Page 45 of Riding the Sugar High

“I ride my bike,” he mumbles. “Though you’ve kind of ruined that.”

Fork frozen on the way to my lips, I go still. He’s brought up the night we met, so it’s my chance to ask questions. How do I justknowhe’ll clam up? “You said it...it never happened before?”

He swallows hard. “What? Being hit by a reckless driver?”

“I was going ten miles an hour, Logan.”

“Well, that’s minimal comfort to me and my bike, isn’t it?”

I open my mouth to quip at him, the wordsyou stopped in the middle of the roadon the tip of my tongue. But I’m determined to discuss this, so I try a patient, “Have you had any more since?”

He shakes his head.

“Are you sure?”

“We don’t know if it was a panic attack, okay? Maybe it was a heart episode.”

It says a lot that he’d rather think his heart is unhealthy than admit to a bit of anxiety. “So maybe you should see a cardiologist.”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m pretty sure you can ignore a stomach ache or a headache, but your heart? You need that to live.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Logan,” I scold, and once his eyes are on me, I know I might as well be speaking another language. No matter how much I press him, he won’t discuss this. Logan would much rather have anactualheart attack than talk about his feelings.

“How about this,” I say, thinking one more attempt won’t hurt. “I’ll tell you something very private about me, and you’ll tell me about your anxiety.”

“I don’t have?—”

“I’ll show you my list.”

His parted lips shut.

The first night, as he tried to fix the car, talking about my list got his attention, and when he got it back from Derek, it killed him not to know which item he’d helped me cross off. Iknowhe’s curious, and at this point, one more person knowing my deepest fantasies and wishes won’t change my life.

As he observes me, I grab my phone and take the pink cover off. I lift the folded list, then hold it out for him, and after a few seconds of what looks like deep consideration, he moves to grab it.

“And you’ll talk to me?” I ask as I keep it just out of his reach.

He rolls his eyes, then, with a swift movement, snatches the list.

I’ll take that as a yes.

He scrolls through the lines of text I know religiously until his brow furrows, and it’s easy to guess what he’s thinking. Only a handful of items on my list are crossed off: the ones he’s responsible for. And among those, it’s probably easy to guess which got struck through the night Derek came here.

“Protect me from bullies,” he reads out.

“Yeah.”

His gaze darkens, but without a word, he resumes eating, still reading through my list. He doesn’t say a word about the fact that so many of the things that most people my age have experienced have yet to happen to me, but I wonder if he’s judging me for it. If he thinks it’s as pathetic as it often feels. “Some of this is...” He scrunches his nose. “Own a white horse? You expect your dates in Mayfield to show up on a white horse?”

“I’ve compiled this list over the years, so some of it isn’t as relevant anymore.” He holds back a chuckle, and I strike him with a glare. “I liked it more when you were silent.”

“Sorry.” A few seconds of silence go by. “Why awhitehorse? What’s wrong with brown horses? Black? Spotted?”

“Well, for starters, white is visible at night. I crashed against yourblack horse, remember?” I stab some zucchini with my fork. “And besides, twelve-year-old me was obsessed with Prince Charming.”