"So, Little Orphan Annie, on a scale from 'Shucks, I bit my lip' to 'Fuck the world,' how messed up is Dick?"

Logan, responding to his self-deprecating eponym, quirked his mouth on one side and turned to face her. "About as well as 'My dad killed my girlfriend after statutory raping her, lying about it, and trying to kill my next girlfriend, who also happened to be the dead girlfriend's best friend.'" There was laughter in his voice, but it was empty. Veronica knew you couldn't really ever get over something like that. Logan had so much trauma in his life that was inescapable—his father's fame would never let him get away from that unforgiving limelight.

"Well, you would know," she said, trying to lighten the mood, already regretting that she had asked.

Logan, in turn, asked her how Mac was doing. Veronica had spoken to her friend a few times since she had come back to find Mac in the hotel room, hidden beside the bed, wrapped in the shower curtain.

"Better, I think. She's going on a camping trip with her family, probably to get as far away from Neptune as possible for a while. But she told me not to call her—I don't think she's taking any of her tech with her."

Logan winced, "Yikes. That is bad."

"Well, we all deal in different ways, I guess."

"That is remarkably similar to what my $300/hour grief counselor and all around shitty therapist told me just yesterday."

"Well, sugarpuss, it looks like I've just saved you a lifetime of counseling. Perhaps you could put that money to better use now? Maybe by buying me a pony?!"

Logan kissed her nose and smiled. "Aren't ponies more your dad's territory? But I would love to spoil you, you know that." With a tilt of his head, he mused, "Maybe I'm more Daddy Warbucks than Little Orphan Annie."

Veronica grimaced and shook her head, but didn't quip back at him. After a pause, once the tone turned more serious, Veronica looked away like she didn't want to have this conversation again. "I don't want your money," she reminded him. "I don't want you for your money."

"Yeah, I know that, Blondie. But when I spend my money on me, I buy booze and drugs, spend way too much on literally living at a hotel, and take exorbitant and wholly unnecessary surfing trips to countries where the drinking age is under 21. So I might as well spend it on something more worthwhile, don't you think?"

"Retail therapy has proven to be very successful for me on occasion," she feigned considering. "Hmm. Well, I wouldn't mind getting out of Neptune too, if you'd like to take me."

"Didn't you just have a vacation to New York with your dad?"

She nodded. "Are you suggesting that there is such a thing as too much vacation?"

He pinned her to the wall in that way that made her flush and lose her breath and fall even more in love with him. "No," he said. "I'm just not looking to get my hopes up for something that can clearly not happen with Sheriff Mars always on the lookout to protect his chaste, virginal, perfect daughter."

She feigned offense. "I am too perfect!" she insisted, and he nodded accommodatingly, leaning in to kiss her briefly on the mouth before nudging her nose with his own.

"I would never suggest otherwise," he said, and then pulled back. "Still, your dad will never let us go away together. Even if he suspects that I've touched any part of you that isn't your hands, he's not going to want to destroy his mental image of his daughter who definitely does not do anything remotely sexual with her boyfriend. So what's your plan, tiny blonde one?" She immediately perked up, like she had been waiting for the conversation to lead here this whole time.

"I was thinking that I could choose to attend one of Hearst's very convenient orientation weekends. They're scheduling people in stages over the next six weekends, and it's a whole sleepover thing—you stay in the dorms, get your ID picture taken, fill out all your paperwork, schedule your classes with random advisors, take campus tours… you get the picture."

"And? Don't you actually need to do all that stuff?"

"You're going to rue the day you doubted me, Echolls. Never again!" she exclaimed, pulling from her desk drawer not only her own Hearst ID, but also his. She then grabbed two printed sheets of paper, one with his fall schedule on it, and one with hers.

Logan laughed and said, "I guess I should be thankful that you're using your espionage to facilitate an illicit weekend away with me rather than putting it to a more destructive purpose."

"So many fancy words, boyfriend of mine. See, I knew I was right to try to have you tested out of Freshman Composition." She mock gasped with him, as he took the sheet of paper and photo id from her hand.

"Intro to Sociology, Freshman Composition, Mass Communication—Veronica, there's a gym class on here. You really are the perfect woman. Well, if you had been able to get me out of Freshman English, then you would have been perfect."

"I'll have to console myself while I'm away with you on our secret weekend, unless you'd rather go try to get out of that class instead. I'm sure they could still fit you in to the orientation weekend if you wanted."

"That's okay, I'll survive. Do I get to spend any of these classes feeling up my gorgeous again-girlfriend? Freshman Composition, perhaps?"

"Please, child. I tested so far out of that class, they asked me to write the textbook." They both laughed and she kissed him. "But we do have Sociology together. Which I am pretty excited about, so you may have to content yourself with staring rather than groping, so I can actually pay attention."

"Why? Is this too distracting?" he smirked, breathing hot on her neck as his hand wormed its way up her thigh, briefly grazing the front of her jeans before moving up to her hip.

She shakily let out the breath she had been holding, swallowing hard and pushing him away gently. "Why don't you save it for next weekend," she requested. "We can both distract each other."