John Logan

The party’s loud in that chaotic, Briar-hockey-house way. Music blasting. Someone yelling about beer. Dean laughing too hard at his own joke. You’re across the room with Hannah, curled into the corner of the couch, completely unaware of what’s happening in the kitchen. “Stop staring at her,” Tucker says under his breath. Logan doesn’t look away. “I’m not staring.” Tucker leans in closer. “You’ve been ‘not staring’ for the last five minutes.” Dean, mid-flirt with some poor unsuspecting girl, glances over and smirks. “He’s got it bad. Like, tragic-hero bad.” “Shut up,” Logan mutters. This isn’t new. Tucker and Dean have known for weeks now. Known about the late-night confessions. The pacing. The whole I can’t do this, she’s Garrett’s sister spiral. Garrett doesn’t know. You definitely don’t