10: What the Actual Hell
Logan
By the time we finish our research and create the rough draft of the essay, it's nearly nine o'clock. My mom stiffens behind me, and I can feel her disappointment radiating toward us.
The library had officially closed hours ago, but she had kindly let us finish our work so that she wouldn't have to repeat an evening like this.
I thank Anyra for her time, and she silently bows her head, strands of black hair falling over her slender shoulders. Light from an overhead lamp illuminates the freckles tracing her nose and cheeks.
My hand aches to reach up and touch her, to stroke her cheeks, to… I shake the thoughts from my head and show her to the door.
“See you tomorrow," I say to her and watch her trail down the sidewalk and to her car parked in front o
