The Summer I Became a Nerd

by Leah Rae Miller

  “Sure, I guess.” I look over at Eric. “Are we going?”

  “Hell, yes,” he says through a mouth full of spaghetti, and I can’t stop my nose from scrunching up at the sloppy sound of the food vibrating in his mouth. Gross.

  And that was the most important part of the conversation because the rest of lunch was spent listening to Eric and Peter discuss their upcoming summer vacation to Destin, Florida. If you could call it a vacation. It sounded more like Jocks Gone Wild with all the “getting wasted” with Peter’s brother and the “hot babes” that are sure to be on the beach. This last part was supposed to be whispered, but Eric is kind of like a four-year-old in a seventeen-year-old’s body. He doesn’t quite understand the concept of voice volume control.

  There was no “I’ll miss you so much, Maddie-babe,” or “I’ll call you every night,” like a normal boyfriend would have said. Not that I expected that from him, or even wanted it.

  I know I’m just an accessory to him, but what he doesn’t realize is he’s just a handbag to me, too. He’s not a bad guy. Despite his immaturity, he does most of the required boyfriend things. He puts his arm around my shoulders when we walk down the hall, he points to me when he makes a touchdown-scoring pass—after he points to the stands, of course—and he never chats up other girls in my presence. There’s just something missing. I don’t get that feeling. You know, the swoony one a girl is supposed to get when she sees her guy waiting for her by her locker in the morning. But what can I do? Landing Eric as a boyfriend was the coup de grace of completing my nonnerdy persona. The quarterback dates the cheerleader. This is the way things are supposed to be.

  #4

  The last day of school finishes up with the customary trashing of the halls with all the papers previously buried in people’s lockers, which I don’t do because the school janitor is a nice guy.

  I take a detour on my way home past The Phoenix, and my thoughts quickly stray to Logan. I wonder if he’ll be at the end-of-school party tonight, then quickly scold myself for thinking about another guy, even though the first guy is just a handbag.

  I pull into my driveway right after my dad. Before I even turn off my car, he’s at the window, a grin as big as Texas spread across his face.

  “So? How does it feel?” he asks as he opens my door.

  “How does what feel?”

  “To be a senior? Big man on campus now.” He squeezes my shoulder as we walk up to the porch side by side. He smells like metal and freshly cut wood because he’s a construction site foreman. It’s just his smell. It’s one I’ve always loved and always will love.

  “Oh, great. It feels great,” I say and mean it.

  Mom is waiting on the porch holding the screen door open. “There she is! Our high school senior.”

  My mom can come off a little flighty with her fly-away, frizzy brown hair, but I know she’s really very smart. Dad says she’s where my brother and I get our intelligence from.

  “Got any plans tonight?” she asks.

  “There’s an end-of-school party I want to go to.”

  “Where is it? Who’s going? And who are you going with?”

  “Eric is picking me up probably around eight, it’s at the class president’s house, and everybody is going.”

  I start up the stairs to my room and almost get into a tussle with the hanging quilt on the wall. I might’ve gotten smart genes from Mom, but I definitely didn’t inherit her sense of style. Where she goes for a country-chic look that involves colors like mauve and what I like to call makes-you-want-to-jump-off-a-bridge bluish-gray, I like vibrant colors and sleek, modern design with a hint of whimsy.

  “Well, I guess it’s okay. Twelve o’clock curfew, though,” she calls up to me.

  “Okay!”

  As soon as the door closes, I bolt over to my closet, stick my hand deep inside the stack of sweaters, and pull out the bag with #400 inside. I have plenty of time to read it again before Eric comes to pick me up.

  I spend the next couple of hours or so analyzing every tiny detail. This artist is so talented. His energy signatures—the glowy stuff that appears around a character’s hands or eyes just before they use their powers to lay the smackdown on the bad guy—remind me of flame and smoke. And the way he does fabric: so realistic.

  Wendy looks especially fabulous in this issue. God, what I wouldn’t give to have those knee-high, black and fuchsia boots with the killer stiletto heel.

  All too soon, it’s time to return the bag and book back to its hiding place and get ready for the party. I take a shower, then pick out a cute summer blouse with ribbon straps I tie into bows on top of my shoulders and a pair of denim shorts. My favorite pair of chunky sandals that also have ribbons as straps, thick white ones, complete the outfit. By the time I’ve blow-dried my hair, brushed it to a pretty shine, and put on my makeup in a dewy-eyed-princess fashion, I hear the neighbor’s dogs barking outside. Eric must be here.

  I get my purse and cross my room to go downstairs, but something crunches under my foot before I reach the door. It’s the piece of paper with Logan’s ominous message and his phone number. It must have fallen out when I opened #400, and I was too engrossed to notice. I get a weird, wiggly feeling in my chest as I stare at the numbers, despite the implication of his words.

  “Maddie, Eric is here!” Mom calls from the kitchen after he lays on the horn for a few seconds.

  The only place I can think to hide the paper is under my mattress, but what if Mom decides to change the sheets and flip it tonight? She tends to do that kind of stuff when she’s waiting for me to get home. One night I came home to find the entire living room rearranged.

  If she found it, I’d have to answer all kinds of questions, so I stuff the number in an inside pocket of my purse, telling myself no one will look in there tonight, and go downstairs.

  Dad catches me before I dash out the door and pulls out his wallet, but I hold my hand up for him to stop. “I don’t need any money.”

  “Take it anyway, just in case.” He hands me a twenty from his tattered, leather wallet and two quarters from his jeans pocket.

  “I have a cell phone, you know. Besides, we’re not going to be anywhere near a payphone.” I hold up the quarters.

  “Better to be safe than sorry.”

  “I always used to put a dime in my shoe when I was your age and going out on the town,” Mom says as she walks up and kisses the top of my head.

  Out on the town? Oh, boy. “Okay, well, bye y’all.” I escape through the front door.

  As we pull off my street, Eric revs the engine of his extended-cab truck and peels out, the sound of his screeching tires bouncing off all those quaint little, suburban houses.

  “Come on, Eric,” I whine. “You think Mom and Dad didn’t hear that?”

  “Who cares?” he says and pulls out his phone. “Dude, where you at?”

  He’s probably talking to Peter. They talk on the phone more than Terra and I do, so I just resign myself to another boring ride of listening to boy-talk.

  We pass through our normally sleepy college town, but tonight it’s alive. Graduating seniors and the new seniors are all over the place, not to mention the college students who are out having one more night of fun before heading home for the summer. It’s not a big town, but we do have a Chili’s and a Wal-Mart.

  We meet up with Terra, Peter, and a bunch of other up-and-coming seniors in an empty parking lot. The air is thick with the smell of exhaust, beer, and juvenile superiority. I must say, it does feel good to be a senior.

  Terra and I meet at the back of Eric’s truck and immediately go into the elaborate greeting we made up back in ninth grade. It starts with two high fives, then goes into two shoe kicks, one hand heart, a hug, and finishes with a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Have you asked your parents yet?” Terra asks.

  It takes me a second to remember what I was supposed to have asked them. “Oh, the concert. No, not yet.”

  “Oh my God, what’s wron
g with you?”

  “I’m sorry, I just forgot.”

  “Sometimes I wonder whether you actually like Allison.” She sighs. “You don’t have to, you know.”

  Oh, but I do have to. My “love” of Allison is part of my image, and I need that image to remain intact. Especially now with the Logan debacle. “No, no. That’s not it at all. It’s just with the last day of school and—”

  “Let’s move ‘em out!” Eric yells over the crowd, saving me from having to make up yet another lie. Terra is the one part of my double life that feels real, despite everything. I hate lying to her almost as much as I hate what would happen if I didn’t.

  We’re a force to be reckoned with, a parade of cars, trucks, and borrowed parents’ minivans, as we drive down the main street of Natchitoches, hooting and hollering out our windows. This is considered one of those rites of passage in our small town. The new seniors kind of marking their new territory. We pass a cop, and he just honks.

  Candy’s place is a huge, classic plantation home. Columns line the front, hanging ferns alternating between them. The gravel drive is winding and lined with ancient magnolia trees. We skirt the main house and pull up into the empty field next to it. There are so many vehicles here it looks like the parish fair has come to town early.

  Eric gets out and goes to the back of the truck while I touch up my sparkly, pink lip gloss. In the visor mirror, I see him pull out a long, blue bag from the bed of the truck. I hop out and jog to catch up to him, since he’s already weaving between the rows of cars.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “A tent.”

  “And what’s it for?”

  “Sleeping in.”

  I take a deep, calming breath because he’s not being sarcastic. He completely thinks I don’t know what a tent is used for. “You planning on sleeping here tonight?”

  “I am, you are, everyone is,” he says as we make it out of the maze of vehicles and into the empty field. He waves his arm in a broad arc like he’s introducing me to the head coach of the New Orleans Saints. Everyone is setting up tents and rolling out sleeping bags. Peter and a few others are hauling wood to the center of the campsite, creating the base of what looks to be the makings of a towering bonfire.

  “I can’t stay here, I—”

  “Just call your parents and tell them you’re staying the night with Terra. They’ll believe anything you tell them.”

  Thanks, Eric, for yet another reminder of my spectacular lying ability. “They’re expecting me back at midnight, and besides, I hate camping.”

  “Aw, come on, babe.” He drops the tent on a clear spot next to the future bonfire. He wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts me up so we’re face to face. “I leave for vacation tomorrow. This could be our last night to really be together.”

  I can feel my resolve weaken because that is pretty sweet, but the second I let my face soften, he plops me back on the ground and pulls a lighter out of his pocket. Peter tosses him a bottle of lighter fluid. Apparently, they’re ready to use profuse amounts of flammable liquid to light the fire.

  Two hours later, the ground is littered with cups. Nothing says party like red plastic cups, after all. I’ve been having a good time. The music is loud and twangy. People I’ve never spoken to are now good friends of mine, at least for the night. Terra pulls me over to the fire so the squad can do a senior cheer that ends with Rayann Black doing a back-handspring, then puking behind her tent. That’s about when I start contemplating how I’m going to get home.

  “Where are Candy’s parents?” I ask Terra.

  “On a beach somewhere. Her older brother is here. He took everyone’s keys before they started drinking.” She nods at a guy wearing a university sweatshirt, which is currently bunched up around his face because he is upside-down doing a keg stand. And there’s Eric right behind him, cheering him on.

  “So, everyone’s safe, and no one is going nowhere.” Instead of correcting her on her double negative, I just rub my upper arm. Terra is one of those people who likes to emphasize her words with hand gestures, but once she gets a drink or two in her, she becomes one of those people who smack you in the arm to get their point across.

  “I cannot wait for the Allison concert. It’s going to be so awesome,” she says, and on the last smack she misses my arm and glances the side of my boob. “Oh my God, did I just hit your boob? I’m so sor—” She freezes like a coon dog that just heard some rustling in the woods. “Oh my God, I love this song!”

  Once Terra skips away to find the source of the music, I find my purse and head toward the vehicles to get some air. I pinball from person to person and finally make it to the improvised parking lot. Only once I’m three rows deep do I let down the tailgate of someone’s truck, hop onto it, and look up. The stars are so bright tonight not even the raging fire behind me can dim their glow.

  If I were Wendy, a.k.a. The Bright Frenzy, I could just fly home, which would be the most awesome thing ever. Of course, thinking about Wendy brings Logan to mind. The way his eyebrow quirked up in that rascally manner at lunch today…

  …and the little slip of receipt paper in my purse.

  #5

  It had to happen at some point, right? I can’t keep #400 forever, as much as I want to, especially since he knows my secret.

  I take my cell out and dial his number without looking at the paper because I might have stared at it enough times to memorize it. Before I hit the call button, I go over my options one more time. I don’t want to spend the night in a field with a bunch of drunk people—especially not when I’ll have to lie to do it. There is no one at this party I would trust to drive me home right now, and I really don’t want to call my parents. It would only freak them out and possibly get everyone else in trouble. And even though I know my brother would make the hour drive from Shreveport to pick me up, I don’t feel right asking him to do it in the middle of the night.

  Plus, I really need to give Logan #400 back.

  The downsides are obviously the risk of someone seeing Logan and me together, and the fact I’m calling a guy I may or may not have a crush on and asking him to pick me up from a party I’m at with my boyfriend.

  I tap the green button before I can change my mind.

  “Hello?” His voice floats through the phone, all calm and collected. Then, I hear a blood-curdling scream in the background.

  “Oh my God, what’s going on? Who’s screaming?”

  “Hold on,” he says, and then there’s some muffled, scrambling noises. “Dan, turn that down, dude. Blasting the volume is not going to improve your skills.”

  “Uh, hello?”

  “Sorry, the Xbox was too loud.” I hear a door shut on his end, and everything gets quiet. “Who is this?”

  “I…I have your #400.”

  “Oh. Well?”

  “Well what?” I ask in sort of a snippy tone. Then I remember I’m the one who called him, so I probably shouldn’t act snippy.

  “Well, what did you think of it?”

  “I loved it,” I blurt out, then slap a hand over my mouth. Even though I know he knows about me liking comics, it stills feels weird actually admitting it.

  “I heard it was good. Did Young One die? Wait, don’t tell me.”

  “Okay, I won’t tell you.”

  “Never mind, tell me. Does he die?”

  “Now I’m really not going to tell you.” I giggle and tug on a lock of hair. Then, I realize what a fawning girly-girl I’m being and tuck my hand beneath my thigh. “Look, I called because…” I can’t finish.

  “Because?”

  “I kind of need your help,” I finally manage.

  His tone raises a notch with what sounds like worry. “Are you okay?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine, I just… I need a ride.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Sure, where to?”

  In the background, I hear the door open. Dan says, “Dude, is that the chick? What does she want? Is it a booty call? It’s a booty call
, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head as Logan tells him to go away.

  Dan must not listen, because he says, “This can’t end well, my friend. What did I say earlier? A hot chick equals high maintenance, which equals you carrying her purse while she shops for shoes.”

  “Home,” I say before Dan can turn him against me. “I need a ride home.”

  “No problem.” More rustling, the click of a door shutting, then silence. “Where are you now?”

  “Do you know where Candy Southern lives?”

  “Yeah, I can be there in fifteen minutes. Is that okay?”

  “Perfect. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome, Maddie.”

  I go through about a million different feelings and thoughts in the few seconds after he hangs up. He knew it was me at the shop. For sure, he knew. Is he going to tell anyone? He hasn’t yet, not even Dan, though he must’ve said something because Dan called me a “hot chick” while trying to turn Logan against me. Before I can panic about that, I realize Logan was worried about me. That was sweet. He wanted to know what I thought of the book. He’s willing to drive out here for someone he doesn’t know.

  Also, I really liked the way he said my name.

  I run back to tell Terra and Eric I’m heading out. Eric’s too busy winning at giant beer pong—seriously, how hard can it be for a quarterback to toss a football into a five gallon bucket?—to really pay attention to me, but Terra wants to know why I’m leaving.

  “I’m just tired.” That seems to satisfy her because an Allison Blair song comes on and she starts singing it loud enough for everyone to hear.

  I go back to my star-gazing spot, stare at the driveway, and try to think of something witty to say when Logan shows up. Nothing comes.

  What is he going to say? I’m almost positive he’s going to laugh at me, at my predicament. I’m a nerd hidden inside a popular girl’s body, and the only person that can help me right now is someone I’ve hardly even acknowledged for fear of social ruin. Man, he must think I’m just a shallow hypocrite.

  Why do I want to cry all of a sudden?