Free Golden Girl by Mari Mancusi Page B

the sidelines. Nearby, in the woods, someone had built a small fire, and a few kids were sitting around it, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows over the flames.
    I let out a small whistle. “This is pretty awesome,” I admitted.
    Logan beamed. “Told you,” he replied. “I bet you’re feeling ten times better already.”
    â€œMaybe even eleven,” I pronounced, wandering over to the fire and yanking off my gloves to warm my hands. Across from me, a blond-haired guy pulled a guitar from behind a log, while two girls around my age settled at his feet as he started strumming. As Logan joined me by the fire, a few others walked by, waving hello to him and demanding to know why he was so late to the party.
    â€œFashionably late,” he corrected, grabbing a hot dog from a nearby cooler and poking a stick through the center. He held it over the fire. “Unlike you slackers, some of us actually have to work for a living.”
    Everyone laughed appreciatively, and Logan turned to me. “This is Lexi.” He introduced me around. “She’ll be slumming it with us tonight.” Then he grinned. “Lexi, that’s Roland, over there on the guitar. And those are his two bandmates—Scarlet and Lulu.”
    I waved as the two girls—one with fire-engine red hair and the other with blue streaks woven into a pair of black braids—looked up and smiled. I smiled back, kind of loving the anonymity of it all. Here, I was just Lexi. Not Golden Girl. Not future Olympian. Not “poor girl who got into a horrific accident.” Just Lexi. Some random girl of no importance whatsoever.
    I was already glad I’d decided to come.
    After giving me a welcoming nod, Roland struck up an acoustic version of one of my favorite Lorde songs, and Scarlet and Lulu started singing along in voices that were as loud as they were out of tune. Logan pulled the now-blackened hot dog off the stick and stuck it in a bun, handing it to me with a smile. I took it gratefully, realizing for the first time that I hadn’t eaten since lunch—and even then not very much, having lost my appetite watching Becca and Olivia. I took a huge bite. Back in the day, before we’d gotten serious about my career, Dad had taken Mom and me camping in nearby New Hampshire’s North Conway area. He was a champion at roasting hot dogs over an open fire. Just a little burnt, he’d say. To help seal in the flavor. I’d eaten so many I’d gotten sick.
    The hot dog Logan made me was just as good, if not better. Or maybe it was simply this place that had everything inside of me finally relaxing for the first time since I’d gotten back. The familiar music. The friendly people. The crisp night air. Everything seemed somehow better here. Simpler. Quieter, even with all the noise.
    I kind of never wanted to leave.
    â€œSo did you want to take a run?” Logan asked, gesturing to the park. I turned, just in time to watch a skier effortlessly launch over the very jump I’d eaten it on earlier that day. Yeah. No thank you.
    â€œNah. I’m still winded from the walk up,” I replied, using the best excuse I could manage on the fly. “You go ahead though. I’ll be fine here.” I plopped down onto a nearby log and took another big bite of hot dog, praying he wouldn’t press me.
    â€œThat’s okay,” Logan said, surprising me as he sat down next to me on the log. “I’m actually pretty beat from work.” He stuck another hot dog on his stick and pushed it into the fire. I gave him a sideways glance. He didn’t look tired. Was he just being nice? Or was he actually choosing me over snowboarding? My stomach tingled at the thought. Now that I had chilled out about everything that had happened, I found myself better able to focus on how kind of adorable he was. With his shaggy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes and a jacket that was two sizes too big, he