested we head into the city and catch another bus there.
The walk into the city wasn't anymore pleasant. It seemed as though the half-friendly mood we had established on Friday had evaporated into thin air, leaving behind the same bitter animosity that had been collecting for six years. No matter what each of us did, the other would have something vicious to say.
It was about a twenty minute walk into the city, and once we were there, it seemed as though life had started amongst the looming buildings. The streets were bustling with a mediocre amount of traffic. Paradise was a small city, but it had a surprisingly large population. The amount of people shoving past each other on the sidewalk was plenty, and it became hard for Logan and I to stick together.
That became a slight problem down the road. The two of us were standing at a crosswalk among countless other people. I didn't realize turned green and soon, I was being pushed forward by the crowd. I hadn't a clue as to who surrounded me, and to fight against the crowd was pure stupidity--you don't get in the way of workers and their destinations.
Somehow, I stopped moving, realizing that I was on the other side already, but when I turned around, I couldn't see Logan at all. Actually, no matter where I turned, I couldn't find that devil. My mind was almost bent on the track to go find him rather than stay still or head to school.
Suddenly, someone placed a hand on my shoulder. Due to the frantic nerves that were twisting knots in my stomach at the moment, my reflexes kicked in--I grabbed the forearm of said person, twisting it around at the same time that I swiveled on my heels. My knee came up and rammed into their stomach, causing them to keel over. That's when horror rushed through my body.
"I am so, so sorry," I squeaked as I watched Logan groan, his back on the sidewalk as people gasped and screamed around us. Passersby were edging away in a hurry, and I was once again on the receiving end of the she's-totally-crazy looks.
"It's alright," Logan groaned. I lent out a hand and he reached up to grip my forearm. I was able to haul him up (but it was mostly him shoving himself off the ground) and Logan was clutching at his stomach while he shot me a rather impressed look.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" he inquired.
I didn't answer, only giving him a meek chuckle. Truth was, I had been training ever since I'd been old enough to throw a decent punch at my brother for stealing my cookies. I'd never been really fascinated in the ways of being a proper lady--it was too boring and easy.
But whenever I watched my older brother train with our cousin (or sometimes my father, who had trained as an agent in the past), I had been in complete awe. The fact that a mere human could bring another to their knees or place them on their backs with the right swing of the arms was absolutely thrilling to me.
My father had been more than willing to set up an instructor for me, and I've been in training ever since--even now, my cousin would practice with me whenever the two of us felt like having a brawl.
However, I found that whenever I told agents that I could fight as well them, they'd just scoff and ruffle my hair, condescendingly telling me I was adorable for thinking I was on their level.
I pointed to a bus pulling up to one of its stops, hoping to distract him. "There's our bus," I piped up and made to head on over. That's when I noticed Logan's fingers wrapping themselves around my wrist. "What are you doing?" I asked as he pulled me with him onto the vehicle.
He didn't answer. As a matter of fact, his fingers entwined themselves in the spaces between mine and held onto my hand tightly. Throughout the entire ride, he refused to say a single word as well as flat-out ignored my whispers. When I tried to pull my fingers out of his grip, his hand tightened, forcing us to stand hand-in-hand for the entire period.
I won't lie--it felt pretty nice.
Then I remembered it was Cross and all those feelings sort of took off in a vigorous manner.
The bus finally rolled to a stop outside the academy gates, where students littered the courtyard. Logan yanked me off the bus but still didn't let go, even though we were marching past the gates, attracting quite the amount of attention.
"Now I'm convinced you have a death wish for your reputation," I remarked as we stood off to the side of the academy, out of sight but definitely not out of mind of our peers.
"Don't run off again," he said, dropping my hand.
"And he speaks!" I cried, but the look on Logan's face told me that the boy was in a rather serious mood. "To be very clear, that was most definitely not me running off. If I did actually run off, you'd probably spend the entire day searching for me and I still wouldn't be found. My hidden talent is my amazing ability to win at hide-and-seek."
"Sparrow, I'm not kidding. Please don't make me worry like that again," he sighed, running his hands through his thick hair as he began pacing back and forth.
"If you're referring to the crosswalk incident, I disappeared for about five seconds," I pointed out.
"Thirty-point-seven," he mumbled instantly.
I threw my hands up in mock surrender. "Alright, Mr. Technical. Thirty-point-seven seconds it is."
He let out another groan as he leaned against the iron fence. "I'm sorry, I just...I take my job pretty seriously," he admitted, though I doubted that was the real reason. Whenever I disappeared (whether it be purposely or accidentally), my bodyguards always reacted with irritation, their tolerance for my "antics" low.
Oh, they showed concern. But the kind Logan was displaying on his face at the moment was very different from my memories of my other bodyguards.
"Whatever you say, m'lord," I said, not wanting to press the issue. "Do you want to walk me to class if it makes you less paranoid?"
The concern vanished as he shot me an annoyed look, but Logan didn't say a word as the two of us entered the school premise. That action brought several jaw-dropping looks. Everyone was astounded and aghast at the sight of Alex Finch and Logan Cross walking together without trying to tear each other's throats out.
"M'lord?" he asked finally as we stepped through the entrance. "What's with the titles?"
"Think of it as a sarcastic insult because everything I say to you will most likely be a sarcastic insult."
"One day, Sparrow," he sighed, "you'll learn to like me."
I sniggered. "Only in your wildest dreams, Cross."
* * *
My fourth hour ended with a bang. No, literally--it ended with my head slamming on the table out of exhaustion. I mean, come on. You try listening to my professors long and angry rant on the basics of biology for the three-hundredth time without falling asleep.
That's right. You can't.
When the bell rang, my head, which had been peacefully resting on my hands, slipped and smacked against the table. I didn't hear any laughter, though, which was weird. By now, people should've been cackling at my humiliating act like they've always done.
Instead, my stingy old professor, a germophobic fifty-year-old vulture wearing a 1700th dress from her 1700th wardrobe, swooped over to where I sat, hand sanitizer in her hand. She thrusted the clear plastic bottle at me. "Did you not listen to my lecture on bacteria just now, Miss Finch?"
Ah, so the rant was on bacteria. Again.
You see, my mind has developed this totally rational theory that Professor Bells was actually an ancient pterodactyl that had been infested with lethal bacteria a million years ago and has returned now to rid the world of bacteria, one boring lecture at a time.
"How many times have I warned you about the dangers of falling asleep on these desks? Do you know the amount of bacteria that cover just one square centimeter of the surface?"
See? What did I tell you?
I assured it would never happen again--which was a total lie that she should know by now because I've fallen asleep in this class more than I could remember--and shoved my notebook into my bag.
I grabbed my textbook and went down the steps of the lecture hall. The class was already emptying out the doors. Entering the hallway was a bit of a strange experience. People walking past looked at me, pointed, and then waved.
They actually waved.
There weren't any arrogant smirks or contempt sneers. As a matter of fact, as I began walking down the crowded hallway, a few girls passed me and greeted me with a cheerful, "Hey, Alex!"
It was the same everywhere. Friendly chatter stopped and people peered over shoulders to get a look at me. My classmates would stop and say hello before continuing on. I was being pointed at and whispered about, though this time, there was no malicious intent in their actions--I only saw curiosity and surprise.
I felt like I was Harry Potter. I might as well draw a scar on my forehead.
A fourth-year girl bumped into me and we nearly toppled off balance. When she saw who I was, she stammered an apology, though the look of awe never left her eyes as she ran away, cheeks red.
Did I, Alex Finch, who happened to the be the most hated girl in Cross Academy, just get an apology?
"Sp--Finch!" someone called out loudly. I turned on my heels to see Logan there, flanked by the Unholy Trinity. Two of them, Josh and Mark, bore equal looks of suspicion as they appraised with their sharp eyes. Only James kept his glare of pure, undiluted hatred and scorn for me.
I never thought I'd ever be glad to see James Mayfield in my life.
Logan muttered something to his friends before he crossed the distance between us. He looked practically unsettled and...scared.
"We need to talk," he uttered in a low voice. My attention wasn't on his words, though. All around me, there were giggles and squeals of excitement. Girls were pointing at us, beaming happily and clapping their hands together like they were some sort of fangirls at a One Direction concert.
"What did you do?" I asked. I knew what being the center of attention was--and this was the spotlight shining on us. As a princess, I was completely used to it. It never really bothered me to have all eyes on me--I grew up in many eye-drawing scenarios.
As Alex Finch, a nobody? It was downright unnatural and freaky.
Logan had done something and I was on the receiving end of the consequences.
I knew Logan would follow me where I went, so I stepped around him and proceeded towards the hallway of the Locker Ghost. It was where my locker was located, along a quiet corridor where I periodically had lunch and where the spirit of Benjamin the Locker Ghost dwelled.
To be honest, I was the one spreading the stories of the Locker Ghost.
Don't tell.
Truthfully, though, the hallway was an eerie place. It sat on the seventh floor, overlooking the forests of Montana. It had the smallest portions of lockers in the whole school, built more as a backup in case of an overflow of students. Some students had vandalised a few lockers in the past in an attempt to find mine and trash it, so a handful of metal doors hung open on rusty hinges. The archways that served as windows had no glass cover, so the corridor was prone to any weather. Leaves from last fall were still scattered over the floor and when the wind blew through, it shifted the leaves and caused the locker doors to moan.
It was the perfect place to start a rumor about a paranormal being haunting the area.
"Why are we here?" Logan asked, sounding a little nervous as he looked around the hall. Thank the gods that the students here were superstitious and knew better than to enter the Locker Ghost hallway. We had utmost privacy here, and with that in thought, I wheeled on him.
"What did you do, Cross?" I demanded to know. For the first time in forever, I had been looked at as a fellow human. There were only two ways that such behavior could occur:
1.) Everyone found out that I was the princess of Cimeria.
2.) Logan Cross said something about me that has somehow miraculously changed everyone's opinions.
Either way, both options would boil down to him, because he was the only student in the school who knew I was the princess.
"First off, you have to promise me you won't hit me," he asked, looking rather skittish.
"No," I refused.
Logan blew out a breath. "I need some type of security from you, Sparrow."
"Is it bad?" I asked, referring to his unknown action. Logan took a second, but then he shook his head. "Then you have nothing to worry about.
Logan looked irritated with my answer. Then again, he seemed annoyed with just about everything I did. Either that or bored. "Fine," he gave in. "It's turns out a lot of people saw us holding hands and the news spread around the academy." He stopped talking, though I knew there was more.
"Keep going," I prodded. Logan's cheeks began to turn a pale pink. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and began shuffling from one foot to another. I will now mark those actions as Logan-did-something-he-shouldn't-have-and-now-he's-caught-red-handed-by-Park.
"Josh, well, he confronted me about it during class. Mark joined him and they sort of ganged up on me, demanding to know why we were holding hands and if I was crazy and needed to be sent to an asylum. Josh was offering to take me to a doctor while Mark asked if you blackmailed me. Somehow, that snowballed into a discussion that basically--"
"Insulted me?" I love listening to those," I interrupted.
"I got a bit offended for you, I guess," Logan continued. "I think it was a sense of nationalism that possessed me, but I started defending you and I might have said something I shouldn't have."
"Like?"
At this, Logan's cheeks were a brilliant shade of peonies. He gulped nervously and let out a shaky laugh. "I said you were pretty?"
I gaped at him. "Of all the things you could've possibly said to get them off your back, you said that I was pretty? Now they're going to assume that you like me!"
When Logan didn't say anything, a sense of dread settled in my chest. "Tell me you didn't."
"James started questioning me!" Logan sputtered, looking at lost for the proper words to describe the confusion on his face. "He grabbed me and demanded to know what the hell I meant by saying you were pretty. He kept going on and on about how pathetic you were and how only an idiot would like you."
"Don't tell me you said, 'Then I guess I'm an idiot!'?" I guessed, shaking my head at him.
Logan stopped looking worried for one second to shoot me a flat look. "I don't sound like that."
"You're not saying no?"
Logan cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his unruly dark hair. "I may have said something along those lines...yeah...something like that."
My breathing hitched for a second and I was so bewildered by what I was just told that a disbelieving smile was plastered on my face. Logan Cross told James Mayfield he liked me. People now think that Logan and I liked each other. It would explain the strange behaviors I'd gotten--no one had ever won the King of Cross Academy's heart before. He was an Ice King when it came to matters of emotion, and for someone to capture his attention was unheard of. If it was anyone but me, I'd pat them on the back and congratulate them.
But alas, it was me. The once-hated scapegoat of the academy was now the girl who had captured Logan Cross' full attention.
"You do know what this means, right?" I asked, my voice faint. "They'll think I have potential because I've got the golden boy crushing on me."
"There's absolutely nothing wrong with that," he argued.
"That means they'll try and be friends with me. The last time that happened, my identity almost got revealed to the public. There is absolutely everything wrong with that," I pointed out.
A look of guilt crossed his face and he let out a nervous chuckle. "Oops...?"
I let out a frustrated and incredulous growl that sent Logan recoiling in fear.
"Cross!"