A little snoop of my first person Breakaway which has stolen my heart...Finn watching Lo look around his childhood room when Finn brings him home for Thanksgiving his first year... <3 happy fall everyone!!
He goes over to my dresser and mirror—glances at himself—and looks at the photographs there. Lots of Alex and me. Picks up one and holds it before showing me.
“Sasha,” I say, looking at her and my own grinning faces pressed close to the camera. “High school girlfriend. Two years. We’re still good friends. She’s at Brown.”
“Anyone in high school?” I ask, leaning back on my elbows on the bed. “For you? I never asked.”
He goes a little tense, I think, and I almost change the topic but— “Nothing, like…I mean, it was so much hockey. All boys at my school. And the parties, the girls school comes, alcohol, running off, and we were all sort of…” Big sigh. “I don’t know the word.”
He sets the frame of Sasha and I down and—weird kid—opens my top dresser drawer. It’s kind of mindless, like he’s more busy thinking, but he stares at my socks and folded underwear.
“Just sex. Making out. Kind of…” He moves his head in a rushed motion.
“Frantic,” I guess. “Got a time limit.”
Shuts the drawer. “Yeah.”
The little model of the planets that I made in seventh grade is his next target. He touches the fragile rings on the small Saturn, then looks over his shoulder at me.
See, this is what I am always trying to tell people. Logan is not quiet. He’s just—he’s not always comfortable. This is comfortable Logan. Intense. Curious. This is one of the first times I’m really seeing it. Doesn’t occur to me until much later that it was because it was just us, away from school. I’d learn that lesson nice and quick.
“Same,” I say. "The stars.”
“How do you say it in French?”
“Les étoiles dans l’espace.”
He laughs and picks up my copy of Moby-Dick. Pretends to lift it like a weight. “Une étoile. Star. Un espace. Space. The stars in space. Les étoiles dans l’espace.”
“Une…I don’t think my tongue’s going to do that.”
“Non, I don’t think so.” Touches my curtains, the medals I have from hockey camps dating back to when I was six. Looks out my window, down at the street. “Thanks for having me.” He turns again, and he’s holding one of the little cars I have on my window sill. It looks so, so small in his strong hands. Tight smile. “Really didn’t know what to do.”
“I already told you, Tremz, of course.” Spread my arms. “Sorry you gotta sleep with me.”
Logan showers, like he always does. Leaves puddles all over the floor, like he always does. Something about being home makes me forget, though, and I soak my socks.
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