Chapter 5: Handkerchiefs and Hidden Hearts

When the SAT scores came out, he was at the movies. He told me to check the scores—if he bombed, he’d hide out for a few days before coming home. I thought his chances were slim, but there he was—Caleb Whitaker, 1380.

Looking higher up—1590, Logan Brooks.

I felt a little let down—after all his hard work, he was runner-up. Later, Caleb explained that during the final round, Logan and the top scorer, Miles Jensen, were neck and neck. The mayor picked Miles, a working-class kid, as the class speaker to inspire everyone. Logan took second with class, praising Miles as a real talent.

Hearing that, I felt proud—this is the guy I picked.

After the results, we had a celebration dinner. I booked a private room at the Maple Diner, sat by the window, and watched for him.

The Maple Diner was buzzing—fried chicken and sweet tea in the air. I kept glancing outside, heart jumping every time someone walked by.

Around noon, the new grads paraded down Main Street. I spotted the second rider—a young man on a chestnut horse (well, borrowed for the parade).

He wore a leather satchel at his side, a book and a paperweight peeking out.

He seemed to sense someone watching and looked up. I ducked back inside. Only after the parade passed did I sneak another look, watching him disappear into the crowd.

Mariah sipped her sweet tea, laughing. “You two are really alike.”

“What?”

“Both so reserved, never saying how you feel.” She tapped my forehead. “If it were me, I’d shout it to the whole town if my sweetheart wore my gift to graduation.”

That night was the Honors Banquet. As the principal’s daughter and the new grad’s sister, I had to be there.

Not that I wanted to see that two-faced overachiever, Caleb!

After sitting down with my dad, my eyes kept drifting to the new grads. I spotted Logan in a deep red suit, mingling with the crowd. I couldn’t just walk over, so I watched nervously.

When the speeches finally ended and the grads split up, I found an excuse to leave my seat, determined to congratulate him face-to-face.

My seat was far from his, with a maze of tables in between. I weaved through the crowd, practicing what I’d say:

“Logan, long time no see.” No, too plain.

“Congrats on your SATs.” Too stiff.

“I’ve learned a few songs from ‘Songs of the Seasons’—I’ll play them for you next time?” Not exactly a congratulations!

Lost in thought, I got blocked by a group of people.

Worried Logan would leave, I looked up.

Across the busy hall, I saw Logan watching me.

Suddenly, everything else faded except the thump of my heart.

Thump, thump, thump.

I blushed and looked away.

After what felt like forever, the crowd parted. I looked up to see Logan making his way toward me, politely declining drinks, step by step.

He was tall and lean, his red suit swirling as he walked, approaching with a calm, gentle look—and, maybe, a hint of urgency.

When he was one table away, he stopped.

A delicate hand caught his arm. I followed it—Felicity Carter.

He glanced at me, then at her, and finally turned to her.

My heart plummeted.

I watched Felicity hand him a handkerchief.

He hesitated, then took it, examined it, and thanked her politely.

I turned and left. If I’d stayed a second longer, I would’ve cried right there.

It wasn’t a plain handkerchief. Even from a distance, I saw it was blue, embroidered with bamboo, a piano, and a quote in flowing script:

“In the quiet garden, bamboo grows tall; in the music hall, maple leaves fall.”

My dad’s classroom was in a tucked-away wing, always a little misty, so we called it the "Misty Garden." The "Music Hall" was the school’s auditorium.

Who the bamboo and maple tree stood for was obvious.

Everyone wants their kids to shine. If Logan didn’t get the meaning of the handkerchief, he didn’t deserve to be top of the class.

But when Felicity gave him the handkerchief, he only hesitated a moment before accepting it, studying the embroidery and thanking her politely. Yet when I gave him my paperweight, he just ducked his head, barely looked at it, and mumbled a soft “thank you.” The difference stung.

I hid in an empty room, locked the door, biting my lip, twisting my sleeves, silently crying. Logan, why pretend? Just be happy—take her handkerchief, propose tomorrow, and ride off into the sunset.

Sobbing, I regretted everything. Clearly, they were already in love. My paperweight? Just a punchline. Not his fault—he never promised me anything. I was just kidding myself—

After a while, I wiped my tears, took a deep breath, and opened the door to go back to the banquet.

Tap, tap. Footsteps. I opened the door and saw Logan turning the corner toward me.

Honestly, seeing a ghost in broad daylight couldn’t have made me look worse.

“Logan, shouldn’t you be at the banquet? What are you doing here—looking for Felicity?” I held my head high, praying he wouldn’t see my tears, trying to sound cool.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I’m looking for her.”

Then he caught himself and waved his hands. “No, I mean, I’m looking for you, I…”

My jaw clenched. “Too bad, she’s not here. Try somewhere else.”

“No, no, Savannah, I’m here for you. I just wanted to give her handkerchief back.” Logan’s face turned beet red as he stopped me.

“I… I was confused before, didn’t look at the handkerchief carefully—thought it was just a regular congratulatory gift… I’ll explain to her. It’s all my fault.” He sounded frustrated.

He held up the handkerchief. I turned away, not wanting to see it.

But I did. There were two new lines, fresh ink, still drying.

“Out of a thousand moons, I only wish on one star.”

I froze.

“Savannah,” he said, holding up the handkerchief, “I… I don’t like Felicity.”

“I… I like…”

“Hey, what are you doing here, talking with a girl?”

A familiar voice piped up behind me, but I couldn’t place it.

Logan’s face turned beet red, so flustered he nearly forgot how to stand. “M-Mr. Wayne.”

I turned. It was Mr. Wayne.

“Mr. Wayne, what brings you here…” I looked at Logan, finally connecting the dots. “You’re his student?”

“Let me introduce you—Logan Brooks, my last student. He started piano with me at five, and I taught him everything I know. Now he’s graduated, and I came to see him succeed.” Mr. Wayne patted his shoulder, beaming.

He looked at me, then frowned at Logan. “Boy, did you upset this young lady?”

Logan ducked his head, silent.

“Oh, you silly boy.” Mr. Wayne shook his head, taking my hand. “Sweetheart, my student’s a good kid, just bad with words. If he upsets you, don’t take it to heart. If you’re really mad, come see me—I’ll set him straight.”

I blushed, staring at the floor, not sure what to say.

But Mr. Wayne kept going. “By the way, he told me about your ‘Mockingbird on the Branch’ years ago. Said he found a talented young girl, still rough but hardworking, sure to be great one day. He said you were humble, even asked with your eyes if he had any feedback, so he gave it. I scolded him in a letter—who points out a girl’s mistakes right away? What if she gets discouraged and quits?”

No wonder Mr. Wayne praised my progress—Logan had told him. So he’d noticed me all along?

“Luckily, you didn’t quit. Later, when you played ‘Flowing River,’ he wrote again to brag, saying you’d improved thanks to his encouragement.” Mr. Wayne got more excited. “I got curious—what kind of girl was my student so taken with? That’s why I agreed to come to Maple Heights and meet you.”

He shot Logan a look, then smiled at me. “You really are a lovely girl—polite and talented. No wonder my student can’t forget you.”

“Mr. Wayne!” Logan tried to stop him, but Mr. Wayne just laughed. “Oh, and ‘Songs of the Seasons’—every page is a treasure! He even asked me for some. I wondered why he was hunting music scores instead of studying—turns out, it was to win a girl’s heart!”

Maybe Mr. Wayne hadn’t hung out with young people in a while—he spent the whole evening holding our hands, telling stories from when Logan was five to eighteen, praising me, scolding him, playing matchmaker, until both our faces were as red as fire engines.