Romancing the Nerd

by Leah Rae Miller

  I don’t knock, I just walk in because I’m practically a member of the Scott family. And just as expected, they’re setting up a game of cards.

  “Hey Dan, would you like to play Nertz with us?” Martha asks as she digs out decks of cards from the junk drawer in the kitchen.

  Nertz is a fast-paced multi-solitaire that can get very dangerous especially when the Scotts play. And I mean ‘dangerous’ literally. I’ve seen blood drawn and fingers jammed.

  “Good Lord, no. I’d like to keep all my phalanges, please.” I wiggle my fingers at her and she laughs.

  Logan comes down the stairs and plops his lucky Star Wars themed deck on the table. “What’s up, dude?”

  I take a seat, leaning back on the rear two legs of the chair. “Oh, ya know, same old stuff. Just had a huge fight with my dad, can’t figure out what to do about Zelda. Had some sushi. Another beautiful day in the neighborhood, my friend.”

  He frowns at me. “Well, that…sucks?”

  “Yes, of course it sucks,” I snap at him.

  “Is everything going to be okay with your dad?” Martha asks, ever the caring mother, even to people who are not her children.

  “I hope so. I took FinityGirl’s, I mean Zelda’s, advice and told the whole truth and nothing but the truth. I kind of went off, but I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

  “That’s all you can do. I’m sure it’ll work out. But what’s this about calling Zelda FinityGirl?” Martha motions for me to stop leaning back in the chair.

  Logan sits next to me. “It’s a long story, Mom. What’s happening with Zelda?”

  I rub my hand down my face, still frustrated. “I can’t think of what to do for her. It has to be perfect and it’s driving me crazy. I’m going insane, dude.”

  Logan shakes his head. “Why don’t you just tell her that you know?”

  “She runs off anytime I come near. Besides, I want this to be big.” Vera comes downstairs then, and I glare at her. “And it’s all this one’s fault.” I point an accusing finger at her.

  Her mouth drops open. “What did I do?”

  “You told me to go home and think about things.”

  Logan turns on Vera. “You told him to ‘think about things’? Don’t you know what happens when he over-thinks? Bad things, that’s what.”

  I wait for Vera to turn into Dr. Scott, but it never happens. “I didn’t do anything. I just told him what Mom always says, ‘Always watch where you put your feet.’”

  Logan rolls his eyes. “That just means don’t trip over stuff. Ya know, don’t be clumsy.” Vera and Martha share a look, and Logan catches it. “That is what it means, right?”

  Vera opens her mouth to explain, but Logan holds up a hand to stop her. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. So what are you going to do, Dan?”

  “I’m never going to take advice from your sister again, that’s for sure.”

  He snorts. “Good idea. And Zelda?”

  “No clue.”

  “You want to know what I think?” he asks, and I nod. “Stop being an idiot, number one. Do something nice for her, then be honest. Tell her how you feel. Women do not like games, dude.”

  Martha goes to speak but stops. She smiles at Logan and pats him on the back. “I raised you so well.”

  Zelda

  Step one of the new and improved plan was to find an inside man. Back in our junior high days, Olivia Rachelle, Beth, and I were the troublesome trio, the triple threat, the trifecta of awesome. Then puberty hit us all, Olivia harder than Beth and me, and her inauguration into the popular circle was quick. Even though Beth and I have always felt a little hurt by her change in friend circles, we never wished her any ill will because she tried so hard to include us. It was a weird situation. Really, it was us who shunned her. Of course, this happened long ago, and Beth and I didn’t know any better. We’ve been civil to each other over the past few years.

  Olivia and I quickly fell into an easy conversation when I called, further proving how stupid my beliefs were. She’s a cheerleader and was happy to get the squad to team up with the band.

  Step two was obtaining all the equipment needed, which meant talking to Mr. Drew. I was lucky that I hit him up on a good day, meaning his rant level was at level yellow instead of red.

  “Do you have a projector back there in the radio room?” I asked between classes one day.

  “Of course I do. What kind of media teacher do you think I am? I have electronics of all sorts. Including the ones your Insta-twitter-chatsnap generation has forgotten about.”

  I wait for his rant to end because there’s no stopping him once he gets going. “Good job, Drew, preserving the artifacts and all, but I was hoping to borrow the projector, maybe some speakers?”

  His face scrunches up as he decides, which is weird because he has a lot, I mean a lot, of wrinkles and every one of them seems to be helping him choose whether or not to trust me with expensive equipment. “Okay, but I’m going to need you to grade some papers for me.”

  “How many papers?” Last time, when I asked to borrow some speakers for the annual Natchitoches Small Business Festival, I didn’t lock down a specific number and I ended up staying late to grade papers for five Fridays in a row.

  “Make it two Tuesday tests and you’ve got a deal.”

  We shake on it.

  Step three was the scariest. I wanted to talk to Cindy LeDeaux. She’s kind of a queen bee at school. She’s gorgeous and talented at many things, including coming up with disses aimed at my fashion choices. It took most of lunch to build up the courage to approach her. Finally, just before the bell was about to ring for class, and people were milling around their lockers, I closed my eyes tight and pictured little equipment manager Colin. I remembered every cringe-inducing scene I’d witnessed that involved one person embarrassing another just because they were different. If this plan could make even one person think about changing their ways, then it was worth talking to Cindy.

  “Hey Cindy?” My voice was barely above a whisper at first and she didn’t hear me. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hey Cindy?” This time it came out much louder, almost a yell.

  She turned to me, her brows knitted together, and they didn’t unknit at the sight of me. “Yeah?”

  “I have a favor to ask you.”

  She scoffed. “Oh, this should be good. Go ahead.”

  I let out a sigh, trying my damnedest to hold onto my courage and not run away like a frightened Neville Longbottom. “Do you think you could help perform a song at the pep rally this Friday?”

  She opened her mouth to deliver some prepared insult, then she paused and her eyes lit up. She’s been a pageant girl since she was in diapers and to hear her tell it, it was Jesus’s grand plan for her to entertain the world. “Will I be singing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lead?”

  “Of course. No one else has a voice like you.” It never hurts to grease the wheels.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  And that was that. Relief flowed through me so hard.

  Then the only thing left was talking to the yearbook committee, which was a breeze, since Beth is on it.

  Throughout the week, I went from many highs to many lows. I wavered between feeling proud and excited to feeling downright terrified. What if we don’t get a routine down in time? What if the equipment doesn’t work right? What-ifs are a bitch.

  By the end of school on Friday, I’m a ball of nerves.

  “Are you going to puke? You look like you’re going to puke,” Beth says to me now as I hoist my tuba.

  “No… Yes… Maybe… Probably.”

  “It’s going to be great. Don’t worry.”

  The students have been gathered in the gym, and the level of excitement, or rather the lack thereof, makes me think this whole thing will be a total failure. But it’s too late to pull the plug.

  The principal steps up to the podium in the middle of the court and taps the microphone, causing it to pop and
squeal. I have to give the man credit, Principal Brockner tries really hard. He wants the student body to participate and get excited, but what he doesn’t understand is that no one really gives a crap. Our team isn’t anywhere near hitting the finals this year, and even in years when we did, there still wasn’t that much interest from the students. During the games, the stands were populated by parents, siblings, family, and close friends. They were not full of people bursting with school pride.

  “All right everyone, settle down. Settle down.” And when people still aren’t paying attention, he puts on his big-boy voice. “Settle down!”

  The gym goes could-hear-a-pin-drop quiet, and Brockner continues. “Tonight we face off against—” The lights flicker and murmurs start. Brockner looks confused as he’s led away by two cheerleaders and the podium is dragged to the side of the court. Everyone’s looking around, then the lights dim and the music starts.

  It’s just a voice at first, then Cindy LeDeaux walks slowly from the double doors. She hits that note perfectly and the rest of the band prepares to hit the next beat. We step out onto the court from the same door that Cindy made her entrance. Right on cue, the band sings out the chorus of a song the entire audience definitely knows the words to. It’s a song that’s all over the radio right now. It’s about being young and going through life and just trying to make it. It’s also a song about friends and being a part of something bigger.

  The cheer squad makes their entrance with backflips and tumbles and confetti. The projector kicks on and Colin the equipment manager’s big grinning face stares back at the audience. The drums unleash, pounding beat after beat, as the cheerleaders find a shocked Colin and lead him to stand next to Cindy. She wraps an arm around his shoulders, encouraging him to sing along. The projector shuffles to the next picture and the next in time with the rhythm of the music, each one a happy image of one of our very own students. The cheerleaders find each person in the stands and pull him or her forward even if their target is reluctant. But about halfway through the song, people flood the court whether their picture has been shown or not.

  My heart races as I play my tuba, dancing in unison with the band and the cheerleaders, and it’s kind of hard to play the instrument when my mouth wants to break into a huge smile. And, as expected, Principal Brockner is just as into the spectacle as everyone else. I even see Mr. Drew up there by the projector doing a little shuffle.

  The song evolves into sort of a tribal beat that’s easy for even the most rhythmically challenged person to clap along with. Then we all join the cheerleaders in one of the school’s most well known chants. It ends on, “We are the mighty, mighty Chiefs!” Everyone knows to stomp on the last word and it’s like Louisiana just witnessed its first earthquake.

  There’s a tiny moment of silence, then the crowd roars and chaos ensues. I’ve never seen this school so pumped. Nor have I ever seen it so…together? The cheerleaders and the band line up then run at each other, high-fiving. The basketball team takes turns rubbing Colin’s head for luck and he’s eating it up. I really hope they win this next game because that could turn Colin into a lucky charm. Heck, it could become a tradition, making future equipment managers a big part of the team.

  I duck into the hall in front of the locker rooms because as much as I love the togetherness of it all, I’ve never been a fan of crowds. I take a seat on one of the wooden benches and prop my tuba next to me. I allow myself some time to bask in the glow of maybe changing the lives of future Natchitoches Central students. I mean, I know this newly created sense of all-for-one isn’t permanent, but it feels like a start.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dan

  When I got back home after watching the Scotts injure and yell at each other all in the name of family togetherness the other night, I found Dad in his office. I asked something like, “Are we cool?” and all I got from him was a stern nod and a grunt. And that’s kind of what I’ve gotten from him all week.

  “Hey Dad, want to watch the new Walking Dead with me?”

  Grunt.

  “Did you see that ludicrous display last night? The Saints seriously need to up their game, am I right?”

  Grunt.

  “I’ve decided to join the Rebel Alliance, Dad. Do you think Grandpa Vader will have a problem with that?”

  Double grunt.

  I gave up after that one.

  Saturday afternoon, I hear something coming from the kitchen downstairs that I’ve only heard twice before in my life: my parents fighting. I can’t hear the whole discussion, but I do make out a few choice words from my mom. “Donkey’s behind” and “stubborn mule” are very clear. A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door.

  “You may enter,” I call.

  Dad opens the door and leans against the doorway. “Son, your mother and I just had a talk.”

  I snort. “So that’s what we’re calling it?”

  He clenches his jaw and I remind myself to reel in the smart mouth routine.

  “As I was saying, your mother and I understand that you have a lot on your plate. And maybe I’m putting too much pressure on you. So, I’m going to ease up because you’re my son and I don’t want you to burn out. But that doesn’t mean—”

  I finish his thought for him. “It doesn’t mean that I can go crazy. I still need to be responsible, get good grades, great grades if at all possible. You’d like for me to finish out the basketball season, but only if I want to. And I’m allowed to take a break from the diet every once in a while. Did I get all that right?”

  He looks down and shakes his head. Did I just make it worse? Am I about to lose any and all privileges? Or more importantly, did I just create a rift between Dad and me that will never close?

  Just as I’m about to take everything back, he laughs, big and loud. “No, you didn’t get it all right.” He slaps a hand on my shoulder and shakes. “You’re wrong about the diet. I never want to see another piece of lettuce in this house unless it’s covering a big juicy burger.”

  We both smile at each other, and he squeezes my shoulder so hard it hurts. The gesture is not meant to be intimidating. I know my dad. It’s meant to represent a hug. It’s meant to stand for an “I love you, son.” So, I mirror the gesture, squeezing his shoulder and smiling. And instead of saying, “Now that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” I hold my tongue. Looks like everyone is making emotional progress this evening.

  He leaves after making me promise that we’ll catch up on Walking Dead later and I check my phone again. I got a message from FinityGirl/Zelda on Monday saying that she’d talked her parents into coming to Natchitoches for New Year’s Eve, since they have relatives here and that we should meet. This makes the Zelda situation a million times better because now I know she wants to own up, make things right.

  But first I want to do something special for her. She wanted revenge when she created FinityGirl, so tonight I plan to give her her satisfaction. The idea struck me when Logan asked me if I was coming to LARP tonight. At first I almost said no because Dad and I still weren’t right, but I remembered what happened in the last game with Zelda. I’ve spent most of the day working on my plan and I think I finally have it perfect.

  I didn’t want to, but I asked Maddie to make sure Zelda was there tonight. The cheerleader will hold this favor over me for the rest of my life and that sucks. The things I do for love.

  It’s the usual pre-game scene at Tommy’s when I get there. I’m wearing normal clothes, so a few people ask where Craytor is tonight. I give them all an automatic, “He’s here. I just didn’t feel like armor tonight,” because I’m concentrating on finding Zelda.

  She’s sitting next to Maddie, hovering over a notebook, writing furiously when I find her.

  “Ladies.” Just saying that one word and knowing it’s partially directed at Zelda causes a little piece of my existence to fall into the right place. I haven’t talked to her in what feels like forever, but it’s really only been days. I realize now what I was doing every ti
me I tried to rile her up over the last year. I was trying to keep her a part of my life by any means necessary. But that tactic isn’t going to work anymore.

  Why did I like FinityGirl so much? Because she was everything I missed about Zelda. How could I not have figured it out sooner?

  “Hey Dan,” Maddie says kind of loudly, and I realize it’s the second time she’s said it. I’ve been standing here staring at Zelda with a goofy grin on my face. Thank God, she was concentrating on writing and not on seeing me act like a lovesick idiot.

  “Yeah, hey. What’re you guys doing?”

  Maddie flips through the LARP of Ages manual she’s holding. “Throwing together a character for Zelda to play tonight.”

  “What a fortuitous coincidence.” I pull out a folded sheet of paper from my back pocket.

  When Zelda still doesn’t look up, I scowl at Maddie and mouth the word, “Go!”

  She gives me a pleading face and also mouths, “Please let me stay.”

  I shake my head and motion for her to stand and get the hell out of here.

  Her shoulders fall and she finally leaves.

  I sit next to Zelda and place the sheet on her notebook. She frowns at me, confused. Her eyelids are covered in solid shimmer and her arms and collarbone are dusted with more shiny stuff. Her nebula-like eyes bore into mine, and when I combine them with all the glitter on her skin, she’s like the galaxy.

  “What’s this?” She unfolds the paper.

  “I took the liberty of making a character for you.”

  It was tough including all the attributes I wanted because you only have a certain amount of points to create a brand new character.

  “I based her on you. Everything I think you are. Or at least as much as I could get.”

  “My physical appearance is really high…” She raises a suspicious eyebrow at me, and I just shrug unapologetically.

  “So is my cunning and manipulation.”

  “I had to be honest. But I consider those good qualities most of the time. It takes a sharp mind to manipulate things.” I catch Maddie over by Logan. He’s making a pain-filled face because she’s squeezing the shit out of his arm while she stares at us.