Sherry Ficklin - Losing Logan

“So, really, who wanted you dead?” I ask. “I mean, besides me. Who did you tick off recently?”

He flops down on my bed, folding his hands across his stomach and staring at the ceiling.

“I have no idea. But I think I have an idea how we can find out.”

I lean to the side, propping my chin up with my fist. “Enlighten me.”

“You need to talk to my friends,” he says as if it’s the most obvious, simple thing in the world.

“You mean that bunch of people that I’ve never spoken to in my life? Those friends.”

He rolls his head to the side, looking at me. “Yeah. Why not?”

I’m totally caught off guard by the suggestion. It’s like asking a fish to talk to a bird.

“Sure, I’ll just walk up to Kaylee’s door and say, Hey I know this is a little weird, but your boyfriend is kind of haunting me and he wants to know what you guys did right before he died, because he thinks someone killed him. She would have me arrested. Or committed. Or both.”

“She’d just pepper spray you.”

“Also something I’d like to avoid.”

He looks away again. “No. School starts in a few days. We need to figure out a way to get you into the inner circle, make you part of the group.”

I feel my eyes go buggy. “Oh hell no. Hell. No.”

“You already said you’d help.”

I sigh, leaning back. “I didn’t say I’d let you throw me to the lions.”

“They aren’t that bad.”

I stare at him. He’s obviously in some kind of death induced denial. One bad word from Kaylee alone could blackball me from any event or club for the rest of the year. Granted, student council isn’t glamorous, but I need it on my college applications. Plus there was always the very real possibility she might scratch my eyes out. I’ve seen her do worse.

“We will start with Bruno.”

I sigh. I’m not winning this argument, I can just tell. This is my life now, being bullied and stalked by a dead guy. Lucky me.

“Why him?”

“He asked me for your number at the end of last year. I think he’s got a little thing for you.”

My mouth hangs open. I couldn’t have been more surprised if he started belching puppies.

“He never called me.”

Logan waves me off with a flick of his hand. “He’s shy. Probably couldn’t get up the nerve.”

Bruno is a good looking guy, I have to admit. He’s one of those muscular dudes with a dark tan and dimples. Somehow boyishly cute and brutally handsome in the same breath, and of all Logan’s friends, he is also the only one who has ever looked me right in the eye instead of looking right through me. It was in Pre-calculus last year. He asked me for some notes he missed. He smiled when he handed them back to me. And I never thought anything of it. Until now, that is. Now it feels like a flashing neon sign I’d somehow overlooked.

“What are you thinking?” Logan asks, shaking me from the not so unpleasant memory. I shake my head. No way. Bruno was probably just looking for a summer tutor.

“I’m thinking there is no way that your pack of lemmings will accept me as one of them. Not in a million years.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, funny in a sour way, and even kinda pretty. You just need…”

I’m trying to read the expression on his face.

“A flea bath?” I finish, judging by the wrinkled up nose and narrowed eyes he’s giving me, I assume those are his next words.

“I was going to say an image adjustment.”

His words sting more than I let him see. “Oh really?”

“Yep. Some new clothes, a little sunshine or makeup or something so you don’t look so pale. A hair cut. You know, a makeover. Don’t girls love makeovers?”

I leap out on my chair and squeal, kneeling beside the bed. “Yeah, in cheesy 80’s movies. And are you going to be my fairy godmother and make me a dress for the ball, too?”

“Wrong movie.”

I rock back on my heels and put my hands on my hips. “Wait, is this the movie where I go to prom only to have a bucket of pigs blood poured on me?”

He rolls to his side and props himself up on one elbow. “Wrong again. This is the movie where you ask your best friend to help you polish yourself up so you can earn yourself a place in the herd and figure out who killed me.”

“So My Fair Lady, Ghost Hunters edition. How does it end?”

“With at least one of us dead.”

I put a finger to my lips and shhh him. “Spoiler.”

I lay awake in my bed long after I’ve sent Logan on his merry way. Staring at the ceiling, wondering what left turn I’ve taken to land myself in this particular pot of crazy. When I finally fall into a restless sleep, I dream of Logan when he was alive. We were in the hall at school, crowds of people buzzing around us like wasps, glaring. But we just stand there, our eyes glued on one another across the room. A person in a black hoodie walks up behind him, raises a massive knife and starts slashing him in the back. I scream but no sound comes out. Logan doesn’t flinch, even as the blood sprays the lockers behind him. Then the people around us stop, turn away from me, and watch in frozen silence as Logan crumples to the ground in a bloody heap. I scream again but I can’t move. When the faces turn back to me, they are all covered in blood.

I jolt awake, nearly flinging myself out of bed. Three times last night the dream had been the same. And each time I woke as I was now, sweaty and flushed, my heart pounding like drums in my chest. I slam my hand down on the wailing alarm clock, but even once it’s dead the sound vibrates inside my skull. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and wondering if this is what a hangover feels like.

“Good morning sleepy head.”

I let out a startled noise and trip backward, landing on my butt.

“For shit’s sake, don’t do that.” I say finally as Logan stands over me chuckling.

He holds out his hand like he’s going to help me up. I raise an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Really?”

He shrugs and drops his hand, walking away.

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

I struggle to my feet and he drops into my sitting chair. “So, were you dreaming about me? You kept saying my name in your sleep.”

“How long have you been here?” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.

He waves me off. “A while. I got bored. Nowhere else to go.”

I turn my back to him, sliding open my closet. “Stalker.”

“You know, you should be flattered. I mean I could be stalking anybody right now. Cool people.”

I yawn and pull a pair of dark jeans and my soft grey Henley off of their hangers.

“Yes. Lucky me. And to think, you’re passing up the opportunity to literally be a fly on the wall at the playboy mansion right now just to hang out here and irritate me into an early grave.”

A knock at my door makes me jump. Mom peeks her head in, looking around.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” She widens the door a little, checking behind it. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

I sigh, “No mom, just…practicing my lines. Carlos is making me try out for Gone with the Wind with him this year.”

The lie comes out smoother than I expect. I think I can count the number of times I’ve lied to my mother on one hand, that is, if you don’t count all the times she’s asked me how I’m doing and I say, Fine mom. Everything’s great. Because those lies would number in the thousands.

She gives me a wary half smile. It’s hard to tell if she’s not buying it, or if she’s just exhausted. She’s been working double and triple shifts at the hospital for months. I get why. Idle time is when the pain creeps back in. Happens to me too. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help Logan. Maybe I just need a distraction.

Mom walks into my room and puts her arms around me in an awkward hug as I try to hug her back with one arm while still holding onto my clothes.

“You doing okay?” She asks, brushing the hair out of my face.

“Sure mom. I’m fine.”

She nods and takes a step back. “Have you done your back to school shopping yet?”

“I’m going to see if Carlos wants to go today.”

Her eyes brighten and I turn away. She adores Carlos.

Hell, who doesn’t?

“Well you two have fun. I’m going to put together a dessert for the staff barbeque tonight. Did you want to come with me?”

I frown where she can’t see me. Truth is I’d rather be raked naked over hot coals than spend five minutes with her colleagues from the hospital. Between the gossipy nurses, rude orderlies, and Doctor Tucker, the resident surgeon who always leers at my mom right in front of his poor wife, a fork to the eyeball sounds more fun.

“I think Carlos wants to go to some poetry reading at the tea room tonight.”

Another lie. Wow, I’m really on a roll today.

“Hey, your mom is really trying to spend time with you. You should go.” Logan chimes in from the chair. I grit my teeth and ignore him.

“Oh, well, ok then. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow after my shift.”

I nod, not turning back to her as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

“You know, if you die tomorrow and those were the last words you said to her, you would feel like shit. Trust me, I know.”

“Ground rules. Number one, no watching me sleep like a perv. And number two, no guilt trips about my relationship with my mom—or anyone else for that matter. Keep any and all urges to be my undead life coach to yourself. Clear?”

He nods. I turn on my heel and head for the bathroom. I need a shower and five minutes away from all of the people talking in my head, living and dead.

* * *

I dress in the bathroom, which I never do, because I don’t want to risk my pervy little buddy catching a peek. I’m self conscious enough about my tall, overly skinny body without him making any comments about it. Mom calls it good genes. I call it no boobs, and let’s face it, having no boobs in high school is a genuine handicap. Once I’m dressed and I’ve blown out and flat ironed my long brown hair into submission I head back to my room, to find Logan staring out the window.

“Something interesting?” I ask, tossing the damp yellow towel across my chair.

He doesn’t turn to look at me.

“I’m just bored. I never realized how boring being dead could be.” He sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Still, it could be worse.”

“Worse than being dead?”

He glances over his shoulder, his blue eyes piercing from across the room. “I could be dead and alone. At least I have you.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck and I try to shrug it off. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re just dying to hang out with me.” Then I force a weak chuckle.

“I mean it, Zoe.” He turns, walking toward me slowly, stopping just a few inches away. My heart skips in my chest. Even dead he’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. From the sharp slope of his nose to the curve of his jaw, from his broad shoulders to his dirty blonde hair that is perfect-messy in the way only movie stars seem to be able to achieve.

“If I didn’t have you to talk to—if you couldn’t see me—I’d have gone crazy days ago.” He reaches out and for a second, and in an idiotic, unrealistic heartbeat in time, I think he’s going to touch my face. But before he gets close he drops his hand to his side and the corners of his mouth turn up just a little.

At which point I realize that I’m standing there like a moron.

“Maybe I should start a business.” I fan out my hands in front of me. “Zoe Reed. Therapist to the dead.”

“You could have business cards with coffins on them.”

I snap my fingers, “And my tag line will be, Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you’re not crazy.”

He laughs and it rolls through the room and across my skin like a cold breeze. I shudder and grab a light denim jacket from my closet.

“What’s first on the agenda today, General?”

He points to my phone. “First text Carlos about taking you shopping.”

I stand up tall and salute him. “Yes sir.”

As I’m texting, Logan goes over and starts looking through my closet.

“Carlos has one thing right. You are entering a combat zone. You need a first day battle outfit.”

“Ooh, leather and stilettos?”

He looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“The point is to make you look less like…”

“Me?”

“Like you might rip someone in half just for saying hello.”

I put a hand on my hip. “So no leather then.”