Chapter 3: Songs of the Seasons and First Crush

I started paying attention, watching Logan from a distance at school events. He always had his nose in a book, but every so often, I’d catch him glancing my way.

Once, when I snuck into city hall to hang out with Ethan, I found Logan struggling with a study guide.

“…who wouldn’t seem impressive… all show and no substance…”

So it really was a teacher’s assignment. But making little Ethan study this tough stuff with the rest—wasn’t that a bit much? Wait, wasn’t their teacher my dad?

I handed Ethan a cookie. “Here, my mom made these.”

Ethan, looking totally defeated, perked up for a second at the cookies, then slumped again. He stuffed one in his mouth, mumbling, “If only these were magic cookies—eat one and you’d know the whole book.”

He ate and complained, “Savannah, your dad’s too strict. We have to memorize a classic every three days. I can barely keep up, ugh…”

I giggled, handing him another cookie. “You’ll survive. You’re smarter than you think.”

“I was hoping we’d all fail, so we could beg for an extension. But no, that Logan Brooks had it down backwards and forwards by the second day! And your brother—he said he wouldn’t memorize it, but during the quiz, he recited it perfectly! Only I still haven’t learned it, ugh…”

He wiped his nose and eyes, clenching his fists. “Overachievers are the worst!”

I pictured that serious boy and clenched my fists, too. “The absolute worst!”

It became an inside joke—Logan, the overachiever, and me, the reluctant student.

As my brother got older, he just got more handsome, becoming the star of every school event.

He was the type who could charm the socks off the superintendent and still win over the lunch ladies. Not that I’d ever tell him, but I was secretly proud to be his sister.

Naturally, hosting poetry slams and river picnics fell to him. After thinking it over, he decided the first poetry slam of the year would be in March.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, planning every last detail. Caleb was a born leader, even if he drove me nuts sometimes.

Once the date was set, he started writing invitations. I volunteered to help, mostly to see the guest list.

I spotted Logan Brooks’s name and frowned. “He’s coming too?”

“What’s wrong?” Caleb didn’t even look up. “I’m inviting all my classmates.”

“He’s so uptight—he’ll kill the vibe,” I muttered.

Caleb just grinned, scribbling away. “You never know. Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“True.” Caleb nodded, thinking. “He’ll probably just read. Maybe I shouldn’t invite him.” He started to cross out the name.

“Wait!” I stopped him. “We should still invite him—otherwise we’ll look rude.”

“Good point,” he nodded. “You always think of everything.”

March 7 rolled around, and all the young people showed up… Well, except Autumn Sawyer. Not a shock—she hated crowds and wasn’t Caleb’s biggest fan.

The house buzzed with laughter and nerves. The smell of cookies and coffee hung in the air, and everyone looked their best.

But Logan Brooks came, and, surprise—he didn’t bring a book. That threw me.

I did a double-take. No book in sight, just him, standing there, looking almost… normal. For a second, I wondered if all those stories were just rumors.

Oh, right—it was a poetry slam, after all. That made sense.

I was lost in my thoughts when someone tapped my shoulder.

“What are you staring at?” Two bright eyes popped in front of me. It was Ethan. He’d shot up like a weed these last few years, his features now sharp. Girls whispered only my brother could compete with him for best-looking.

“Just scoping things out. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Why not? I’m great at poetry.”

I snorted, elbowing him. “Yeah, right. You just wanted to see who’d give you their number.”

“Oh, come on. This is supposed to be a poetry slam, but it’s really a matchmaking event.” I dropped my voice.

Ethan grinned, glancing around. “Busted. As soon as I got here, a bunch of girls handed me napkins with their numbers. I ran for it.” He looked around again. “Where’s Autumn?”

“She didn’t come.”

“Oh.” He slumped beside me, spinning his phone on the table.

Suddenly, music floated in from the living room, and curiosity got the best of me—I wandered over to check it out.

It was Logan Brooks.

His long fingers danced over the piano keys—sometimes quick, sometimes slow, soft then strong. The music flowed, shifting from elegant and winding to deep and thoughtful. At the end, he pressed a gentle, lingering note.

I watched, totally transfixed, as his hands moved effortlessly. The room fell silent—everyone was spellbound by his playing.

Wow. My brother was right—Logan really was talented. Even his usual serious, brooding look softened while he played.

“Wonderful! Like, totally amazing!” Before I could even think of a compliment, a clear voice piped up.

I turned. It was Felicity Carter, the treasurer’s daughter. Her dad and Logan’s worked together at city hall, so they must’ve known each other forever.

Logan looked surprised, then smiled—a rare sight. “You know this piece, Felicity?”

Felicity usually spoke in a whisper, but the music must’ve gotten to her. Her cheeks went pink, and she said softly, “I’ve heard it played before, that’s all.”

“This piece isn’t common. I heard you just started piano, but you already know it? That’s pretty impressive,” Logan said, a little more casual than usual. “I only practiced it so much because I love it—some people who’ve played for years might not know it.”

Logan, honestly—every time he talks to me, he manages to make it sound like a dig. If Caleb hadn’t warned me he’s just old-fashioned and blunt, I’d swear he was doing it on purpose.

I rolled my eyes, half-smiling. He had a real gift for making everything sound like a backhanded compliment.

But hey, I knew this piece too—and I could even play the second half.

Logan and Felicity kept chatting, stepping aside. I took my place at the piano bench.

He’d just played “High Mountain,” so I launched into “Flowing River.” Determined not to mess up and give him any ammo, I focused hard.

The notes poured out, flowing like water—sometimes gentle, sometimes wild. From a mountain stream to a mighty river, all from one piano and two hands.

I let the music carry me, pouring every bit of longing and pride into the song. When I finished, I looked up, eager to see his reaction—but he was gone.

Probably off chatting with Felicity…

I bit my lip. Fine, if he doesn’t care, I won’t play for him next time.

“Wow, that was beautiful.” A gentle voice whispered in my ear. “Savannah, you’ve really improved. I’m impressed.”

I turned and found him standing close behind me, head ducked a little. Our eyes met, and my forehead nearly bumped his nose.

My heart skipped. Up close, I noticed a sprinkle of freckles across his nose. If he didn’t always look so serious, he’d be pretty cute… As I thought that, his cheeks flushed, and he quickly stepped back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to crowd you.”

…Way to kill the mood. Just when I was starting to warm up to him, he went right back to being stiff.

I let out a small laugh, smoothing my skirt. “Uh…” I fumbled, then changed the subject. “Logan, you’re the real expert. I was just showing off.”

He looked down further. “You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Savannah, what are you doing?” Ethan suddenly popped up. “Oh, the overachiever’s here too.”

He gave us both a look—one of those teasing, knowing ones.

“No wonder you two are here trading music secrets. Impressive.”

Logan, flustered by the teasing, stammered and looked lost. I was about to say something to break the tension when Ethan tugged my sleeve. “Savannah, is that apple cider? Didn’t you want to try it? Let’s go.”

I blinked, glancing at Logan. He blushed, bowed his head, and mumbled, “Sorry for interrupting. I’ll leave you two alone.”

Before I could say anything, Logan slipped away.

“Wait…” I tried to chase after him, but Ethan still had my sleeve. I could only stomp my foot and glare at him. “When did I ever say I wanted apple cider?!”

“I saw you stuck discussing homework with the overachiever, so I came to rescue you! With your knowledge, he’d have you so confused you’d forget your own name.”

“You…” I clenched my fists, trying to remember to be a lady…

Ethan looked at my face and suddenly got serious. “Wait… you actually like talking homework?” His eyes widened. “Wow, Savannah, you’ve become what you always swore you wouldn’t—a homework-loving overachiever.”

I couldn’t help myself—I socked him in the arm.

Before I knew it, my Sweet Sixteen was just around the corner.

Mariah, a year older, had hers last year—it was epic, with a local band and a packed dance floor. Determined to top it, I begged Dad to invite the best singer in town and "Mr. Wayne," the state’s legendary pianist.

I wanted my Sweet Sixteen to be the talk of Maple Heights. Dad caved, as usual, and made the calls. I picked out gold-foil invitations, and Mom obsessed over the menu for weeks.

Mr. Wayne is a legend—he plays every instrument but is a genius on piano. He’s everyone’s idol, but he’s old now and hasn’t taken students in years. He agreed to come only because his nephew is friends with Dad. I was determined to ask him for advice. If he agreed, I’d get to perform with him at my party—a dream come true.

Of course, I had another reason.

Logan hadn’t shown up at Mariah’s party. When I asked around, people said he was locked away studying for the SATs. He only came to official events, sending gifts through his dad.

I thought, the SATs are still two years away—will he skip my party too?

No way. If I got Mr. Wayne to come, Logan wouldn’t be able to resist.

On the morning of my party, I got up at dawn to do my hair and makeup, spending half the day getting ready. I wore a bright red dress, gold jewelry, and a full face of makeup. My old nanny smiled as she fixed my hair. “Our Savannah’s all grown up—so pretty.” I blushed at my reflection. She added, “After today, you’ll be thinking about college and boys. I wonder which lucky guy will win your heart.” I blushed harder, quickly patting her hand. “Don’t say that! I just want to stay here with you, Dad, Mom, and Caleb.”

She squeezed my hand, her eyes soft. “You’ll always have a home here, sweetheart. But life has a way of surprising you.”

“Getting shy now?” Caleb leaned in the door. “You say you don’t want to date, but I bet you’ll be picking out prom dresses soon.”

“You’re teasing me again!” I glared, but I couldn’t help smiling.

He grinned, offering his arm. “Alright, it’s almost time. The guests are here.” He squeezed my hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Red streamers everywhere dazzled me. The yard was piled with gifts. I walked with Caleb into the living room, all eyes turning my way. Compliments flew—“Whitaker’s girl is all grown up,” “No wonder she’s Maple Heights’ number one beauty.”

I smiled, standing tall, waving gracefully, scanning the crowd. Ethan sat up front, grinning and flashing me a thumbs-up; Mariah was farther back, sitting across from Autumn, who mouthed “pretty” at me.

I glanced left, then right.

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them again.

Logan wasn’t there.

He definitely wasn’t. If he was, I would’ve spotted him instantly.

My heart sank, just a little. I tried to hide it.

“Savannah, Mr. Wayne is waiting,” Caleb whispered.

I nodded, waved respectfully to Mr. Wayne, and slid onto the piano bench beside him.

The instruments were stunning. Mr. Wayne’s was a vintage Steinway; mine, a brand-new Yamaha.

Mr. Wayne nodded and played the first note.

I smiled and joined in.

“Mockingbird on the Branch.”

Even though we hadn’t rehearsed, playing with Mr. Wayne was effortless. He was a true master—his playing was smooth and flowing, guiding me without taking over.

As the song reached its high point, the piano seemed to sing with joy, and when it ended, the applause was thunderous.

I bowed, just like always.

“You really are a quick learner,” Mr. Wayne said as the pianos were closed up.

“I’m just a beginner—playing with you is like showing off in front of a legend.”

“No need to be modest,” he said. “A few years back, you stumbled through this piece. Today, it’s like it’s part of you—your technique, rhythm, feeling—it’s all there. That’s talent and hard work.”

His praise warmed me, but my mind was elsewhere, scanning the crowd again, hoping for a glimpse of someone who wasn’t there.

I’d practiced this song the most, so it made sense I’d improved. But how did he know what I sounded like years ago? Did Dad tell him?

But I was too distracted to ask. I thanked him for coming, saw him off to rest, and returned to the living room to greet guests.

Wave after wave of people came to chat, and I played the perfect hostess. But the one person I wanted to see never showed, and my excitement faded—even the thrill of playing with Mr. Wayne.

As the moon rose, guests began to leave. Mariah grabbed my hand. “Savannah, you look down. Who upset you? Tell me—I’ll go after them!”

She made me laugh. I shook my head. “No one. Just tired.”

He never promised he’d come, so it’s not like he broke a promise.

Mariah patted my shoulder. “You really do look tired. Get some sleep!”

I watched her family’s SUV drive off, glanced at the moon, smiled wryly, and turned to close the door.

“Miss Whitaker!”

I froze. Maybe I was imagining things.

But the footsteps got closer, and the voice became clearer.

“Miss Whitaker!”

I turned and saw a young man in a light blue shirt, cheeks flushed, a little out of breath, sweat on his brow, standing in the moonlight.

For a second, the world seemed to pause. The moonlight caught on his hair, and my heart skipped.

Before he’d even caught his breath, he bowed deeply. “Sorry I’m late.”

I helped him up, shaking my head.

I didn’t dare say a word—if I did, I might just cry.

I thought he wasn’t coming. I’d tried on outfits and makeup for days, waited from sunrise to sunset, from the start of the party to the end—I thought he wasn’t coming.

But now that he was here, none of the disappointment mattered.

He stared at me for a moment, then seemed to remember something. He pulled out a crumpled, worn booklet from his jacket.

“Songs of the Seasons.” An old, incomplete score.

I was stunned.

He held it out, looking sheepish. “I heard you’re amazing at piano, so I collected this for your birthday. It’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

I took the booklet. The pages were delicate, but the binding was new—he must have tracked them down one by one. I ran my fingers over the notes, feeling how much care went into it.

“How could I not love it? It’s perfect.”

But that sounded too blunt, so I quickly changed the subject.

“This must be rare—where did you find it?”

“I got a few pages by chance, then decided to track down the rest. I finished most of it last month, but was missing two. Three days ago, I heard the last two were at a flea market in Cedar County, so I went. It took a while—I was worried I’d miss your party…” He paused, catching his breath. “But I made it.”

Wasn’t he supposed to be at home cramming for the SATs? He went all that way for two pages… Caleb said he was obsessed with music, and I guess he really is.

Looking at his shy smile in the moonlight, I suddenly thought—maybe I’m a little obsessed too.