Prologue
LOGAN
I stared down at the test lying on the desk in front of me and rolled my eyes so hard I think I might have strained something.
This. Is. So. Stupid.
I was taking this test for one reason and one reason only: my girlfriend was making me. Okay, maybe the term “girlfriend” was a little strong. We weren’t exclusive or anything. She wanted to be, but she knew how I felt about stuff like that. I liked girls. A lot. I just didn’t want to be in long-term relationships with them. At eighteen years old, why should I? I’d have plenty of time later in life to settle down and choose a woman to spend eternity with. Like maybe when I was in my late thirties or forties.
I knew exactly what Grace was doing in making me take this test. She was convinced whatever algorithm those nerds in Computer Club were using to run our answers against was going to reveal that she and I were perfect for one another. And she thought if it was proven to me that we were meant to be together, then I would want to take our relationship to the next level. You know, like I’d give her my class ring and take her to senior prom next year, and other dumb stuff boyfriends did in serious relationships.
But Grace didn’t know me well at all. If she did, she would’ve known I didn’t care what some computer had to say about who should or shouldn’t be together. She would’ve known I had no interest in becoming her—or any girl’s—steady boyfriend. Just the term “steady boyfriend” made me want to dry heave.
What she did know about me, however, was how easily I could be bribed into doing something if she threatened to take away certain physical activities. Which was how I ended up in my last study hall of the school year, sitting at a desk with a number 2 pencil in hand, filling out thirty tiny, little circles that represented absolutely nothing.
The whole thing was nothing more than a simple fund-raiser, where all the proceeds would go to next year’s Project Graduation. The Emerson High Computer Club came up with the idea, and one of its members developed the algorithm. The concept was simple: pay twenty dollars, answer thirty relationship-themed questions taken directly from one of those annoying chick magazines girls like to read, and then sit back and wait for the computer software to run against all the tests and determine who your soulmate was. Or, at the very least, who you were most likely to hook up with over the summer.
After filling out all my personal information at the top, I glanced at the first question on the piece of paper and instantly groaned.
What is your idea of a perfect first date?
That was easy. Making out in the backseat of my car. Unfortunately—but not surprisingly—that wasn’t an option, so I’d have to choose another one. Reading down the list, none of them sounded appealing to me. Dinner and a Movie? A Romantic Picnic in the Park? Bowling? A Party? Bungee Jumping?
Oh my God, this quiz was dumb. The questions were dumb. The intent of it was dumb. All the people who were taking it seriously were dumb. And yes, I was even including Grace in that group of people.
Hey, I never claimed to be with her for her intelligence.
I guess, out of everything to choose from, A Party was the best one. It was most definitely the one Grace would choose, because she was a party girl. I, on the other hand, was not a big fan of parties, although I’d been to my fair share of them over the years and enjoyed most of them.
Preparing the tip of my pencil to fill in the circle next to A Party, I stopped for a second to think about what I was doing. I was about to choose the same answer Grace would. Which meant, if I did that on all the questions, the algorithm would pair us up. The exact opposite result of what I was going for.
And that’s when a brilliant idea hit me. If I went through this entire quiz and intentionally chose the opposite of what I knew Grace would pick, then we wouldn’t get paired up. And if we didn’t get paired up, maybe she would start to question if we were good together. Maybe she’d get paired up with another guy she decided she liked more than me, and she’d dump me, and I’d no longer have to worry about her pressuring me to be a better boyfriend—or a boyfriend at all.
Inspired by my sudden stroke of genius, I sat up in my chair, hunched over my desk, and started furiously filling out circles next to each question. My method was quite simple: read each question and answer them all the way a total loser would. Sure, this would no doubt get me paired up with some Plain Jane geek girl, but I would make sure to let her down easy. It would all be worth it to see the look of disbelief on Grace’s face.
Five minutes later, I was done. With a smirk, I slouched back in my chair and clasped my hands behind my head. Logan Reynolds, I said to myself, mentally patting myself on the back, you’re one clever son of a bitch.