“Fine.”
He doesn’t say another word, and I’m not going to force him to talk if he doesn’t want to. It’s probably best to just leave him alone. It’s not like I should even be allowed to help him feel better. If what Dan says is true, I should just walk away before I turn into Kelsey. She straight up used him. I’m using him—sort of, though not for nefarious means or anything—and lying to everyone around me about who he is, who I am, and where we go when I’m with him. We pull up next to my car, and there’s a long, uncomfortable silence before I say, “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
I go to open the door, but Logan says, “What’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?” I scrunch up my face. The face paint has hardened so it’s just as uncomfortable as the question he just asked.
“There are some wet wipes in the glove compartment. What I mean is what are we doing? Is this like just some summer experiment to you or…” He trails off and looks out his window.
The accusation is like a punch to the gut. Because he’s totally right. I have been treating this like Las Vegas: what happens in the summer, stays in the summer.
I start scrubbing at my face and hands with the wipes, mostly so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “Was it that girl? Did she say something about me?” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice.
“Don’t worry about her,” he says. “What I mean to say is could you ever see me as… There have been some moments between us, right? I know I’m not imagining them.”
In a span of seconds, those “moments” flash through my mind. Not only do I remember that day in The Phoenix when I was dying to read #400 and our impromptu happy dance in front of Mr. Whiskers, but I also remember moments he doesn’t know about. Like the time I watched him try and fail to open his locker for five minutes, then spent the rest of that day fantasizing about what would have happened if I had gone over and helped him. Or when I talked the squad into cheering at a soccer game just so I’d have a reason to see him play.
But those memories are quickly replaced with moments that haven’t happened yet. Moments like seeing Logan in the hall on the first day of senior year and having to pretend I don’t know him. Rayann asking, “Who was that?” and me answering, “I have no idea.”
I don’t want to do that to him. Which is why I say, “No. No moments. I have a boyfriend. You know this, Logan.”
His lips slowly tighten into a thin line. “Just… Whatever. It doesn’t matter.” He sounds so angry, so hurt. He climbs out of the car and slams the door. If that isn’t a screw-you, I don’t know what is. He doesn’t even turn around to make sure I get out of his car. Just strides up the steps to his house and disappears inside.
By the time I finally get into my car and dig through my purse looking for something to help with this paint, my hands are shaking. Logan’s the first person outside of my family to accept me for who I am, and I’ve stomped all over him. The NerdCon pass surfaces with the package of tissue I find, and I look at the ceiling of my car, wishing I wasn’t such a jerk. Logan’s pissed at me, and rightfully so, but it looks like I’m not done dragging him through the mud yet.
As I walk back to Logan’s car, my feet feel so heavy I actually look down to make sure I’m not wearing Dan’s boots. This is tough because giving the pass back this way means we probably won’t have any more contact other than the occasional awkward run-in at school. For a second, I look back at his house, wishing he’d come back, but that would just make this harder.
I open the car door, drop the pass on the seat, and leave.
#14
Mom is sleeping on the couch in her grandma nightgown when I get home. I sneak upstairs to wash all the stupid Smurf paint off and change into pajamas. Mom always complains the next day about muscle cramps if she sleeps all night on the couch, so I tiptoe back downstairs to wake her up.
“Mom,” I whisper and shake her shoulder. “I’m home. Go to bed.”
She snorts lightly, and her eyes pop open. She always wakes up like this, which freaks me out at first, and then I have to giggle, but tonight, at this moment, nothing is funny.
“Hey, honey, did you have a good time?” she says sluggishly.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“What happened?” she says in that mom-way, like she knows something is wrong.
“Nothing.” I put on an oblivious face. “Nothing happened. Go to bed, okay?”
“Are you sure?”
I start to tell her I’m sure, that nothing happened, but she knows me better than anyone.
“Something happened. You want to talk about it?”
Yes! I would love to talk about it. I can feel the words bubbling up. It’s crazy how Mom has a way of pulling things out of me, but I can’t admit I lied to her about where I was going tonight. So, I try to tell her only the parts she needs to know.
“There’s this guy,” I say.
“Ah, I think I know where this is going.” She sits up and settles in to listen.
“I mean, I know I’m with Eric right now, and he’s awesome. Well, kind of. In a superficial sort of way.” I frown. Wow. How do you really feel, Maddie? “Anyway, I feel bad because I really like this other guy. He’s funny, and we have a lot in common and—”
“Like what?”
Think fast. Do not confess how much or Mom will be all over you. “Uh, like, we’re both going to be in honors classes next year.”
“A smart guy. I like it.”
“Yeah, but Eric is in Florida, and he won’t be back for at least another two or three weeks. I don’t want to break up with him over the phone, you know.” And there it is. Mom has once again tugged out a truth I myself didn’t even know existed. I let out a deep sigh I’ve been holding in ever since Logan suggested he was just my summer experiment.
“Do you want my advice?” Mom always says this because we used to fight all the time over her giving me her opinion about clothes, nail polish, or whatever when I really didn’t want it.
“Yes, Mom, I want your advice.” After the last big fight we had, we made an agreement: she would have to ask the question and I would have to actually say these words in order for her to continue.
“I know you don’t want to break up with Eric over the phone, but if you intend on spending time with this new guy, then you need to call Eric. Either that or tell this new guy he can wait until Eric gets back and you can break up with him properly. It’s all about how you treat people. You have to be considerate of Eric’s feelings.”
Of course, this is exactly what I didn’t want to hear, but Mom’s right. This has to be done.
…
In the morning, I pick up my phone to call Eric, but I just stare at the screen. Am I really about to do this? Break up with the most wanted guy in school for Logan, a guy I’ve only really known for not even two weeks? Mom’s right, but what will this really accomplish? I’ll ruin Eric’s vacation. How can that be the best thing to do?
The only other option sucks. Ask Logan to “wait for me” until Eric gets back? What is this? The fifties?
I put my phone down and try to do normal, everyday things. Maybe if I give the problem a little breathing room, it’ll work itself out.
Yeah, right.
I’m doing the dishes when I catch myself staring out the window, wondering what Logan is doing at that very second. As I fold clothes with Mom, we watch her soap opera which incites images of Eric freaking out after my call. Would he be so distraught he would throw himself off a pier, all the while professing his love for me? I doubt it. We’re not in love. He knows it. I know it.
I go through this same cycle for the entire day, plus most of the next. It’s around 6:30 that next evening when I finally decide to really analyze the situation.
Approaching this as scientifically as possible, I open a blank document on my laptop and set up two pros and cons lists, one each for Logan and Eric. When I’m done, the scales are obviously tipped. The best pro I can come up with for Eric is he
washed my car for me two months ago. That is nothing compared to Logan being a horrid dancer, which I consider a pro because it’s adorable.
My decision is made.
I call Eric immediately before my courage fades, but surprise, surprise, he doesn’t answer.
“Hey, Eric,” I say to his voice mail. “I wanted to let you know that I, um… The thing is… We need to talk. About important stuff. Relationship stuff. Like, whether or not we should be together stuff, because I don’t think we should be. So yeah. Um. Give me a call as soon as possible, please?”
When I hang up, all I can think is, Oh yeah, Maddie, ‘please’ is really going to lessen the blow. Great job! But a big weight does feel like it’s been lifted. It’s done. Eric and I are finished. Now to talk to Logan and beg for forgiveness.
…
The radio station is tucked in the middle of the campus in a small brick building surrounded by the Keyser Hall and Rapides dorms. Logan’s is the only other car in the lot. I’m sitting in the same spot where I parked only two nights ago.
He’s in there right now, probably shuffling through CDs, pressing buttons, or whatever it is he’s supposed to do to get ready for his show. Maybe I should wait and talk to him later. Is being a disc jockey like being a football player? Do they have to get all testoteroned out and focused before air-time? Would I throw him off his voice-game? Could I wait until tomorrow? No, definitely not.
A Jeep whips into the parking lot, and out hops Ben. He’s a short, black guy with down-to-his-waist long dreadlocks. He fast-walks toward the door, but I call to him before he gets there.
“Ben?”
“Yeah?” He skids to a halt.
“Hi, I’m here to talk to Logan real quick. Can you show me where—”
His brows furrow. “You’re the cheerleader, right?”
“I’m a cheerleader. I don’t know if I’m the cheerleader.”
He crosses his arms and leans back a little as he looks at me like he’s sizing me up. I suddenly wish I’d put a little more effort into my outfit. A T-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops doesn’t exactly scream, “I’m the woman of his dreams.”
“All right,” he says after a few seconds. “I probably shouldn’t allow this, but I need my talent to be happy. You are here to make him happy, right?” He points a scolding finger at me.
I straighten my back. “Yes.”
He nods once and continues on to the door. I follow him down a skinny hallway. The walls are cinder blocks painted in a glossy white and the carpet is the same low-quality kind that’s in every school. The place smells like dust and Cup O Noodles.
Ben leads me to a small room that looks like every radio station I’ve ever seen in the movies, except not as glamorous. It’s cramped and very dark. The control board or whatever you call it looks like it needs some work. Some of the knobs are missing. The Plexiglas window that separates us from the deejay booth is dull and could use a good long soak in a Windex bubble bath. I can see Logan through it, though. He’s sitting at a crescent-shaped table with headphones on, flipping through a stack of CDs. My heart squeezes, then goes into overdrive at the sight of him.
Ben knocks on the window, bringing me back to my senses. Logan looks up from his CDs at Ben, then squints at me, trying to see through the horrible window, I guess. He picks up his glasses from the table and shoves them on his face. My stomach flutters, and my knees go a little weak. Who knew glasses could be so sexy? I try to smile and wave, but I’m sure I just look like I’m in pain. Behind the black-rimmed glasses, his eyes grow large.
We stay like that for what feels like eternity, Logan just staring and me with my hand suspended in the air, a questioning grimace on my face. Finally, he blinks a few times and waves for me to come in. I can feel a real honest-to-God smile take over my lips.
Ben leans over a microphone and presses a button. “You have less than two minutes until we go live.”
Logan nods but continues to wave me in. I stumble over the leg of a rolling chair that’s pushed up to the control panel as I head for the little swinging door that leads into Logan’s booth. I thank all that is good and holy when I don’t face plant into the wall.
When I finally make it inside, Logan stands. “What are you doing here, Maddie?”
My heart squeezes again at the sound of my name. “I wanted to talk to you. About the other night.”
He doesn’t respond, just keeps flipping through the CDs.
“Dude, one minute,” Ben’s voice says from somewhere above me. I look up to see an old box speaker hanging on the wall.
“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Logan picks up a tall stack of CDs, using his chin to help balance them against his chest, and stomps toward me. I plaster myself to the wall on my right so he can shove the CDs through the door and into Ben’s waiting hands.
“Here’s the playing order.” Logan pulls a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and hands it to Ben. He closes the door and turns to me. How close we are now reminds me of the aquarium, of how I could see his contacts. But, this time, his lips are tight.
“What is it?”
The dusty smell disappears to be replaced by his smell. If it’s a cologne, it’s a subtle one. Maybe it’s his soap. Whatever it is, it smells really, really good. Kind of earthy but clean. I suddenly have the urge to bury my face against his neck and take a deep whiff.
“Come on, dude. Let’s get a move on,” Ben’s voice says from above us again.
Logan raises his eyebrows in a silent, “Well?”
“I like your glasses.” That’s it. That’s all I can say. It’s all his fault, really. Obviously, my brain is not able to function properly when he’s this close.
His stance relaxes as he lets out a long, slow breath. “You want to sit?” He reaches over and pulls a rolling stool up next to him, sits in his seat, then puts on his headphones.
When I sit down, our knees bang together. I try to say I’m sorry, but he just shhh-es me. I’m about to scoot away and give him his space when he shoves another set of headphones at me. I slip them over my ears, thinking how nice he is for wanting me to be able to hear the music.
Ben’s voice echos through the headphones, “Five… Four… Three…” Through the window, I watch him hold up two fingers, then one, and then he points at Logan.
The ceiling light above us flickers, then dims as Logan leans toward the microphone on the table. Looks like this place could use some electrical wiring work, too.
“Hello, everyone, and welcome to another broadcast of Logan’s Show of Awesome. We have some spectacular music planned for tonight, as always, but tonight is special, folks.”
I lean forward and prop my chin on my fist, letting his voice melt over me.
“Tonight, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”
The words take a while to register in my mind. I sit up and stare at him. Slowly, that knowing smile I’ve grown accustomed to creeps across his lips.
“Say hi to the awesome listeners, Wonderful Wendy.”
#15
Logan pushes the microphone on its stand toward me. I look from him to the mic, then shake my head. He nods. I shake my head more fiercely, but he nods more. I mouth the words “I hate you,” and he grins.
“Hi,” I say into the mic, but I’m apparently too close. Logan jumps and scoots the mic away a little. “Sorry,” I whisper.
He leans in to speak. “So, Wonderful Wendy, what has been awesome about your day?”
I get close to the microphone, too, expecting him to move back, but he doesn’t. “Nothing really.”
“Come on, something had to be awesome.”
I shake my head.
He points at the mic.
“Nope, nothing.”
“That’s too bad, but then again, life is all about yin and yang, right? Things can’t always be awesome. So, let’s go with that. What was so not awesome about your day?”
I make sure to keep my eyes on his as I speak. “Well, I’ve been feeling bad about hurting so
meone. I said something I really didn’t mean, and now this person probably hates me, which sucks. A lot. This person was right, and I should have admitted it.”
A few seconds of silence goes by. We’re sitting so close our knees are not only touching but are interlaced.
“That does suck.” The way he says it is like he’s not speaking to the audience. He’s talking just to me. “What do y’all think, listeners? Got any advice for Wonderful Wendy or want to commiserate? Give us a call.”
Logan flips a switch on the microphone, and a haunting woman’s voice begins to sing through my headphones. He moves one side of his headphones off his ear, and I do the same.
“So?” He doesn’t sound accusatory anymore. He sounds more…hopeful.
“You were right. There have been moments between us.” I look down at our knees and notice a worn hole in his jeans. I touch the exposed skin with the tip of my finger.
“And?”
I tap my foot, anxious about what he’ll think of this next part. “And… If you’re willing to forgive me, I’d like for there to be more of our moments.”
“So, you and Eric? Is there still a you and Eric?”
“Nope, that’s over.” Eric has to have listened to the voice mail by now and is too busy having fun to call back. I didn’t expect him to be very concerned about us breaking up. There are plenty of other cheerleaders to act as his arm candy, thank God.
A crease forms between Logan’s brows. Maybe it’s the heartbreaking ambiance the music is creating, but I get this feeling like he wants to reveal something important.
“Maddie, I have to tell you…” He leans even closer to me and whispers, “I’ve…”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve… Never been lucky. With girls. With relationships. That whole thing. I guess, maybe, I overreacted the other night. I’m sorry. It’s just, you’re you, you know?”
“You didn’t overreact. I was being a jerk.”
He frowns even harder and opens his mouth like he’s about comfort me, tell me I wasn’t being a horrible person, but I shake my head.
It takes me a bit to get my words straight. “I like you, Logan. I like who I am when I’m around you. You’re fun and considerate. And I trampled all over that. Like you said. I’m me and I’m trying to…fix that, but—”
The Summer I Became a Nerd Page 10