Free Grows That Way by Susan Ketchen Page A

well.
    â€œI could be subconsciously afraid,” I say. “Though that sounds like something my mom would think. She’s a psychotherapist.”
    â€œCool,” says Logan, which almost makes me drop his hand.
    â€œYou have no idea,” I say. “And my dad’s a financial planner. They’re both obsessed.”
    Logan shrugs. “All adults are obsessed about something,” he says.
    â€œEven your parents?”
    â€œMy mom’s a teacher. There’s nothing worse than having a teacher for a parent, unless it’s having a parent who’s a teacher at your own school. Fortunately I don’t have that to deal with. As it is, I can’t get away with anything. When she asks ‘How was school today?’ she really means it.”
    I imagine what it would be like if one of my parents was a teacher, and have to agree with Logan: nothing would be worse. At least I enjoy some peace for a few hours a day, and I can brush off questions about how school is going because they don’t have a clue.
    â€œWhat about your dad?” I say. “What’s his obsession?”
    Logan hesitates so long that I start to think I shouldn’t have asked, that maybe his dad has a top secret profession such as a spy, or an undercover law enforcement officer.
    Eventually he clears his throat and tells me his dad is a biologist, which doesn’t sound strange at all, and I want to ask Logan what the problem is when he says, “My dad’s always going on about global warming and climate change and how humans are a scourge on the face of the planet and Earth would be better off without us.”
    â€œThat is harsh,” I say.
    â€œHow do you know you saw an extinct ape?” asks Logan.
    â€œI found an article on the computer with a drawing of a skeleton and a ton of text. I think it describes what I saw, though I don’t understand all of it.”
    â€œLet me read it,” says Logan.
    I slip off my backpack and we’re digging through the front pocket for the article when Amber shows up.
    â€œLooking for her flea powder?” she says.
    â€œNope,” says Logan. “Bear spray.” He stands and faces her with one hand behind his back. He’s holding the article rolled up in his fist, but of course Amber doesn’t know that. She looks at the place where his arm disappears, then searches Logan’s face, looking for a sign, perhaps of Logan’s usual humour and good will.
    Logan doesn’t flinch.
    â€œOh I was just kidding,” says Amber, backing away. She scampers around us, laughing in a forced way. “I’ll see you at school!” she says over her shoulder.
    â€œNot if I see you first,” says Logan under his breath. He puts a smile on his face and he waves, so I wave too for a few seconds, then I stop. I don’t like this fakeness. I don’t like pretending to be friendly when I’m not. It worries me that this is how people have treated me all my life, pretending to accept me but believing I’m a weirdo misfit midget.
    â€œLogan,” I say, “we don’t have to do this. Let’s go.” I take his hand. I take his hand. I can’t believe it, but I do. It frightens and excites me, thinking what I might come up with next.

chapter
twelve
    School is pretty boring, all day, though any time I bring my hand near my nose, I can smell Logan Losino, so that’s kind of fun. Plus I tell myself I’ll never get dandruff on my palm which is a good thing, and it makes me laugh inside even when Mr. Brumby continues his reign of terror by springing a surprise quiz on us in math class.
    Logan is waiting for me at the front door after school. For a change there’s no sign of Amber or Topaz, so I guess they have dance lessons. Logan walks me back to his place where Pinky is stashed. There’s no sign of Franco either; he’s probably at the gym learning how to bench-press small