Unknown (LL love story)

"LOGAN LOGAN LOGAN!" I heard my sister scream.

Hi, my name's Taylor I'm 18 and my sister loves Logan Lerman. She's 8.

Here's the story:

Logan and I were childhood friends and we always hung out. You see Logan is really famous so he had to move to LA. He didn't even say goodbye to his best friend!

What will happen when we are reunited? Will he forget me all together or not?

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5. Logan's House

I arrived with Logan to his house, I shouldn't say house, but mansion.

The thing was huge!

It was marble and gold just like the 'California Pacific National' building.

"You live here?" I said, trying to mask my surprise.

"Yep, it's my home."

We approached the steps, and walked on the wraparound porch, which had 2 expensive-looking hammocks, beautiful velvet outdoor furniture, and silk carpet that lead into the house.

The minute Logan opened the French doors, my mouth swung open. The creaking was about 35 ft. high and there was a glistening crystal chandelier hanging from it.

There was a spiral staircase leading up, up, up the about 20 stories of floors. The staircase was red velvet, and had landing branching outward to reach ant flor you pleased. The walls were plastered with beautiful expensive-looking paintings, ones by Vincent Van Gogh and Picasso. It took me a while to even realized that Beethoven was drifting off the walls and swirling around Ina beautiful lullaby of noted. I walked around, and each room looked about the same. They each were complete with an adobe fireplace( why would they need that we live in LA), crystal chandeliers, velvet furniture, and incense burners. I guess that explains why the whole house smells like vanilla.

I opened another set of French doors and looked beyond the backyard. Acres and acres of furnished green fields spread across the land, lined with a beautiful stretching forest. Should I mention, no one lived around here for miles, so the privacy was taken care of. A gazebo that held about 100 ppl took up half of my view, with it's Christmas lights dangling off the sides, and the flat screen TV hanging over the bar. Next stop, Logan's room.

I really tried to act like I wasn't thrilled, but the most luxurious place I've ever been to was a cabin in Santa Barbara--I was 7. We walked up 8 stories worth of stairs until we reached the landing to the 8th story. Finally, I got the courage to ask, "What are all these rooms for?" I'm assuming (wink wink) that you don't have THAT many ppl living with you."

"Oh, well, we have tons of guest rooms and some of the rooms are like apartments for our clients. They stay in there for weeks at a time, while I get interviewed and learn my scripts." He replied breezily.

"Aren't you afraid of them stealing anything?" I asked curious.

"That's what these guys are for," he said, pointing to bunch of body guards, blocking a door.

"You have more protection than Justin Beiber, I swear." I murmured.

"That and I'm cuter too." He grinned.

Jesus, he was full of himself..

Logan introduced me to his muscle-headed friends as a "client", an we entered his room.

This, I must say, was pretty awesome.

His room was huge, and had (yet another) set of French doors, these leading out into a small balcony that overlooked the whole backyard scenery. The walls were plain white, but everything else was blue. It was like being in an ocean. The comforter was royal blue, the pillows a pretty baby blue, the carpet was a pale blue, his desk chair? Blue. Phone charger? Blue. Most of it was blue. Then I looked closer at his desk. Sitting right by his laptop and stack of scripts, was a picture, holding a picture that eerily familiar. I studied harder. It was a pic of a young girl, about 7, and a boy that looked almost 10. They were standing outside of a nice brick house, grinning widely for the camera. The boy had his arms wrapped around the girls waist, and she was hugging him--her face looking into you eyes. They were wearing matching shirts, and gray converse. The girl had dirty blonde hair and highlights, like means the boy had dark brown hair. Then I realized it WAS me. And Logan. But why would he keep it all these years? He said he thought about me sometimes, but if he did, why didn't he come visit me? Why didn't he bother trying to find me?

Suddenly, I felt tears misting my eyes, and a limo formed in my throat. I turned and looked down at the floor.

"What wrong" he asked as if he actually cared.

"Oh nothing." I muttered. "I just realized...I have to go!" I scrambled for my bag, and opened the door.

"Nice meeting you!" I said to the body guards, forcing myself to smile a bit.

Then I was gone

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