Dating on the Dork Side

by Charity Tahmaseb

  He handed the receipt to me. “You’d better hang on to that, just in case.”

  The piece of paper felt flimsy between my fingers. My dress. My shoes. Paid in full. In cash.

  “What … what have you done?” I asked.

  “Well, yesterday I sold two really sweet custom computer systems. Made ’em out of parts I got off of craigslist.” Rhino shook his head. “The things most people think are worthless … So, anyway, I felt like donating to a worthy cause.”

  The salesgirl took the shoes and placed them in one of Tillie’s signature pink-and-white striped bags. The rustle of it filled my ears. I had no words for what Rhino had just done. Except, in a way, it seemed inevitable.

  Didn’t he always ride to my rescue, whether it was with an ugly neon orange skirt or the cash for the perfect homecoming dress?

  “Thank you,” I said. Sure, I knew I’d be paying him back. But I also knew that when and how wasn’t important to him.

  He waved away my words. “Totally worth it. Besides, I figured there’d been enough dress drama for one day.”

  Rhino glanced over his shoulder toward Sophie. I followed his gaze, relieved to see that she was busy with Mercedes. That feeling lasted only a second, until a pinprick sensation ran down my spine. I turned to see Elle staring at the mirror. It wasn’t me she was looking at. Not herself, either. It was Rhino. And, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t tell what her expression meant.

  Dad had another surprise waiting when he picked me up from the dress shop. “Take a look.” He pointed to the backseat of our car. Nestled beside a stack of RedBox returns sat the most nerdalicious collection of homecoming campaign canisters in Olympia High School history.

  I should have known this might happen. Dad had spotted contest containers for Clarissa and Elle while we were eating at Rolly’s the night before. A corner of the cash register desk had featured a gallon-sized blue plastic water bottle. A 5x7 glossy photo of Clarissa was splashed across it, along with inch-high Trojan blue letters that spelled out VOTE 4 CLARISSA!

  Beside it, less than half the size and looking almost modest and oh-so-elegant, sat a tall white cylinder with one word spelled out in blue sequins: Elle.

  What? I’d thought as my salad threatened to make a return appearance. When did they have time to …? And then I realized, of course, just like the white dresses, the campaign canisters had been ready in advance. They’d probably made them months ago. Years, maybe. That’s how sure these girls had been that one day they would be nominated to the homecoming court. That’s how sure I was that I didn’t stand a chance.

  When we walked to DQ for dessert, Dad spied a canister for Mercedes too. At least hers looked like it had been made at home and not produced by a big-city advertising agency. A coffee can, some spray paint, puffy foam letters in bright colors spelling out her name, and a few cottony pom-poms scattered around. The effect was as fun as Mercedes herself. I couldn’t resist dropping in a few coins for her.

  Peering at the canisters on the car seat made me sigh. My dad has so many talents. Subtlety is not one of them.

  “They’re so … shiny,” I said.

  “I know. I had trouble getting the aluminum foil to stick at first, but then I remembered that can of spray adhesive in the garage. How do you like the label?”

  Which part, I wondered? The photo of me in pigtails and football pads, taken when I was five? Or the part where he’d turned my name into a bright blue acrostic that read:

  Clever

  Attractive

  Mighty

  Your best choice for queen!

  He looked so proud.

  I hid my face behind a canister, pretending to be captivated by what I saw there. “These are … great, Dad. Just great.” And really, they were very sweet. Up close, I could make out a faded caption beneath the picture: Daddy’s little girl, it said in my father’s familiar scrawl.

  “Think I could take a couple to work with me?” he asked. “And your grandma, I know she’ll want one for her knitting club, and one for the senior center where she does her line dancing.”

  Oh! I perked up. If I could figure out how to control the distribution so Dad’s canisters were seen exclusively by people who were either old or related to me, this might not be so bad. “What about Grandpa?” I said. “Does he still volunteer at the genealogy center? And how about Aunt Abby? And …”

  “Whoa, there. If you give them all out to family, you won’t have any left to take to Rolly’s,” Dad said.

  Was he reading my mind?

  “Now that you’ve shown me how to do it, I can make more later. And, Dad? Thanks.”

  “Anything for you, princess. Anything for you.”

  Chapter 10

  I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT to expect on Monday. Would people still stop me in the halls to congratulate me or would I already be old news?

  In case I was in for extra attention, I took a little more time getting ready for the day. And by that, I mean I chose a T-shirt that didn’t feature a sports team or a cartoon character. I tugged on my favorite jeans and coordinated the entire outfit with my green Chuck Taylors. I even spent five extra minutes trying to tame my hair before I gave up in disgust. I didn’t care what anybody said, though; I still wasn’t going to wear a skirt.

  Despite my best efforts to prepare, I was startled when Rhino and I walked into school that day. Shocked even.

  Nearly every surface of the building was covered with posters and banners. Flyers had been stuck into locker vents too. And on all of those posters, banners, and flyers? Clarissa Delacroix in one pose after another. A sassy over-the-shoulder look here, a straight-on at the camera look there, a third one where she appeared surprised—yet very, very glad—to see us all.

  Again, the thought struck me: How did she know? Did a girl like Clarissa get professional photographs taken because she knew she’d be a homecoming queen candidate, or was she a candidate because she was the kind of girl who got a bunch of pictures taken? Which came first, the chicken or the tiara?

  A few oh-so-tasteful campaign posters for Elle were scattered here and there too. As for Mercedes and Sophie? Well, even if they’d managed to throw a few things together, all the prime real estate had already been scooped up.

  Rhino blinked a few times, then turned in a slow circle. “Do you have a strategy to counter all this?” he asked.

  A girl from the dance team sashayed past. Her eyes caught mine and she smiled. “Isn’t it awesome?” she said, pointing to the wall behind Rhino.

  “Well, it certainly is something,” Rhino muttered. “Although I’m not sure ‘awesome’ is the first word that comes to mind.”

  I nudged him in the ribs.

  “Here.” The girl pressed buttons into my hand, then Rhino’s. Then she continued down the hall, stopping everyone she met to offer them a button too.

  I looked at my palm. Staring up at me was Clarissa’s smiling face with the message CD 4 HQ above her head. Apparently, the girl who’d handed it to me had forgotten that I was also a queen candidate. Or maybe she knew and just didn’t care. I thought about pinning the button to my shirt. But first I’d have to find a marker. Clarissa would look so much more realistic if I drew a witch’s hat on her head.

  “Again,” Rhino said. “Strategy? You have one?”

  Did I want to traipse down the hall every day with my face plastered everywhere, looking down on every move I made? The notion was kind of unsettling. Really, I just wasn’t that into me.

  “I-I’m not sure I want one,” I said.

  Rhino sighed. “Don’t say that. After everything I—”

  “After everything you what?” I leaped on the statement. “What did you do? Come on, Rhino. You promised to tell me.”

  “Technically, I didn’t do anything.” His voice trailed off and his eyes lost their focus on me. I followed his line of sight, turning to glance over my shoulder.

  Elle was standing near the cafeteria door. The second she started toward us, Rhino retreated.


  “I feel electronically deprived this morning,” Rhino said. “Think I’ll stop in the computer lab before first bell. Later, Ladybug.”

  For someone who made it a point never to hurry, Rhino sure managed to vanish up the stairs pretty quick.

  “What is wrong with that boy?” Elle said the moment she landed at my side. “It’s like he’s afraid I’ll give him cooties or something.”

  I snorted.

  “I’m serious, Camy. I sent him at least twelve texts yesterday, and nothing. He didn’t answer a single one.”

  Twelve text messages? To Rhino?

  Elle tugged me by the arm until we ended up against a bank of lockers. “The two of you don’t have anything going on, do you?”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Something like … you know.” She placed her hand over her heart and made a fluttery motion with her fingers.

  “What? No! We’re just friends.”

  “Then what does he have against me?” She hadn’t lost her cool, not really. I was pretty sure Elle Emerson never lost her cool. But she did bite her lower lip, her eyebrows drawn together.

  “It’s not you,” I said, feeling around for the right words. “It’s…” I glanced at the students crowding the hallway, at Clarissa’s and Elle’s faces smiling down at the masses. I pointed to her poster on the wall. “Okay. It is you. But that version of you. Elle Emerson, head cheerleader, student council president, and all the rest. It’s like you’re the anti-Rhino.”

  She laughed, but hurt flashed in her eyes. “Well, here’s the thing,” she said. “Did you know I’ve been to every single dance since fifth grade?”

  Fifth grade? Did we even have a dance in fifth grade?

  “And I’ve always had a date. I’m not so sure I want that to change this year.”

  “What about the boycott? Are we going to bend the rules?”

  “And give these fecal faces the satisfaction?” Elle shook her head. “There are other boys in this school, you know.” She waved a hand at the hallway and the students walking down it. “I mean, there’s lots of guys who are not actually asshats.”

  True, there were. Most days, I ate lunch with a bunch of them.

  “And for the boys in this school who think they’re something special, it would send a message. You want to dance with a girl? Then act like a decent human being.” Elle sank back against the lockers, her binder clutched to her chest like a shield. “But I need your help.” She gave me a little smile. “Again.”

  I nodded, even though I had no clue what Elle wanted or how I could be of assistance.

  “I want to go to homecoming with Rhino.”

  She wanted ... what?

  “It’s why I asked about you two.” She unclenched a hand from her notebook and pointed at me. “I don’t poach, okay? So, if you guys are really … you know … just tell me, and I’ll totally forget Rhino’s name.”

  “I’m not. We aren’t.” I started, but then I was hit with a fit of laughter. I had to bend over from it, it struck me so hard. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t catch my breath. People were starting to stare.

  Could I set up Elle with Rhino? The idea of Rhino attending homecoming with anyone seemed ridiculous. But the queen of the school with the king of anti-cool? And even if I could get them together, one freaking huge IF … should I?

  “I don’t know,” I said, and another snicker escaped me. “I mean, you’re so you, and he’s so not. I don’t see any way that I can—”

  “You just need to get him talking to me. He won’t even do that at this point.”

  I looked at the stairwell where Rhino had disappeared. I shook my head. “I still don’t see how.”

  “Easy,” she said. “That boy does everything you tell him to.”

  “What?” I laughed again, because that was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard. “Rhino does whatever he wants, when he wants to. Trust me.”

  “So when he paid for your dress yesterday?”

  “I didn’t ask him to do that. Besides, it’s just a loan.”

  Elle waved her hand. “Whatever. If you can get us talking, I’ll do the rest.”

  “I have no idea how to do that.”

  “You’ll think of something. Meet you at the bleachers after cheer practice.” She pushed away from the lockers and glided into the crowd heading for the cafeteria.

  “You mean after tutoring,” I called, but I don’t think she heard me.

  Elle and Clarissa campaign canisters had magically bloomed on my homeroom teacher’s desk over the weekend, and in every other classroom I entered that day. By lunch, Water Bottle Blue had become my least favorite color. Even Rhino’s promise of a Cherry Coke couldn’t tempt me to stay in the cafeteria, not after I discovered mini Clarissa containers on all of the tables. I grabbed a sandwich and hid out in the Earth Sciences lab for the rest of the period.

  The end of the school day couldn’t come fast enough. I craved the moment when I could climb the stairs to the tutoring room, a Clarissa-free zone. Finally, it arrived. But if I’d had to write out some sort of equation to describe the effect my homecoming status would have on tutoring, I would’ve gotten it all wrong. A round of applause broke out when I walked into the room. Byron and his friends were wearing huge silly grins. The pom squad performed some sort of can-can tribute dance. I was flustered and embarrassed. But to be totally honest, it also felt kind of nice.

  Once everyone got busy with their individual projects, the only thing left for me to do was to stand by the windows and send waves of support down to the football team. Even that was going pretty well. Gavin had just thrown a long pass, right on target. The receiver pulled the ball in over his shoulder and raced for the goal line.

  I was congratulating myself on my superior ESP skills when I heard a voice behind me. “Hey, Camy, where do you want this?”

  I turned to find Lexy standing in the doorway. She was holding a blue bottle. A big blue bottle, the size used in offices to refill the water cooler. And plastered across the front of it? Clarissa Delacroix’s smiling face. I thought my head might explode.

  “I ran into Clarissa downstairs,” Lexy said. “She told me you wanted a special campaign canister to go in this room. You are so cool. I mean, if I was a candidate, I don’t think I could be such a good sport. So. Where do you want me to stick it?”

  I had a few ideas. But they were All. So. Inappropriate.

  She ended up placing the container on a stand under the white board. I looked at the bottle, then at the quote above it: “If people do not believe that mathematics is simple, it is only because they do not realize how complicated life is.”

  When Byron walked up to the canister, dug deep into the pocket of his pants, and dropped a few pennies in the jar, I knew for sure: Life = Complicated. At least that much was true.

  I was out of breath when I got to the bleachers that afternoon. I stayed that way while I watched Gavin fade back to throw a forward pass. The spin, the trajectory, the perfect placement. He made it look easy. Except I knew how hard he worked at it. I squinted down the field, my eyes following the ball. Then I felt him looking at me.

  I turned away from the catch and toward the boy who’d thrown the football. Gavin was still wearing the helmet. It hid his expression. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but something was different.

  A poke in my back sent my heart racing. I spun around to find Elle. “They’re pretty,” she said, nodding toward the field, “but don’t forget, they’re also total butt nuggets.”

  Not all of them, I wanted to say.

  “So, I assume you’ve come up with some sort of plan?” she asked.

  Actually, I hadn’t. Judging by the look on Elle’s face, that was a mistake. I took a step toward the field. I wanted to walk the fifty-yard line for luck, but the team was setting up for another scrimmage. Instead, I headed toward the gate near the end zone.

  “We should probably meet Rhino on his own territory,” I said.

  “Y
ou think he’d be more comfortable that way?” she asked, following me.

  I thought he couldn’t escape that way.

  The walk to Rhino’s went by too quickly. He spotted us when we were halfway up his driveway. Or, at least, he spotted me. He raised his hand to wave, then froze. He held his arm in that awkward half-salute until I stepped up to him and pulled it back down to his side. Then he spun around without a word and retreated into the garage.

  I nodded to Elle. “Come on.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed my arm. “His parents make him live out here?”

  “No. I mean, well … it’s complicated. But he could live in the house if he wanted to.” I crept a few feet forward, taking Elle with me.

  Rhino was sitting at a computer with his back to us. His fingers were clacking against the keys like whatever he typed there might make us disappear. When that didn’t work, he stood, planted his hands on his hips, and glared at both Elle and me. I was the only one who seemed to notice. Elle was checking out the garage. She smiled. Then she trained her eyes on Rhino.

  He stood there without flinching. The sweatpants he was wearing hung loose at his hips. The plaid of his boxers was peeking over the top. He was wearing the chicken butt T-shirt I’d bought him for Christmas and the hem hit just below his bellybutton.

  But here’s the thing. The green stripe in his boxers? It matched the green of his eyes exactly. And that little strip of skin that showed between his shirt and pants? It highlighted some fairly excellent abs. Add in the mussed up but clean and shiny hair and …

  Oh. My. God.

  When did Rhino get hot?

  Okay, I’ll admit it. For a second I thought about marching Elle out of there and keeping this upgraded version of Rhino for myself. But when I tried to imagine slow dancing with him in a dark gym (and I tried; believe me, I tried) all I felt was … nothing. Nothing like what I imagined with Gavin, anyway.