Two Roads Read Free Page B

about to walk completely away, too, when I get an idea.
    I stop.
    It’s a brilliant idea.
    Without even bothering to consider the consequences, I spin right back around, snatch the hot chocolate mug from Logan’s hands once again, and take a huge sip. I watch as he turns to face me, still smiling lightly and revealing those dimples of his. I smile back.
    He isn’t going to know what hit him.
    Literally.
    He starts to say something, to insult me probably, to snatch his precious hot chocolate back and hope I leave--which I won’t--but I don’t give him the chance. My whole body buzzes with excitement as I lean forward like I’m going to whisper something into his ear. I know this is a mistake, this is stupid, this is not going to end well, but I also know I can’t stop myself. So I take a deep breath, swing forward my mug filled with his cold hot chocolate, and then I release.
    And the hot chocolate hits Logan square in the face.
    Let me repeat: hot chocolate. Hits Logan Waters. Square in the face.
    I don’t even know what’s happening to my life anymore.
    I gasp and stumble back, lost and confused and totally not believing that I just did that. Logan seems almost as shocked as I am. Stunned, even. Unmoving, I’d say, as the dark liquid drips off of his whole face. I watch him carefully, putting the hot chocolate back on the table, and I can see the anger in his eyes, the fierce burning rage. I look down at him, expecting to feel pride at what I just did, to feel giddy and confident and so freaking excited, but instead I feel the opposite. Because when I look down at Logan Waters, who is covered in hot chocolate and looking like he wants to stab me and I know it’s all because of me, I feel something I never expected to feel: guilt.
    “That one was for my brother,” I hiss, more for myself than for him. I start to turn away a second time then, start to walk past him and stride right out of the whole Dungeon before I break into tears like they do in reality TV shows, when I feel something warm and wet splash across my back.
    I spin around, ready for him to snap at me and for me to feel shitty all over again.
    But that’s not what happens.
    Instead, I see Logan holding my coffee mug in his hand, smiling at me from ear to ear, and I realize the warm liquid that is now covering the back of my shirt is my coffee.
    He threw my own coffee at me.
    The. Effing. Bastard.
    “And that one was for me,” Logan says, eyes intense and trained on mine.
    Never in my life have I felt more relieved.

~
    She stopped laughing
    Stopped smiling
    Stopped feeling
    Stop being.
    Until him.
    ~
    My parents always said they named me Cali because it was a fitting name, because it sounded nice and that’s how they always wanted me to be: nice. Cute. Perfect. The girl who wears the flowery pink dress and lets everyone remark about how sweet and adorable she is. But as much as they may want that, I always knew the name Cali, which could be interpreted as being short for California, was their way of telling me I was supposed to move to Silicon Valley with them, invent shit, and change the world because if I wanted to be as flawless as they are, that’s what I have to do.
    That’s the only thing they’ve ever wanted in their daughter: for me to turn out just like them.
    But being like my parents, after all they’ve done to me and Ben, is dead last on my agenda. I just want--I need--to be me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, but the issue with having brilliant, engineer parents is that no matter what I do, I am never good enough. Not for them. Not even for myself.
    Confession: I’m not nearly as confident as I pretend to be. I’m one of those “all talk, no game” kinds of people, right down there with the worst of them. My parents seem to have been right about me after all: I’m useless. Ever since Ben died, I’ve done nothing but fail, fail, and fail some more. And I can’t stop it. I can’t stop hating myself for not doing anything to