A/N: So back around the time when I was working on "Big Time Love Story", I happened to have an idea pop up. I was listening to "Criminal" by Britney Spears, and I just thought, 'Hey, wouldn't it be cool if someone made a Kogan story based off this song?' And after thinking about it some more, I decided I should just write one myself! I immediately started drafting some ideas and everything started coming out so organically, and what I loved was that it was (and is) so different than any other Kogan story I've written. I love the idea of a sheltered character (Logan), who goes through life without actually living it, but meets a guy (Kendall) that changes his life. It's the stereotypical guy-from-the-wrong-side-of-the-tracks type of story, but with a Kogan spin on it.

I put it aside for a long time because I had other Kogan stories I wanted to write, but I always went back to this story whenever I got a chance. It's still a work-in-progress, because I'm always revising and editing, but I'm very excited to finally be able to share this story, starting with this first chapter.

The songs that inspired this chapter are:

"Criminal" by Britney Spears

"Vaporize" by Broken Bells

For "Criminal" I actually didn't use it as inspiration so much for this chapter, but as I mentioned above, the song really gave inspiration to the whole story. For "Vaporize" though, I really thinks it soundtracks this chapter nicely, almost like an opening theme. I also chose it for the lyrics. It's about living life to the fullest, which really suits Logan's character who lives this very methodical and routine lifestyle. The lines It's not too late/To feel more alive/Make our escape/Before we start to vaporize, are very fitting to how things will unfold for our characters, especially Logan.

Anyway, I think I'm most excited but yet most nervous about this story, just because it's so different than what you all may be used to reading from me, so please REVIEW and let me know what you think! Enjoy!

'Cause mama, I'm in love with a criminal,

And this type of love isn't rational,

It's physical,

Mama, please don't cry, I will be alright,

All reason aside,

I just can't deny,

I love that guy.

I was never one to believe in fate. Nor was I one to believe in predestined lives. I never allowed myself to think that a single person could shape my entire life, that is, until I actually met someone who could…

PROLOGUE

The Buick barrels down the seemingly endless highway; down the open road that seems to lead to everywhere and yet nowhere particular at all. We had no plans and no clue as to what we were doing, where we were going. The sirens on the police cruisers wail as they charge toward us. My heart races as fast as our moving getaway vehicle. My heart pounds as furiously as the roaring engine. I look over anxiously at the beautiful blonde that had come into my life almost out of nowhere. I study his furrowed brows, his distinct intensity, his unmistakable conflict of what he would do with me. I feared for many things, but yet oddly none of them had anything to do with my safety. I recall the events that led me into this mess…

I sit in class as bored as a person can be. The only excitement I can generate within myself is from knowing that school will be over in a matter of minutes. I anxiously and impatiently watch the hands of the clock move, which feels agonizingly slow today. I glance over at our teacher, Mr. Rocque, making sure he isn't asking me a question. I have a bad habit of tuning him out, but that's only because his lessons are monotonous and he has a knack for droning on and on. He also has a bad temper and takes pleasure in assigning extra homework when he gets frustrated with us. Luckily, he is in one of his "better" moods. I can't help but stare at the sweat beads that always seem to form above his brow and the pit stains that have seeped through his buttoned up shirt. Why does he sweat so much? I constantly think to myself. Apparently I have nothing better to do.

I look back at the clock. Did any time even pass at all? Other than the red moving second hand, the clock looks to be stuck in time. I let out a quiet sigh and doodle on the corner of my homework, which I've already finished. I feel like school isn't even a challenge anymore. It doesn't excite me like it used to. In fact, nothing really excites me. Not this school, not this town, certainly not this weather. I look outside and see that it's still overcast with the looming grey clouds threatening to release rain at any moment. I understand we're in April, so rain is to be expected, especially living in Minnesota, but for once I wish we could have the sun come out for more than just a few minutes.

I look back at the clock. Barely a minute has passed. Another bored sigh escapes. I then alternate between glancing at Mr. Rocque, the clock, and him… By him, I mean James Diamond—the one person that makes coming to school bearable. He is, without a doubt, my school boy crush. In fact, he has been since the second grade. I hate myself for being so predictable; the awkward quiet bookworm pining over the popular good-looking jock—how cliché, I know.

But, if anyone actually could see James Diamond in person, they would understand my attraction. James Diamond—as I always refer to him by his full name for some odd reason—has movie-star good looks with a movie-star-like name. There isn't a single flaw I can find on him. I study his features, because he is so devastatingly handsome that my mortal eyes demand it. I'm not sure a person could look as beautiful as he does. I study his masculine jawline that's contrasted by the soft features of his lips and eyes. His lips look soft and warm, and when he smiles his pearly white teeth sparkle.

His eyes are just as mesmerizing. They're a distinct hazel that gleam even under the poor florescent lighting of the classroom—how fitting for a guy with the last name Diamond. His nose is a perfectly straight line and his hair is a luminous dark brown. I swear when he turns his head his hair flips in slow-motion. Yes, indeed… there really is not a single flaw I could pick out on James Diamond even if I tried.

I also can't help but admire his perfect grace and confidence. Even the way he's slouching in his chair appears to be graceful. I glance back at his lips and imagine, as I always do, what it would be like to kiss him. I bite my lower lip when my fantasy begins to get a little too steamy… Suddenly, James Diamond looks over at my direction. I immediately look down at my notebook, and pretend to be taking notes. My cheeks turn a deep red. I'm not even positive that he caught me looking at him, but I'm too embarrassed by the thought alone. I don't want to risk looking at him again.

To my luck though, the bell rings and everyone immediately grabs their things and gets up. I follow suit and head for the door, making an effort not to look over at James Diamond.

I go to my locker to lighten the weight of my backpack. When I turn around, I bump right into James Diamond. I turn red and scramble to pick up my notebook.

"I'm sorry," I mumble.

"Don't be. I'm the one that bumped into you, Nathan," he apologizes incorrectly. At least his apology sounded sincere, even if he did call me the wrong name.

"Uh, it's Logan actually…" I correct quietly.

I barely make eye contact, because I know I'll be too speechless when I look into those hazel eyes of his.

"Oh, right. Sorry, Logan," he smiles.

I give him a weak half smile and watch as he walks over to where his girlfriend has been waiting. I see him kissing his girlfriend, who's—what else?—popular, blonde, a cheerleader, and most notably, not me.

The saddest part is this would probably be the most James Diamond will talk to me all year.

I watch the kids with money pull out of the school lot in their shiny expensive cars, while most others take the bus, and some waiting to be picked up by their parents. Me on the one hand, I'm one of the few that walks home every day. That's what happens when you have a single mother working double shifts at a hospital.

I barely make it to the corner of the school when James Diamond flies by me in his glossy red convertible, girlfriend in tow and all. His convertible rooftop comes down, and I instinctively glance up at the sky. The grey clouds looking even more menacing and I hear them rumble. Then a raindrop lands on my left cheek. And almost immediately more drops fall and, within seconds, it's a full-on rainstorm.

I curse under my breath and begin running, which is pointless because I'll only get soaked faster. Luckily, I don't live too terribly far from the school, but far enough that I do wish at times that I own a car, especially on days like this. No such luck though, because my mom refuses to let me have one, even though I've had my learner's permit for close to a year now. I'm only allowed to get behind the wheel when I'm running errands with her, which usually ends up with her critiquing everything I'm doing. Sometimes I just wish I could get into a car and go… Go anywhere; anywhere but here.

It's not that I want to be away from my mom, because I don't. Especially since my dad left us years ago, I couldn't bear to think of walking out on her, as well. But sometimes I do dream of running off to somewhere where no one knows me. Somewhere I can have a fresh start, a new life. Of course, that's only in fantasy… I know the real world doesn't quite work that way. Society expects you to be a good boy, eat your veggies, study hard, go to college, land a career, and eventually marry a woman and have kids, so you can all live in a white picket-fenced house. I just remind myself to go through the motions for my mom, because she and I are all that the two of us have.

I continue running through the pouring rain. My running strides only cause the puddles that have formed to splash and slosh even more. But I ignore it since my shoes and socks are thoroughly soaked now anyway. I cut through my neighborhood, which is tucked in our quiet suburb. I may not have the excessive luxuries of someone like James Diamond, but I can't complain.

I run around the corner of our street and relief washes over me when I'm just a few yards from our house. I run under the dry porch and instantly shake my body to rid the excess water. I pull my house key that's attached to a lanyard out of my soaked backpack. I open the screen door and rush inside to a drier—and warmer—space.

And by routine, I press the blinking red button on our answering machine that sits on a table in the foyer, and listen to the voice messages. I don't even know why we have a home phone, especially since both my mom and I have perfectly operable cell phones. But my mom insists that we keep a home phone. I guess it's a generational thing.

I begin to take off my drenched layers of clothes as I half-listen to the messages, which are almost always from my mom, the occasional solicitors, Nana if it's one of our birthdays, and no one else. The machine beeps and begins to play back the recordings. My mom's voice comes on as I expected.

"Logan, sweetie, it's Mom," she says like always. I mean, really, who else does she think I'd confuse her to be? "I just wanted to let you know that I'll probably be home late again tonight. One of the new nurses called out, can you believe it? Anyway, sweetie, if you can make dinner tonight that'd be great. Alright, I love you and I'll see you for dinner."

I roll my eyes because this always happens. The annoying part is that I'm used to this routine of ours. She'll call and tell me she'll be home late and that I'll probably have to make dinner, which is usually okay with me anyway. Let's just say my mom's not the best cook. Things tend to get overlooked and therefore end up extra crispy verging on burnt. And I actually kind of enjoy cooking. It gives me a sense of purpose and something to do to pass the time, especially since I usually end up finishing my homework at school.

The machine beeps after her voicemail ends and notifies me there are no other new messages. I hit the delete button and continue stripping out of my clothes as I head for my bedroom. I pat myself dry with a clean towel and rummage through my dresser. I pick up a t-shirt and toss it on. I replace my wet pants with some sweat shorts. It feels great to be in warm dry clothes. I listen to the rain pound against my bedroom window. Good thing I didn't leave it open this morning.

I take all my wet clothes, as well as the dirty clothes in my hamper, and carry them into our laundry room. I throw them into the washer, add some detergent, and start the wash cycle. While that goes, I wash my hands and begin prepping dinner.

I pull out some pork cutlets that have defrosted, as well as the other ingredients I need. I begin to boil some potatoes to make mashed potatoes later on. Then I get the cutlets lightly floured, into an egg wash, and then covered in breadcrumbs, before I start frying them in a pan. They sizzle almost immediately and the kitchen is filled with a delicious aroma that makes me impatiently hungry. As I let the cutlets continue frying, I turn on the TV in our adjacent living room. I don't even bothering finding a channel; I usually just like to have it on for some background noise. It gets too quiet being alone in the house.

Some afternoon talk show is on, but I'm barely paying attention. I'm too fixated on the delicious-smelling food cooking in front of me. As I'm finishing up cooking my dinner, a breaking news alert grabs my attention. It seems as though the local police are looking for a teenage fugitive. I'm intrigued for several reasons but mostly because, I'm curious as to why a teen would pose so much trouble that the entire county needs to be alerted, and the fact that they said he was last seen yesterday only a few miles outside our town concerns me. The details of what he's in trouble for are vague, and all they have as visual reference is a poorly done sketch.

I shiver, perhaps from the thought of a potentially dangerous fugitive running around or maybe because I'm still cold from the rain. I cover the finished food to keep it warm until Mom gets home. I rub my arms when another shiver runs through me. Why is the house suddenly so cold? I head into my room to put on a warmer layer.

I throw on a hoodie, but before I exit my room, the sound of loud rain at my window catches my attention. I look over to see that the cold draft is coming from the window. Oh, how stupid of me. I must have forgotten to close it. I go over to it and push it down, locking it in place.

As I lock it, it hits me; I never opened the window.

My heart stops.

Fear floods my body.

I see a reflection in the glass of the window of a blurry silhouette behind me, and I instantly turn around, but before I can defend myself the intruder places his hand over my mouth and pulls me down to the floor.

I thrash my body, trying to free myself and I attempt to scream but it's muffled by the intruder's hand. I can barely make out his face in the darkened room, but I know instantly who it is. It's the fugitive from the news.

He's soaking wet from being out in the rain. The water runs off the ends of his hairs and drips profusely on me. His drenched body presses down on me, probably to constrict my attempts to escape.

"Shhh, I need you to stay quiet…" he warns in a low but serious voice.

His tone doesn't sound menacing or threatening, but he could be one of those calm serial killers who enjoy watching his victims fight. The thought alone drains all the color out of me. I've never been more scared in my entire life, but strangely it's not for my own safety—at least not entirely. All I can think of is my poor mom. I'm suddenly thankful for the nurse who didn't show up to her work today. If it had not been for her, my mom might be in my current situation.

I realize that I'm still trying to wiggle myself out of his grasp, which proves to be futile, because he's got me pinned down hard. I feel his legs lock around mine, his free arm span across my arms and chest, and his hips pressed down firmly against mine. I feel all of his weight crushing down on me—I'm not going anywhere whether I like to or not. It's unsettling to be so physically close to a complete stranger, especially one I have no clue is capable of doing.

"Please stop trying to resist, I won't hurt you," the stranger tells me. I still don't believe him.

I refuse to look him in the eyes, partially because I'm too scared of what I may uncover. I fear that I'll see the deranged eyes of a psychopath. That would only make me feel even more afraid.

I then see siren lights emanate from outside my window. I'm so close to safety, yet it's completely out of reach. A few moments later, I hear a knock on the front door. Our attention goes straight to the pounding at the door. It's loud and there's urgency to the knock. I know with certainty it's the police. They must be trying to warn everyone on the street to keep a lookout for the fugitive. Too late, I think to myself direly.

"Please stay quiet. Please, can you do that?" the intruder pleads with me. Or maybe he's threatening me. It's hard to tell when his voice sounds calm enough, yet he's pushing down all his body weight on me.

There's another round of loud knocks.

I decide that I have two options. I could attempt to scream as loudly as possible, but risk the intruder harming me, or I could do as he says and remain silent, hoping that he won't hurt me for being compliant. But there's no guarantee what he would do with me…

I consider possibly biting the hand that's cover my mouth, but if I'm being honest, I'm much too scared of what may happen if I try to act like a hero. People always talk about how they would've handled a dangerous situation differently, but now that I'm actually in a dangerous situation, I'm crippled by paralyzing fear. As much as I hate that my body has involuntarily shut down on me, I now get why people don't fight back. I decide to submit to his request—for now.

I simply respond by nodding. I hate myself for submitting to a stranger, but this stranger—for all I know—could be dangerous. It wouldn't be very wise to do anything risky, especially since he seems to tower over me in height alone.

I finally cease thrashing and remain as still as I can; even my heartbeats feel faint. We wait in silence—for him, it's for the police to leave; for me, it's of the unknown of what will happen next. Bile rises in my throat and I feel the need to scream, not just for help but because of the circumstances. Why me? I keep thinking. I go about my business and never bother anyone, so why me?

Suddenly, we hear the sounds of footsteps heading down the porch steps, and all I hear now are the continuous rainfall and the low buzz of the TV in the living room. The intruder still lies flatly on top of me, clearly waiting for total certainty that the cops have left the area.

My eyes instinctively dart up to the window after about a minute. The red and blue siren lights slowly fade away and disappear. I realize that was my only chance of salvation—and it's gone…