Free Grows That Way by Susan Ketchen

days.
    â€œStudly?” says Franco, laughing. He picks up his gym bag and swings it over his shoulder. “Now I’ve heard everything.” Shaking his head, he swaggers away down the driveway.
    Logan stoops and picks up a rock.
    â€œNo, Logan. He’s not worth it.”
    Logan studies the rock in his hand.
    â€œYou’ll only make him mad,” I say.
    â€œNot if I kill him first.”
    â€œYou can’t play pro ball if you have a criminal record,” I remind him.
    He turns to me and smiles. “You remember me saying that?”
    I tell him of course I remember.
    â€œI suppose there are smarter ways of taking revenge,” he says, tossing the rock under a shrub.
    We run together down the driveway, along the road, past lumbering Franco, and finally when I can’t run any more I make him walk. He continues to hold my hand. When we reach the corner by Amber and Topaz’s house I expect him to let go, but he doesn’t. It’s as though he’s proud.
    Even when we’ve stopped running, my palm keeps sweating. I like holding hands with Logan and at the same time I don’t. I mean, what’s next? Is he going to want to put his arm around me? Is he going to try to slide his hand up under my shirt? I sneak a look at his face, as though this might give me an idea about his intentions, but he’s smiling at me in the friendliest sort of way, reminding me of all the years I’ve known him in school, and how he’s always been nice to me, and always been a jokester, and really he’s pretty cute even though he’s having a little trouble with some acne at the back of his neck. But what the heck does he see in me? Franco’s right about that. I figure Logan could hold hands with any girl in school, and instead he picks the shrimp who still wears an undershirt instead of a bra. I don’t understand. I hope he doesn’t want to kiss me—I’m not ready for that. My mom has warned me about boys, how they are propelled by testosterone to only think about one thing, which I take to mean sexual intercourse, and I’m really not ready for that.
    I wonder if there’s such a thing as a pulley rein stop for boys like there is for runaway horses—not that Logan is running away with me. Something more subtle could work. Kansas says that sometimes horses just need a distraction from what they’re thinking about. I remember the article I have about Ardipithecus.
    â€œLogan, can I talk to you about something?” I say.
    â€œAnything,” he says.
    â€œYou have to promise not to laugh.”
    â€œI promise,” says Logan and he crosses his heart with his free hand. Maybe kissing him wouldn’t be so bad, though not right now.
    I make myself focus. I take in a deep breath and let it out. I square my shoulders the way Kansas has taught me to, lift my sternum and feel the balance in my feet. “I saw something, when I was riding,” I tell him. “I thought at first it was a bear, but it wasn’t. I think I saw an extinct ape.”
    Logan doesn’t laugh, thank goodness. He squeezes my hand. “Wow. Have you told anyone else?” he says.
    I shake my head, then remember. “I had a hypothetical discussion with Dr. Cleveland.” I’m not sure about telling Logan that Dr. Cleveland is my former therapist, and decide that saying anything about this now would only confuse the matter. “She’s a psychiatrist who has a horse at my barn. I told her I thought I saw a were-ape, but that was before I found out about Ardipithecus —though I guess it could be either. Anyway, she thinks maybe I’ve deceived myself into believing I saw something because I’m afraid.”
    â€œAfraid of what? I didn’t think you were afraid of anything…except maybe for Amber and Topaz.” Logan is making a little joke, but I don’t mind. It actually feels kind of nice that he knows me so