Romancing the Nerd

by Leah Rae Miller

  Maddie thinks for a second or two before saying, “Maybe asking her to meet is a bit much. How about asking for a video chat first? That way you can get confirmation of her identity without risking the possibility of her being a serial killer or of you having a kidney harvested and waking up in a bathtub full of ice.”

  I take a moment to think this idea over. “That’s actually a really good idea,” I say.

  She scowls at me. “Also, maybe next time, don’t sound so shocked when I have a good idea. It does happen, ya know?”

  Zelda isn’t convinced, though. “I don’t know. What if she says no? Then you probably wouldn’t feel comfortable talking to her anymore and you’d stop. Do you want to risk losing that?”

  I pace back and forth. She’s right. It would suck to lose FinityGirl. She’s been there for me when I didn’t feel comfortable talking to anyone else. But after she helped me with the whole thing with my dad, I have this overwhelming need to see her face, to hear her voice. “I don’t want to lose her, no, but I just have to know.”

  Zelda

  I’m so very screwed on so many levels. Dan is going to ask for a video chat and I’m going to have to say no. I haven’t gotten even one tiny tidbit from him and it looks like I won’t be able to continue digging. I have to fix this. Then there’s level two of screwedness: the fact that I’ve had several moments of actually liking him today. He’s been nice and impossibly, dare I say it, attractive. That hooded stare of his coupled with being wrapped in his arms, which were surprisingly strong, at The Phoenix made me want to melt into a Zelda-sized puddle. And what he said about other-me was so sweet. No one’s ever said something like that about me that wasn’t either a friend or family or imaginary.

  Even now, as we pull into my driveway, I have to grin at how he knows every word to Allison Blair’s new song “Suck it Up.” When I realize I’m just staring at him, probably with a goofy look on my face, I go to open the door so I can make a quick escape. But when I unlock it, he locks it right back with one of the multitude of buttons on his steering wheel. He turns the song up as it hits the chorus and begins to belt out the lyrics, singing to me like he wants me to join him. And I swear on Captain Mal’s pretty, floral bonnet, he is a horrible singer.

  I refuse to join in, but I do laugh at his elaborate hand gestures. “All right, this is your car, not Carnegie Hall.”

  He scowls at me and unlocks the door. “In my humble, but totally correct, opinion, life isn’t worth living if you’re not always pretending to perform at Carnegie Hall.”

  I shake my head and open the door, but a quick glance at my front porch has me plopping back into the seat. “Damn it.”

  “What?” He looks at the porch, too, and sees exactly what.

  A big box is blocking the front door.

  “Must be the dryer Mom ordered. They were supposed to come tomorrow. And I don’t have a back-door key.”

  “I’ll help.” He jumps out of the car before I can stop him.

  “Nonono, don’t worry about it.” The last thing I need is to spend any more time around him, or to be indebted to him.

  He ignores my protests completely, of course, because he’s a stubborn jackass, and jogs up to the porch. As I approach he says, “Shouldn’t be too heavy for your girly-girl arms.”

  I shake a fist at him. “Wanna see what these girly-girl arms can do to your face?”

  He holds his hands up in surrender. “I was just kidding, jeez. I’m willing to bet those arms could do much damage. Okay, you open the door and we’ll get this thing where it’s supposed to go.”

  I move to unlock the front door, being very careful not to brush against him in any way. The other last thing I need is to turn to puddle-Zelda right now. I have to scramble and lean over the box to reach the keyhole. What kind of idiot deliverymen were these?

  I feel Dan’s hand lightly wrap around my free arm. I look at his hand, then at him over my shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

  “Making sure you don’t hurt yourself. If you haven’t noticed, you tend to—”

  I don’t let him finish. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  Finally, I unlock the door and push it open. With that done, we stand on opposite sides.

  “You ready?” he asks and lifts his end of the box.

  I nod and lift my end. It takes a good ten minutes of shoving and maneuvering for us to realize we’ll have to unpack the damn thing to get it through the door.

  Dan pulls out his keys, which have a Swiss Army knife keychain, and slices open the box. As we yank out Styrofoam and plastic packaging, I revisit the effyeahFinityGirl conversation. “So, you really want to meet this online girl?”

  He grabs a sheet of bubble wrap to entertain himself while he takes a moment to think. Pop, pause, pop, pop, pause.

  “Dan?” I say impatiently.

  Finally he hands me the bubble wrap and nods. “Yeah, I do. I’m not one to not take action, as you very well know. I’m not going to waste time on someone who’s not worth it. And I won’t be catfished.”

  I pop a bubble. “Catfished?”

  “You haven’t seen that movie? Or the show?” He shakes his head like I’m so very uneducated. “Well, it’s when someone starts a relationship online, but they’re posing as someone else, tricking the other person. It’s one thing to leave out insignificant details but it’s a different thing to totally fabricate your entire existence.”

  I have to talk him out of this, to give myself some more time. “But what if she thinks the same about you? Or what if she has really bad social anxiety? Wouldn’t asking for a video chat freak her out?”

  He shrugs out of his hoodie, tossing it on the porch swing before ripping the box apart. “Doesn’t matter. I mean, I’d hate to cause her distress, obviously, but… I don’t know. If she is who she says she is, then this is definitely the best thing for both of us.”

  God, why is he so hard-headed and ridiculous and muscly and, oh my, is that a tattoo of the Death Eaters’ Dark Mark I see on his upper arm, peeking out from his short sleeve?

  I catch my thoughts and shake my head to clear it. Get back in the game, Potts. “All I’m saying is maybe you should give it more time. Don’t rush into this. Not only do you need to be sure, but she needs to be sure of you. You need to give her a reason to trust you. Confide in her. And remember, patience is a virtue.”

  He stands straight and rubs the back of his neck in thought. Yep, that sure is a tattoo of the Dark Mark. Maybe it’s because I’ve always ’shipped Draco and Hermione, but I find Slytherins extremely sexy. He’s not eighteen yet, so I want to ask how he got that very Potterhead tattoo, but I don’t because I need to keep him on this train of thought.

  He sighs, giving in. “Okay, you’re right. But I’m putting a time limit on it. Two weeks at most.”

  Thank God. I can handle two weeks. I’m just going to have to up my game. It should be easier now if he takes my advice and is more open with effyeah. “That’s very smart of you,” I say, trying to make it seem like this was all his idea.

  And it works. “I know,” he says and motions to the dryer. “Now. Let’s get this sucker inside.”

  On three, we lift and it takes a few pauses before we get the thing in its spot in the laundry room at the back of the house.

  After a couple of five-minute YouTube videos on setting up dryers, Dan connects all the pipes and whatever in the back of the dryer then stands. He lifts the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and I have primo seats at the ripped, flat stomach show. My own stomach does a little tumble and heat rushes to my cheeks. I try to put distance between us by taking a few steps back because this is getting too much for me to handle. Unfortunately, I trip over an empty laundry basket. I reach out, hoping to cling onto something that will stop my fall, but I grab the last thing that would be helpful. The box of laundry detergent comes down hard on my face and the white powder covers everything, including me, from the neck down. Because that’s how my luck works. I might
almost get knocked unconscious and covered in soap, but at least it doesn’t get in my eyes.

  Once I hit the floor and the cloud of detergent clears a little, I open my eyes. Dan stands above me, his arm stretched out toward me, frozen in shock. At least he tried to save me. His expression goes from shock to laughing his ass off in two seconds. I’m a crumpled heap on the floor and he thinks it’s funny.

  I can’t help but lash out. My foot connects with his shin, lightning fast, and he buckles, his hands hitting the floor. But he doesn’t stop laughing. He crawls toward me and grabs my shoulders, pulling me up.

  “Are you okay?” His words are interspersed with laughs.

  He checks me for injures, but I can’t look away from his eyes. They lock, our eyes, and stay that way. His laughter stops abruptly. The setting sun filters in through the window, reflecting off the particles of laundry detergent still floating in the air, creating a fragrant mist that seems to separate us from the outside world, and his hands slide down to touch the skin of my upper arms. His fingers tense and his lips part. My gaze darts to his lips for a millisecond then goes back to his eyes, only to catch them glancing at my mouth, too. He leans in so quickly that I take a rapid, surprised breath. He pauses, his lips a hairsbreadth from mine.

  “Z?” He’s asking for permission.

  For some weird, totally unexpected reason that I can’t understand right now, I close my eyes and he closes the distance between our lips. It starts as a slow-moving kiss. He’s in no hurry, and neither am I because apparently all my wits, all my thoughts and concerns, have decided to take a vacation. And when his hand moves up over my shoulder to settle on the side of my neck, I’m really glad my wits decided to take a break, because this is too good.

  He slants to the other side, his mouth opening just enough for him to taste my bottom lip with his tongue, and a realization slams into me.

  This is my first kiss.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dan

  It had to be done. I felt like there was no other action to take. In that moment, if I didn’t kiss Zelda Potts, I’d regret it to the end of my days. My head wants to analyze the situation, but then I brush my thumb over her earlobe, and she makes a contented noise. All I can process is the soft smoothness of her skin and how her hand at the back of my neck sends chills scuttling all over me. I’ve had a little bit of experience with making out, but it was never like this. Those other times feel tiny and insignificant compared to this. There’s electricity and heat and a need to never not be doing this. And amidst all the newness and fire, there’s also a feeling of rightness and cool comfort. Like this is where I’m meant to be. She’s where I’m meant to be.

  I register a sound, but it’s far off, not important. Then there’s a voice, and Zelda’s fingers on my neck tighten to the point of pain. I pull back and try to get my breathing under control, a futile endeavor if there ever was one.

  “Zelda, honey, are you here? Whose car is that out front?” that stupid, interrupting voice asks from the front of the house.

  Zelda’s eyes go wide. “My mom.”

  I stand in a hurry and help Zelda up. We dust laundry detergent from ourselves and I don’t really mind that I can smell and taste soap, because underneath it is the smell and taste of cotton candy.

  “Zelda?” her mom calls again, this time with a hint of worry in her voice.

  “Back here, Mom.”

  I try to look into Zelda’s eyes one more time before Mrs. Potts appears and kills the mood, but she won’t make eye contact. She grabs the broom from the corner and starts sweeping.

  Mrs. Potts is there suddenly with her hands on her hips. “Good Lord, what happened? Oh, hello, Daniel. Haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “Hi, um, Zelda had a spill, but we got the dryer hooked up and ready for duty, ma’am.” I salute her and glance at Zelda, hoping to get a smile from her, but she still won’t look at me.

  Mrs. Potts takes the broom from Zelda. “I’ll finish up. You two go pull a couple of pizzas from the freezer. The least I can do is feed you for helping out, Daniel.”

  Zelda pipes up quickly. “He can’t. He’s on a diet. He’s gotta go anyway, right?”

  “No, actually, I can sta—” Zelda pinches the sensitive skin on the back of my arm like my MeeMaw used to do when I interrupted the “grown folks talking.” “Ow!” I yelp and rub the sore spot.

  Zelda raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you sure? I’d hate for your dad to get upset about you breaking your diet.”

  Is she…blackmailing me? The treacherous minx.

  I squint at her, trying to convey all my hatred. Two can play the blackmail game. “I guess you’re right, I do have some homework to catch up on since we missed half—”

  She pushes me into the kitchen. “Okay, well, you better get to that. Thanks for all the help. I’ll just walk you out, then.”

  I barely get out a “Have a good night” to Mrs. Potts before Zelda drags me to the front door.

  “Don’t forget your hoodie,” is all she says before slamming the door in my face.

  I want to yell. I want to bang on the door and demand an explanation, but I don’t do any of that. Can’t come off as a nutjob to Mrs. Potts if I ever want to see Zelda again. And despite her own nutjob behavior, hanging out with her and having most of that time actually be civilized felt really good.

  Instead, I snatch up my hoodie and stomp to my car. I pull out my phone and type out a quick text to the puzzling female herself.

  Me: What the hell was that all about?

  A second later, she responds.

  Zelda: That was a mistake. Let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?

  Is she right? Was that a mistake? It didn’t feel like one. When I get home a few minutes later, I’m ready to head upstairs for a shower during which I will not need to use a dab of cleaning products, but Dad calls me from the kitchen. I round the corner and Mom’s there, too, chopping a myriad of vegetables, probably to stuff into next week’s horrible school lunches. This does not brighten my mood.

  “I got another call from your coach,” Dad says as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

  Great. Perfect. Fantastic. I completely forgot about the team meeting after school today. “Oh man, I forgot the meeting. My bad.” I whisk past Dad, hoping this will just blow over.

  “My bad? You can’t miss stuff like that, Daniel. It’s important to… Why do you smell like a flower garden?”

  “I was helping Zelda put in a new dryer and the box of detergent spilled.” I shrug and pray he’ll respect the fact that I was doing something nice for someone else and give me a break on the meeting.

  No such luck. He takes off his trademark cap and slaps the counter with it. “That’s why you missed an important meeting? Because of a girl?”

  “It wasn’t an ‘important’ meeting, Dad. I bet most of the team didn’t show up. I also bet their parents won’t be getting phone calls about them missing, because their parents aren’t crazy people. And yeah, I was helping out a friend. Is that forbidden, too? Is ‘No friends’ a new rule?” Sure, I don’t know if I’d technically call Zelda a “friend,” but he doesn’t need to know that.

  Dad goes slack-jawed for a few seconds, and I realize I just stepped into a Jabba the Hut sized pile of crap. I’ve never been very good at wrangling my sarcastic mouth.

  Mom notices, too, and tries to steer the conversation away from a fight. “Zelda? Didn’t you two used to hang out a lot? Red hair? A tendency to wear boots with skirts? I liked her. Would have loved to give her a thorough makeover, though.”

  “Layla, not now, please,” Dad snaps at her, and she scowls at him. “That’s it, son. I’ve tried to be reasonable.”

  I scoff at the word “reasonable,” which doesn’t help my case. It just earns me a tight-lipped frown from Dad.

  He holds out his hand palm up. “Your phone. Give it to me. And your keys. And I’ll be changing the password on the router, so no internet until you’ve proven you
can act responsibly.”

  It’s my turn to stare slack-jawed. He’s completely, totally, utterly, horribly serious.

  I tilt my chin up. My next words come from a place of desperation. “No, Dad.” Maybe this is me being a hormonal teenager. Maybe this is me testing boundaries. I like to think this is me taking a stand. I feel very Katniss Everdeen in this moment.

  I catch Mom’s face as she looks from me to Dad and back to me. It’s like she’s watching a train wreck and just can’t look away.

  My dad wipes a hand down his face, his favorite I’m-so-fed-up gesture. “Daniel, so help me God, if you don’t—” My mom’s light touch on his shoulder stops him speaking.

  “I don’t like saying this,” I tell him. “I don’t like sounding like a spoiled brat, but you have no idea what these things mean to me. If you take away my phone or cut me off from the internet, I’ll quit.”

  “Quit?” he asks.

  “I’ll quit the team.”

  Zelda

  My old nemesis, conflicting emotions, tried its damnedest to worm its way back into my brain. And it succeeded briefly. For a few minutes there, I wasn’t sure if I hated Dan or not. In fact, I was starting to think I might feel the opposite of hatred for him. I won’t say the dreaded four-letter word because I defeated my enemy and am back in my right mind. In my eyes, Dan Garrett is once again the traitorous jerk he always was. In fact, he just added the descriptor “letch” to the long list of asshat qualities I have for him.

  Not an hour after talking about effyeah’s awesomeness, how he wants to meet her, and how he wants to hook up with her (yes, I know he didn’t actually say that last part, but I know he was thinking it), he’s making out with a girl in a laundry room. Granted that girl was me in both cases, but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t know that. And I don’t care how great that kiss was, or how it felt comfortable and exhilarating at the same time, the mission is not abandoned. If anything, I’m ready to get really serious.