Mary Anne Misses Logan, Page 6

  Of all the nerve.

  Logan actually went out with Cokie. And not just once — several times. Several times that I knew of. Maybe they’d even been out more than several times.

  How did I hear about their dates? Easy. Cokie has a mouth the size of the Grand Canyon. She just loved announcing to all of SMS that she was dating Logan Bruno. She especially enjoyed bringing up the subject at the next meeting of the Megan Rinehart study group.

  The next meeting was the first one we held since the meeting at the Masons’ house when Cokie let it be known that at the age of ten she had read four Beatrix Potter books in just a week. Fifteen days had gone by. Pete, Cokie, Logan, and I were supposed to have read (or reread) the four Megan Rinehart books we had chosen. I knew Logan had done this (or at least had almost done it) because I’d bumped into him in the school library one day, returning the mystery.

  “Mary Anne! Hi!” he’d said.

  “Hi.” (Silence.) “Have you finished the reading?” I finally asked.

  “Except for the collection of short stories. But that’s at home and I’ll get to it.”

  “Great!”

  “Yeah. How about you?”

  “I just had to reread the books. I finished last night.”

  (More silence.)

  Logan nodded his head. “Well … see ya.”

  “See ya.”

  Now Pete, Cokie, and I were sitting around in Pete’s basement rec room. We were waiting for Logan to arrive. While we waited, Cokie said, “I just saw the best film. It was a funny old movie called Top Hat. All this dancing was in it…. I saw it last night. With Logan.” Cokie slid her gaze from Pete to me.

  “What was it about?” asked Pete.

  “Oh…. You know? I’m not sure. Logan and I weren’t paying much attention. We were sharing this box of popcorn. And Logan kept saying he should go home so he could read the books, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Speaking of our books,” I interrupted Cokie, “did you guys read them?”

  Pete smiled a genuine smile. “I actually did,” he said. “All four of them. And you know what? I liked them. Especially the funny one.”

  “Oh, me, too,” agreed Cokie quickly. “That funny one was so … funny.”

  “Wasn’t it?” I said. “I could read Louie Strikes Again over and over.”

  “So could I.” Cokie sighed, as if deeply satisfied.

  But Pete gave us a funny look. “The book,” he said, “is not called Louie Strikes Again. It’s called —”

  Cokie was saved by the doorbell. Logan had arrived.

  All right. Now I knew that Cokie hadn’t read Megan Rinehart’s humorous book. She probably hadn’t read the others, either.

  Cokie bounded upstairs to greet Logan, even though she was in Pete’s house.

  I looked at Pete. He seemed totally confused. No wonder. For one thing, he’d gotten to his feet to answer the door, but Cokie had beaten him to it. For another, he was still pondering Louie Strikes Again.

  “Mary Anne,” he said, “what’s with Louie Strikes Again? That isn’t a Megan Rinehart book. I thought you knew all of her work.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said to Pete. “I know that isn’t one of her books. I was just testing Cokie. I bet she hasn’t done any of the reading.”

  Pete frowned. Before he could say anything, though, Cokie returned with Logan. They had linked arms. And as they walked down the stairs, they bent their heads together while Cokie whispered something. Then they smiled.

  Logan and Cokie plopped onto this old, scarred leather couch.

  “Hi, Mary Anne. Hi, Pete,” said Logan.

  “Hi,” we replied.

  I wanted to cry, but of course, I didn’t. I have cried at some embarrassing times, but even I could hold back the tears when I was faced with Logan and … Cokie. It was a pretty hard sight to take in, though. I remembered when I used to sit next to Logan, sometimes leaning against him or even resting my head on his shoulder. I also remembered all the times we’d gone to school dances — and not danced. Or when we had stayed home from parties because I was too shy to go. Logan would never have that problem with Cokie. She loved to dance and party and go out. No one could describe her as shy.

  “My life,” said Cokie out of the blue, “has just been a whirlwind lately. Logan and I have been so busy.”

  “I guess that’s why you haven’t been able to do the reading,” Pete said.

  Cokie went on talking as if Pete had not spoken. “Let’s see. We went to a concert in Stamford one night.”

  (A concert? Logan and I had never gone to a concert. Well, there was this one we wanted to go to, but it was being held on a school night and I had to take a test the next day so I said I thought we better not go, and Logan said okay.)

  “And,” Cokie continued, “we’ve been to two — no, three — movies. Plus all those games at school. Boy, are our teams doing well.”

  Logan must have loved having a girlfriend who would go to games with him. I hardly ever wanted to. (But when did Logan have time to work? I wondered.)

  Uh-oh. Had I just referred to Cokie as Logan’s girlfriend? She couldn’t really be. She and Logan were only good friends … right?

  I had no idea. All I knew was that I ached for Logan. And that if Cokie kept talking about him, I might go crazy.

  So when Cokie finally stopped talking, I asked, “Did anyone have trouble finding the Megan Rinehart books?”

  “Nope,” replied Pete. “I found ’em all.”

  Logan shook his head.

  Cokie could not look at me. I bet she was thinking about her Louie Strikes Again mistake…. And was she blushing just a little?

  “So we’ve all done the reading?” I said.

  “Yup,” replied Pete.

  Logan and Cokie remained silent. A funny feeling crept into my stomach.

  “And now we’re ready to write our paper?”

  “Is the paper supposed to be about Megan Rinehart or her books?” asked Pete.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure,” I said.

  “You aren’t?” replied Logan. He looked worried.

  “No. Are you? I mean, this is an author study project, but we’ve been researching our author’s books, not her life.”

  “Maybe,” Pete said slowly, “we could find out about Megan Rinehart’s life and then see if it relates to what she writes about.”

  “That’s a great idea!” I said.

  “Brilliant,” added Cokie. She yawned.

  “So who’s going to do what?” I asked. “Now we have to research Megan Rinehart and see how her life and her books relate. We could each write about one of the four books. And I’ll be glad to start the research on Megan Rinehart,” I offered.

  “I’ll be gl —”

  “Logan?” Cokie didn’t let him finish his sentence. “Are we going to the away game tonight? The one against Brick Township?”

  I didn’t know what Cokie was talking about — what sport, or even where Brick Township was. I just waited for Logan’s answer.

  “Sure,” he replied.

  Sure!? On a school night? With all this work to do? Where was Logan’s brain? He must have left it at school…. Oh, wait. Forgive me. How could I have been so silly? Cokie had hypnotized Logan.

  “I have an idea,” spoke up Pete. (I never thought I’d be thinking this, but I sure was glad to have Pete Black on my side. First, he was honest enough to admit that he liked Megan Rinehart’s books after all. Second, he was obviously involved in our project and was willing to work. Unlike some people I could think of.) “Why don’t we all research Megan Rinehart now?” Pete suggested. “That seems fair.”

  “Sounds good to me, too,” I replied, smiling at Pete.

  “I have a question,” said Cokie. “The four of us only have to hand in one project, right? Only one report is due?”

  “Right,” answered Logan.

  “Just checking.”

  I changed my mind. Cokie wasn’t just any old snake. She was a viper. I knew wh
at she was getting at. She thought she could escape working on the project simply by leaving it up to the rest of us. She knew that we wanted a good grade.

  “Well, the project is due in two weeks,” I pointed out. “That isn’t much time. Let’s each choose one book to examine and then begin researching Megan Rinehart.”

  Which was exactly what we did.

  A few minutes later, the meeting broke up. Cokie slid her arm around Logan’s waist and they left Pete’s house, heading, I guess, for Brick Township.

  I felt disgusted. Not only was Logan wasting his time with Cokie, but I could see that Pete and I were going to end up doing the entire project ourselves.

  Our author projects were due on a Friday. By the Wednesday before, I was exhausted. So was Pete. I don’t think I’d ever worked on an assignment so hard in my entire school career. For one thing, just as I’d feared, Pete and I did end up doing the project ourselves. For another, the kind of literary analysis we were doing (I just loved thinking of myself as a literary analyst or critic) was hard. In English class, we had analyzed poems and short stories and novels. But we had never done that in relationship to the author’s life. Still, the work was interesting.

  Pete and I could have killed Cokie and Logan, though. (Well, not really. But you know what I mean.) After the group meeting at Pete’s house, he and I got right down to researching Megan Rinehart. We found more material than we’d expected. First we found two different books on authors and illustrators at the public library. Then, in our school library, we found a collection of pamphlets, each about an author or illustrator. Finally, Pete had the idea of checking both libraries to find out whether there were any articles about Megan Rinehart in periodicals or on microfilm. There were. In fact, there were six articles. So, armed with all that information, each of us (supposedly) began applying it to the book we’d chosen. (I had chosen the serious book, Pete had chosen the humorous one, Logan had said he’d take care of the mystery, and Cokie took the short-story collection, thinking it might be short. I was pretty sure she had not read it.)

  When Pete and I had finished our researching and had written rough copies of our sections of the Megan Rinehart paper, we called another meeting.

  Logan had not yet finished the research.

  Cokie had not yet begun the research.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked Pete, after Logan and Cokie had left the meeting early to buy new CDs or something.

  “I guess we’ll have to do Cokie and Logan’s work for them. They keep promising they’ll finish their sections on time, but do you believe them?”

  “I certainly don’t believe Cokie,” I replied. “I don’t know what to think about Logan. At least he’s read the books — or most of them.”

  “We can’t hand in a half-finished paper,” said Pete.

  “I know. Well, listen. You read all the books, right?” (Pete nodded.) “And so did I. I guess we’ll just have to work on the mystery book and the short-story book, and finish the project ourselves. It isn’t fair. But I don’t want to blow my English average, especially over Megan Rinehart.”

  “All right.” Pete paused thoughtfully. Then he went on, “But you know what? If you and I are going to do the whole project ourselves, then I think we should stop meeting with Cokie and Logan. They don’t deserve to know what’s going on.”

  “We-ell …” I kept thinking Logan would come around. He’d always been so responsible. Could Cokie really change him?

  “I know Logan used to be your boyfriend,” said Pete. “But come on. Give it a rest. He isn’t being fair to us.”

  “Yeah…. Okay. From here on in, it’s you and me.”

  * * *

  That was before Mr. Kingbridge, our assistant principal, dropped his bombshell. Here’s how unprepared I was for his announcement: If he had dropped a real bombshell, I wouldn’t have been any more shocked.

  It happened just two days before our author projects were due. In homeroom that morning, an announcement blared over the speaker system.

  “All eighth-graders,” said our school secretary, “are to report to the auditorium during third period. Mr. Kingbridge will be speaking to you. The subject of the assembly is the author projects. Attendance is required.”

  Well, that bit of news made me uneasy. But I still did not expect the bombshell that eventually dropped.

  * * *

  Third period.

  I ran into Kristy and Dawn as we made our way into the auditorium.

  “What do you think Kingbridge is going to say?” asked Kristy.

  Dawn and I shook our heads. We couldn’t imagine.

  “Hey!” exclaimed Kristy as she found three seats together and quickly claimed them. “Maybe our teachers are giving us extra time to work on our projects. Or maybe they aren’t due at all! Maybe Kingbridge decided our assignment was too taxing for thirteen-year-olds.”

  “Dream on,” Dawn replied.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Anyway, after all the work Pete and I have done, I want to hand in this paper. We deserve credit for it.”

  Kristy rolled her eyes.

  I ignored her. My palms were sweating. What was Mr. Kingbridge going to say?

  I did not have to wait long to find out. Five minutes later, he stepped up to the microphone that was standing in the center of the stage.

  “I’m pleased to be the bearer of wonderful news,” he began, “which I hope will both please and surprise each of you.”

  “Gag, gag,” whispered Kristy.

  “While you students have been researching authors and their books,” Mr. Kingbridge continued, “the staff of the English department has been busy contacting many of the authors. And on Friday, when your projects are due, three of the authors will be here at Stoneybrook Middle School in person. Therefore, I declare Friday to be Author Day. And I am happy to announce that the authors who have agreed to travel to our school have also agreed to attend a special assembly at which the students who studied the authors will be granted the honor of presenting their projects orally, to the entire eighth grade and to the writers themselves. The three writers who will be present on Author Day are … Roger L. Willis, T. J. Langston, and Megan Rinehart.”

  Kristy and Dawn both turned to me, their eyes bugging out.

  “Megan Rinehart is coming here?” squeaked Dawn.

  “I wonder if we’ll get to shake her hand,” said Kristy in an awed voice.

  But all I could whisper was, “I have to give a talk on Megan Rinehart to Megan Rinehart? And to the whole eighth grade? And probably to all our teachers?”

  “I bet the newspapers will cover the story,” said Kristy.

  Dawn elbowed her. “Time to close your mouth,” she said. “Are you crazy? Mentioning reporters to Mary Anne? She’s nervous enough about having to stand up and talk to everyone.”

  “I’ll die,” was all I could say. “I’ll die.”

  By the time school was over for the day, I had recovered slightly. I was still terrified of getting up in front of the eighth grade, and I was even more terrified that I’d say something about Megan Rinehart that she wouldn’t like. But I’d had the presence of mind to find Pete and to call a group meeting for that very afternoon. I knew there was no way out of presenting our project — not with Megan Rinehart coming all the way from New York City and an assembly planned. So I would just have to stand on that stage in front of those hundreds of faces and talk. Even though it would be my personal version of a living nightmare.

  The meeting was held at Pete’s house, and he took charge. I knew he was incredibly excited about the idea of meeting a famous person.

  “What we should do,” he said importantly, “is each read the section of the project that we wrote.” (I should mention that, as of that moment, neither Cokie nor Logan had given a section to Pete or me.)

  “That sounds fair,” I said.

  Cokie and Logan blanched. They had been awfully quiet.

  “Are you guys ready?” Pete asked them.

  “Al
most,” said Logan.

  “Well …” Cokie didn’t finish her sentence.

  “Great,” said Pete quickly. “Just be ready by Friday. I guess that’s it, you guys. Meeting adjourned.” (He sounded like Kristy at a BSC meeting, but I didn’t tell him so. I didn’t think he’d appreciate it.)

  What I did say was, “Pete, what are we going to do on Friday? You know Cokie hasn’t finished her part of the project. And I can’t tell whether Logan has. I don’t want to present Cokie’s section for her. I’m just barely going to be able to get through my own. I hate talking in front of people.”

  Pete grinned. “No problem. You and I will hand in the complete written report and get a good grade. But at the assembly, you present your section, I’ll present mine, and then Mr. Kingbridge and everyone will wait for Logan and Cokie to make their presentations. Our teachers will be able to tell right away who did the work and who didn’t.”

  “Oh,” I said. I grinned, too. I was picturing Cokie on the stage in front of Mr. Kingbridge, our teachers, her friends, and Megan Rinehart. Everyone was waiting for her to speak. And she had nothing to say.

  Then I pictured Logan in the same situation. My smile faded. Even after all we’d been through — the bad times, the arguments, Cokie — I didn’t want to see him hurt or embarrassed. I wouldn’t be able to stand that.

  I liked Logan too much. (Didn’t I?)

  “Oh, Tiggy, Tiggy, Tiggy.”

  I was lying on my bed and Tigger was with me. He was curled into the crook of my arm, purring loudly. He seemed to be purring too loudly for his small size. I bet his rumble could be heard downstairs.

  I wished I were as happy as Tigger. He was the picture of contentment, his paws working in and out of the sleeve of my sweater (so what if he made a hole?), his eyes half closed, and the purring that made his little body tremble. I was a wreck.

  The only things I could think about were Logan and Author Day.

  And my thoughts were horribly confused. On the one hand, I missed Logan. I mean, I missed the relationship we used to have. On the other hand, I was angry at him for going out with Cokie. (I was also angry at me for allowing myself to feel hurt by that situation.) On the other hand, I felt sorry for Logan, sorry for what might happen to him on Author Day. As I said before, I didn’t want to see him embarrassed. But how was it possible to care about someone with whom I was so angry?