Chapter 6: Secrets, Shadows, and the SATs

I distanced myself from Logan.

The breakfast he brought, I’d share with classmates.

Passing in the hallway, I ignored his greetings.

Mariah was baffled. "Did you two have a fight?"

I kept my face blank. "You’re overthinking. We’re just study buddies."

She was shocked.

"Come on, that’s Logan!!"

Then she lowered her voice, all mysterious. "I heard my mom and aunt gossiping—there’s a luxury car, worth six figures, parked in our town! Not just once! They say it must be some big shot from the city!"

"What’s that got to do with me?"

"Of course it does! Guess who got in the car?"

"…"

Couldn’t be my mom—she has no taste.

I rolled my eyes, but inside, I was curious. But I couldn’t help wondering.

Small towns thrived on gossip.

A thought hit me. My eyes went wide.

"Lu…"

"Yep!"

She knocked me on the head.

"It’s Logan’s mom! The pretty, thin, cold-faced one. I heard—well, rumor has it, she didn’t know she was the other woman, had Logan, then when the wife found out, she left and moved here. Now the original wife is gone, the big shot wants to bring them back. Your Logan is about to become a rich kid!"

Mariah’s eyes sparkled with excitement, her voice dropping to a whisper. Small towns thrived on gossip.

I was floored, about to tell her to stop watching so many soap operas.

Then the dean of students shouted from behind us.

"You two, is this what the study corner is for—gossiping?"

He recognized me.

"You, Savannah from Class Three, what did you promise me? How are you going to be first in grade like this?"

His voice was gruff, but I could see the concern in his eyes. He wanted the best for his students, even if he had a weird way of showing it.

Looking at his serious face, suddenly, I had an idea.

"Dean, you’re absolutely right."

Both of them: ?

"I’ve seen the light. I’ll change my ways."

"Your house is in Willow Lane, right? My social studies is weak. From now on, after school, I’ll walk home with you and ask for help. Thank you, sir!"

Mr. McMillan was the dean of students even the school bullies feared. Rumor had it he’d served in the army, could lift boys like sacks of potatoes.

Since I didn’t know who was behind everything yet…

Let him see who’s with me.

I figured, if anyone could keep me safe, it was Mr. McMillan. His reputation alone was enough to scare off most trouble. Besides, a little extra help with social studies couldn’t hurt.

To everyone at school, me walking home with the dean of students was more shocking than dating rumors.

But I knew.

Mr. McMillan only looked strict and cold. After the SATs, when Logan died tragically, his mother stood on the rooftop, a crowd gathered below. As she was about to jump, Mr. McMillan caught her—ended up with a shattered arm, but kept teaching in a cast.

I remembered the day like it was yesterday—the way he’d run up those stairs, the look of determination on his face. He was more than just a teacher; he was a lifeline for kids like us.

"You hear me?!"

A shout in my ear.

"Yes, sir." I counted the sunlit stones on the ground, and said softly, "Sir, take care of yourself."

"What, you think a student’s out to get me?"

He was actually funny.

I smiled. "No, just think you’re a good person. By the way, do you know where Logan wants to go for college?"

He looked at me, surprised. For a moment, the stern mask slipped, and I saw the real man underneath—caring, worried, maybe even a little proud.

Mr. McMillan stopped his bike.

"All that sweet talk, just waiting for this? That kid asked me the same thing."

I grinned, unable to help myself. Logan and I were more alike than I realized.

My heart skipped a beat.

"You’re both good kids. Just do your best. Some things you can’t choose, but some, you can."

His words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning. I nodded, tucking them away for later.

I knew.

He was gently telling me to break free from my suffocating family.

I watched the sun set behind the rooftops, the sky streaked with pink and gold. Everything felt possible for a moment.

For the first time, I felt a glimmer of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, I could make a life of my own.

Ahead, I saw Henry Carter with some shady friends, arms around each other. He’d changed into a black leather jacket, hair slicked back, handing out cigarettes.

A bad feeling crept over me.

That same ominous feeling.

I picked up my pace, keeping my head down. I didn’t want to draw attention, not tonight. There was too much at stake.

I said goodbye and hurried home.

Less than ten days to the SATs.

Maybe my mom had a conscience, finally staying home enough to cook two meals a day. She said I was a burden—couldn’t wait for me to finish and leave.

Her words rolled off me this time. I was too busy studying, too focused on the future to let her drag me down. I ate in silence, counting the days until I could leave for good.

But I’d grown a thick skin. I kept telling myself: I’ll have a bright future. Just wait and see. I’ll be the queen of my own life.

The clock ticked on the wall.

I was just pretending. Inside, I was a mess.

I didn’t know if this would be a new beginning, or a countdown to death.

I stared at the ceiling, heart pounding. The fear never really went away, but I clung to hope like a lifeline.

If I bombed the exam, what then?

I tried not to think about it.

Logan would probably go to New York.

When I couldn’t sleep, he’d sing love songs to me. His voice sounded a bit like John Mayer.

The memory made me smile. Even in the darkest times, Logan had a way of making everything feel possible. He always knew how to make me laugh.

I wondered if he knew how much that meant to me.

—"Savannah."

—"You awake?"

—"What."

—"You’re scared, aren’t you? You even frown in your sleep."

—"..."

—"I don’t know what you’re scared of, but I’m always here."

His words echoed in my mind, soothing and steady. I reached out in the dark, wishing he was there beside me.

I reached over the imaginary line between us, interlaced my fingers with his.

"Wait for the exam. I have something to tell you after."

I made a silent promise—to him, to myself. Whatever happened, I wouldn’t run away again.

Ten years ago, the SATs lasted three days.

Long, but over in a flash.

The days blurred together—early mornings, late nights, endless cups of instant coffee. I barely slept, my mind spinning with equations and vocabulary lists. But I kept going, fueled by determination and something like hope.