She's not quick enough--or maybe she's just too tired after the sleepless night and her hours long avoidance--to get up and out of his line of sight before he makes it over to her. So she just waits as he walks her way, not looking at him.
Her breathing grows shallow as he closes the gap.
Luz plucks up a clover at a time from a little clump of them in the grass, counting leaves and rolling their stems between her fingers. And just before Logan drops down beside her, she stops, fingers freezing over the greenery. And then she plucks the next one. One with four leaves.
Automatically, she hands it off to Logan--because, she thinks, Logan needs all the luck he can get--placing it in the bit of hair just above his left ear. And she tries very hard not to think about how his hand had been in her hair the night before.
Which is, of course, easier said than done, because when you tell your head not to think something, what does it want to do? She hasn't learned how to get around this yet.
Blushing like she had last night, her hand pulls back from the side of his face. She doesn't want to address it; thinks she could just go from here with relative ease is they didn't discuss it. But, of course, discussion is what he's come for. It's the first thing out of his mouth.
"No I'm not," she lies. And she does so terribly, not yet practiced in the art. It comes out too loud and too incredulous. Just too much in general. "Okay, fine, I was."
She bites her tongue for a moment.
"I was just embarrassed. Not because-- Not because of you, Logan, but--"
There are things about her life from before that she doesn't talk about. Not with Josephine, not with Logan, not with any of the teachers, or even Charles. (Though Charles, she thinks, probably knows.) And she wishes, for a moment--because it would be easier for her--that Logan's gift wasn't one of the future, but of one's past.
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