Detention was one thing. Logan could handle sitting in a half-empty classroom, pretending to pick up trash or do equations he had no interest in. That was easy. That was punishment.
But this?
This was humiliation.
“You’ll start tutoring with Emily Hayes after school today,” Principal Kelly had told him. “It’s part of your sentence.”
Sentence. As if he were some kind of criminal.
Logan hadn’t argued. Not out loud. He just nodded, stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets, and walked out of the office. But the irritation brewed hot in his stomach. What was he supposed to do with the reverend’s daughter? Sit around solving algebra until she smiled her patronizing little smile and told him he was “getting better”?
No thanks.
Still, at 3:15 p.m., he found himself knocking on the door of the school library.
And of course—she was already there. Sitting at the back table like she owned the place, a neat stack of textbooks beside her, glasses perched on her nose, and a pink pen in her hand.
Emily Hayes looked up, unsurprised.
“You’re on time.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Logan muttered, dropping into the chair across from her.
She pushed a sheet toward him. “Geometry. Your test scores are low.”
“You memorize those too?”
“I asked Principal Kelly. You need a C to pass.”
He slumped back, arms folded. “You really love this, don’t you?”
“What?”
“Helping the poor criminal.”
Emily’s expression didn’t flinch. “You’re not a criminal, Logan. You’re just... lost.”
He blinked, stunned into silence for a second. “Wow. You get that from your horoscope?”
“No,” she said simply. “I got that from watching.”
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The tutoring session was awkward at best.
Emily walked him through a few problems, her voice soft but steady, while Logan doodled absently on the edge of his paper. He didn’t want to admit that her explanations made sense. That she made things easy in a way no teacher ever had. That maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t doing this for the credit or for pity.
“So,” she said after twenty minutes, “how’s the play coming?”
“I’d rather fall down a well.”
“That’s not very optimistic.”
“I’m not very optimistic.”
She gave him a small smile. “You should try memorizing Scene Three. We’ll be rehearsing it tomorrow.”
He grunted. “Great.”
“Logan,” she said quietly, her tone shifting. “I know you don’t want to be here. I know you think this is beneath you. But... I’d appreciate it if you’d at least try.”
That caught him off guard. Not because of what she said—but how she said it.
Not like a teacher.
Not like a lecture.
Just… honest. Human.
He didn’t answer. Just nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and gathered his things.
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. That night, Logan sat at his desk, staring at the script in his lap. Scene Three.
Tom: "You’re the kind of girl a guy doesn’t expect. The kind he meets once and never forgets."
He exhaled slowly.
What the hell kind of line was that?
And why did he hear Emily’s voice every time he read it?
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The next afternoon brought rehearsal.
This time, Logan showed up early.
Emily was already there—of course—seated on the edge of the stage, quietly humming to herself as she read her lines. Her voice floated softly through the empty room, and Logan had to pause for a second behind the curtain just to listen.
Something about her presence was... calming.
And annoying.
He walked out casually. “You’re singing?”
She looked up, surprised but not startled. “I like to warm up before rehearsal.”
“Figured you were just trying to hypnotize people.”
She smiled, not rising to the bait. “Did you memorize Scene Three?”
Logan held up the script, his voice half-defiant. “Sort of.”
They moved through the lines, clunky at first. He stumbled, rolled his eyes, made jokes to mask the tension. But slowly—without meaning to—he began to get it. Not the play. Not the words.
Her.
There was something about the way Emily looked at him—not with judgment, not with flirtation—but with certainty. Like she already knew he could do it, and was just waiting for him to catch up.
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After rehearsal, Emily handed him a sticky note.
“What’s this?”
“A quote,” she said. “One of my favorites.”
He read it. “‘Love is always patient and kind. It is never jealous…’” His voice faded. “What is this? Bible stuff?”
She smiled. “It’s Corinthians.”
He looked at her, then at the note again. “‘It does not boast and is not proud…’”
“Just something to think about,” she said, gathering her books.
And just like that, she walked off—leaving Logan staring after her with the strangest ache in his chest.
He didn’t know what it was yet.
But he had a feeling this girl—with her cardigans, her Bible verses, and her endless calm—was going to ruin everything..
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End of Chapter Three
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