The Book of Faeyore by Kailin Gow

Author:Kailin Gow
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: theEDGEbooks.com
Published: 2012-02-28T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 3

The next day at school, Logan seemed to be acting a bit stranger than usual. He kept staring at me as we sat together, eating lunch, an intense expression upon his face. His dark hazel eyes were wide with worry. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Logan asked for the third time that hour. His brows furrowed with concern as he leaned over the lunch tray. He was so close that I could smell his familiar, pine-tinged smell: it was the smell of the woods, which always clung to his back. I liked the smell. It was familiar – musky. It reminded me of all the times the two of us had wandered through the woods together. I shook my head and waved away Logan’s concern.

“You keep asking me that,” I said, confused. “What’s going on? I told you, I’m fine.”

“Is your head feeling better yet?”

I looked at Logan in surprise. What was wrong with my head? I thought back to last night and vaguely remembered something that felt like a headache – but surely there was nothing to worry about there. I didn’t often get sick, but it was a cold time of year, and plenty of flu-related illnesses were working their way around the class. “I guess so,” I said. “I really don’t think you have to worry…”

“I do worry,” said Logan, taking my hand. From a nearby table I could hear Clariss’ irritated sniff – an intentionally loud sound of displeasure. I smirked silently to myself. I guess Clariss didn’t like seeing two people actually happy in each other’s company. Particularly if neither of those people were her. “You’ve been acting strange since last night, Breena. It isn’t like you. You seem…out of it. Forgetful.”

Forgetful? Something seemed to flutter in the back of my mind. Hadn’t I – only just yesterday – worried that I was getting forgetful, too? About something important? But all of a sudden I couldn’t remember what. All I remembered was that Logan had come over and that I’d gotten sick.

“I care about you, Breena.” Logan smiled and squeezed my hand. “I just want to make sure you’re not sick or anything.”

“I promise you, Logan,” I said. “I’m not sick. Not at all.”

Logan grinned. “Good,” he said. “In which case, I’ll race you to your house after school, OK? The loser has to make the other one dinner!”

That afternoon, I easily beat Logan to my house. I couldn’t help but wonder, however, how hard he’d been trying to win. Logan loved to cook – he was consistently astonished at my mother’s empty pantry – and saw it as his job to teach me to make all the dishes my mother had never taught me how to make. This afternoon, apparently, we were making lasagna.

It was nice just sitting and eating with Logan, I thought. There was something so comfortable about our time together; so friendly. I could lean into his broad shoulders as we sat together on the couch; we could talk about almost anything, wiling away the time.

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