Geek Charming

by Palmer, Robin

  “Bo-ring,” said Steven.

  I put the DVD in its case. “Look, I know Dylan can be a little . . . difficult at times—”

  “Like that day she freaked out on me when we were shooting her at the nail place and she asked me to bring her a bottle that was pale pink and it turned out there were about seventy-five pale pinks to choose from, so I grabbed five of them and none of them were the right one?” he replied. “Dude, you’re so lucky I restrained myself from including that in the cut because, I’m telling you, people would so despise her if they saw that—”

  “Come on, give her a break—she had major PMS that day.”

  He laughed. “Hey, Mr. Fair and Balanced Documentary Filmmaker, what happened to telling the truth? That’s the truth. Just like the puppy part is the truth.”

  Maybe I had lost my objectivity over the course of filming. But I had found that this popularity thing and, more importantly, Dylan, wasn’t black and white. It was gray. I

  knew that underneath the shiny blonde hair and designer clothes and brand-new BMW was a girl who still thought of herself as that curly-haired, metal-mouthed fifth grader who wore the wrong jeans and carried the wrong backpack and had a poster of a kitten hanging from a tree that said HANG IN THERE on her bedroom wall. I knew that when she was stressed out, she ate a lot, and that she hated to be left alone in her house. I knew that Indian food made her burp a ton, and that she hummed sappy love songs, like the kind you’d hear at the dentist, while she ate, always off-key. I knew that part of why she was putting off doing her college essays was that she had no clue as to what she wanted to be when she grew up. And that her biggest fear was that she wasn’t good at anything other than shopping. And that she was just as confused as the rest of us when it came to muddling through Life 101. That’s what I wanted to show with this documentary—that at the end of the day, there really wasn’t all that much difference between prom queens and film geeks. That we were all just people.

  I stood up and pointed toward the door. “Okay, I’m the director here—not you. So can you please leave so I can get to work?”

  He shrugged. “Fine,” he said as he stood up. “Be that way.” He walked to the door. “Maybe me and Ari will just do our own documentary.”

  I didn’t even reply. I just sat down at my desk, cracked my neck, and pulled up iMovie on my computer so I could get to work. I just knew there was a way to strike a balance in this documentary. Kind of like Annie in Annie Hall—sure, she was neurotic and annoying, but she was also funny and cute. Dylan was my Annie, and I would work day and night if needed to show the world how deep and multilayered she was. Okay, maybe deep and multilayered was pushing it. I could at least show that while she had her moments, she wasn’t a drama-queen diva 24/7.

  chapter eleven: dylan

  That Saturday night was the first one since eighth grade when I didn’t have plans. Ever since the Halloween party Lola and Hannah had been calling me less and less often and whenever I asked them what they were doing I’d get a guilty-sounding “Uh . . . nothing.” It was like overnight it had gone from DylanLolaandHannah to just LolaandHannah. I was still sitting on The Ramp with them, but just last night I had had a horrible nightmare where I was physically removed from our table by members of the football team and Amy Loubalu took my place.

  Rather than sit at home, morbidly depressed, I decided to be productive and go through all the photos I had of me and Asher, as well as the pictures of me in my various princess and queen crowns, and think back on how things used to be before tragedy had struck my life.

  After a half hour of sniffling and wiping my nose on the sleeve of Daddy’s Northwestern sweatshirt while flipping through pictures of what I had thought were good times, but now realized weren’t (like me standing on the beach in Malibu rubbing my head after Asher had inadvertently hit me on the head with his surfboard, or me with a big smile on my face hugging him from behind while he leaned away from me and sent a text, or me sitting on his lap next to Lola’s pool while he stared at Lola’s sister in her bikini), I wiped my nose for the last time and turned off the “Dylan-N-Asher 4ever” playlist I had going on my iPod.

  “What am I doing?” I said aloud. “Asher’s a loser.”

  I had seen too many movies about how you were supposed to act after a breakup. The truth was, I wasn’t that broken up about it. He was a loser, and it was time to stop wallowing. No more moping for me—I was moving on.

  I picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hey, Josh,” I said.

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Where are you?” I asked. Wherever he was, it was super loud.

  “Outside the New Beverly with Raymond getting tickets for the Spielberg double feature.”

  “That sounds . . . fun,” I said. I started cutting out Asher’s face from the previously framed pictures of the two of us that had been all around my bedroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Nothing.” I sighed. “Just hanging out. Alone. By myself.”

  “Oh.”

  I waited for him to say something else but he didn’t. “Well, I’ll let you get back to having fun with Raymond,” I finally said. “While I just sit here and hang out. Alone. By myself.”

  I thought I heard him sigh, but I’m sure it was just my imagination. “Do you want to come meet us?” he finally asked.

  “That would be great,” I said brightly. “Hey, what movies are they showing?” Not even bothering to change out of my sweats, I shoved my feet into my sneakers and grabbed my bag. Ever since the Halloween party, my interest in fashion had dropped drastically, which, according to most magazines, was a telltale sign of depression. I did, however, grab a baseball cap from the top of my closet since I hadn’t washed my hair in two days.

  “Jaws and Duel,” he replied.

  “Never heard of them. Do you think I’ll like them?”

  “No,” he said doubtfully.

  “Oh. Well, are there any cute boys there?”

  “I’m pretty sure the answer to that is negative,” he replied.

  “That’s okay. I should probably take a break from guys for a while anyway,” I said, switching handbags to match my sweats. I may have been depressed, but I wasn’t suicidal.

  “That sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you in a little while.”

  “Hey, Josh?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for inviting me to join you,” I said. “You’re a really good friend.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Before I walked out the door, I stopped in front of the mirror in the hall and readjusted my hat. Even though Josh said there probably wouldn’t be any cute guys, you never knew.

  However, in this case, he was one hundred percent right. Even premakeover Josh would have been considered Calvin Klein underwear model-hot compared to these guys. In addition to rumpled khakis and Mom jeans, everyone there was wearing either a T-shirt with the name of a movie I had never heard of before in my life (a bunch of them seemed to like something called Taxi Driver, whatever that was) or one with a Lord of the Rings character. Maybe if I had been in the right frame of mind I would’ve looked at it as a way to work on my hobby, but I just found the whole thing depressing. Not because they were so fashion-challenged, but because I no longer felt like I fit in anywhere.

  “Hey, guys,” I said after I made my way through the Eau de Seventeen-Year-Old Sweaty Boy crowd.

  “Hey, Dylan. You remember Raymond, right?” asked Josh.

  “Well, hello there, Dylan,” the guy I had met when I went to pick up Josh at work said in a smooth-jazz-radio-station-sounding voice as he planted a slimy kiss on my hand. “Aren’t you looking lovely this evening.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I wiped my hand on my sweats.

  Josh gave me a weird look.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing. I’ve just never seen you so . . . ”

  “Dressed down?” I suggested.

  “I guess that’s one way of lo
oking at it,” he replied.

  Raymond took a step toward me and sniffed the air loudly. “That’s a lovely scent you’re wearing. I seem to detect notes of tuberose and gardenia, a combination that seems to work quite well with your particular body chemistry.”

  “Really? It must be leftover perfume because I haven’t showered since Thursday,” I said.

  He leaned in so close I could smell his own cologne, which resembled a combination of Lysol and cinnamon. “I’d even go as far as to say that for someone who just got pink-slipped in the love department, you look positively ravishing.”

  “Thanks. I think,” I replied.

  Josh started steering me toward the entrance. “Okay, time to go in,” he said.

  It turned out he was right—I didn’t like the movies. One was about a giant shark that terrorizes a beach community and the other was about a giant truck that terrorizes a guy driving a car. I’m sorry, but why these movies were considered classics was beyond me. I mean, The Devil Wears Prada and The Nanny Diaries were so much better. At least they were based on reality.

  After the movie, we went to Du-par’s. It was strange to see it filled with pimply teenage guys instead of senior citizens and their walkers. “So, Dylan, I heard about the unfortunate turn of events in regards to that intramural school social event that’s coming up,” said Raymond, chewing his tuna sandwich with the crusts cut off.

  “Huh?”

  “The Fall Foliage dance.”

  “Fall Fling?”

  “Correct,” said Raymond as he carefully lined up his fries on his plate.

  “Hey, Raymond, why don’t we talk about something else?” Josh suggested. “I’m sure Dylan would like to hear all about the horror script about the killer clowns that you’ve been working on for years—”

  “No thank you,” I said as I shoved a bunch of fries into my own mouth.

  “Josh, I find it rude to talk about myself and my achievements on the first date,” Raymond said.

  I may have been desperate, but I wasn’t that desperate. “This isn’t a date,” I chimed in.

  “Technically you’re right—it’s not,” he replied. “But I’m feeling as if we’re on our way to one,” he said with a wink. At least I think he was trying to wink, but it looked more like he was having a seizure.

  “Is he for real?” I whispered to Josh.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” he said, sliding down in the booth.

  “Dylan, forgive me for being so bold here,” said Raymond, “but what’s your stance on May-December romances?”

  “May what?”

  “Relationships where one partner is significantly older than the other. Listen, I’m not one of those people who beats around the bush. You can ask anyone at Good Buys—when something’s on my mind, I have no problem saying it. And the fact of the matter is that I’m very attracted to you, Dylan, and I’d say that from what I’ve observed in your body language this evening and from that time you came by the store, the feeling is mutual. Therefore, even though I’m twenty-three, I’d very much like to escort you to your upcoming dance.”

  I turned to Josh and gave him a panicked look, but he didn’t see it because his head was in his hands.

  “Obviously, a few heads may turn because of the age difference between us,” Raymond continued, “but you strike me as a trailblazer and someone who doesn’t buckle under the weight of social conformity, so I’m thinking you can handle what might be viewed as a potential scandal.” He grabbed my hand across the table. “So what do you think? Are you up for it? Are you ready to take another chance on love so soon?”

  I knew life could change in an instant, but is this what mine had come to? That the only date I could get for Fall Fling was a twenty-three-year-old guy with adult acne who used more SAT words than I could remember even learning in SAT review class? How had this happened? Maybe my karma really had gotten screwed up in some previous lifetime.

  “Uh—” I began.

  “She’d love to, but she and I already have plans to hang out that night. We’re going to have a Woody Allen film festival. Right, Dylan?”

  I turned to him and smiled with relief. “Right.” So maybe it wasn’t the Fall Fling evening I had been dreaming about, and obviously I wouldn’t be adding to my crown collection, but, hey, I’d be with my best friend rather than stuck at home by myself. Not to mention that it took the pressure off having to decide between the three dresses I had bought for the occasion.

  “So you really want to hang out the night of Fall Fling?” I asked Josh later on the phone as I continued going through photos. After dumping the ones of me and Asher in the garbage, I started organizing the ones of me by school dance. I held up one of me surrounded by May Day court. I couldn’t believe there was a time I had been so happy.

  “Sure. Why not?” he replied. “I mean, you know, if you do.”

  “Yeah. Sure. That is, if you do,” I said. Something was weighing on my mind but I didn’t know exactly how to bring it up. “Okay, so I need to ask you something,” I finally said.

  “What?”

  “I know we already talked about this at the Halloween party, but I just want to make sure it’s not going to be . . . a date or anything like that,” I confessed. “I mean, I’ve seen a lot of movies where after getting dumped, someone hooks up with his or her best friend of the opposite sex, but if you think about it, it’s always really awkward afterward, you know?”

  “You mean like in When Harry Met Sally?”

  “Exactly,” I replied. I held up a picture of me being crowned Private School Princess. Everyone in the audience looked so proud to know me.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean, but honestly I was just trying to save you from Raymond and I figured that you probably wouldn’t want to be alone that night.”

  “Right. That’s what I thought,” I said. “But I just wanted to check and make sure.”

  “Got it.” I could hear him yawn. “I think I’m going to get to bed. I want to get some editing done on the doc tomorrow before work.”

  “Okay. Well, thanks for letting me come with you tonight,” I said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  There was yet another thing weighing on my mind and I knew I’d have trouble sleeping if I didn’t put it to rest. Having things weighing on your mind made it really heavy. “Hey, Josh, can I ask you one last thing?”

  He yawned again. “Sure.”

  “You agree with me that going out with Raymond is probably a bad idea, right?”

  “What?! He’s, like, a bigger film geek than me, Ari, and Steven put together.”

  “That’s what I thought but I was just making sure.”

  “Believe me, you don’t want to go out with him,” he replied before yawning again. “Are we done now?

  “I think so. Good night. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Oh, hey, Josh?”

  “Yeah, Dylan.” He sighed.

  “How’s the documentary going?” I asked.

  “It’s good.”

  “You’re happy with it?”

  “Getting there,” he said, yawning again.

  As I picked up our junior-class photo taken at a beach in Malibu with me standing smack in the front, I got one of my brilliant ideas. “Wait. Stop the presses. I just got such a brilliant idea!” I announced.

  “Is there any way we can talk about it in the morning?” he asked.

  “No, because it has to do with you,” I replied. “I’m going to have a party to screen your documentary.”

  “Dylan, I don’t know—”

  “It’ll be great,” I promised. “Not only will people get to see how talented you are, but it’ll also help to remind them that even though I’m no longer dating Asher, I’m still a great example and role model of a popular teenage girl.” I clapped my hands. “Ooh, it’s been forever since I’ve had a party! I’m so excited. Omigod—I have so much to do. I totally don’t have time to be talking rig
ht now. Bye,” I said, hanging up.

  If I could make Josh over, why couldn’t I make myself over back into the most popular girl in school?

  chapter twelve: josh

  After Steven had shown me his cut of the documentary, I had spent every free moment I had holed up in my bedroom (aka the editing room) with iMovie. Soon it even looked like an actual editing room, with soda cans and fast-food wrappers strewn about. I’m normally pretty neat, but you have to be willing to throw that out the window when you’re in the thick of creating a masterpiece.

  That Tuesday I was trying to edit together a montage of Dylan, Lola, and Hannah walking down the halls of school like they were Charlie’s Angels when there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I called out.

  Mom entered with a basket full of laundry and started unloading it on my bed. “So how’s it going?” she asked. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her trying to peek over my shoulder.

  “Good. But it’s not done yet,” I said, covering the screen. She had been badgering me to show her some of it, but like any artist, I was very protective of my work until I felt it was in decent enough shape.

  “Honey, it’s never going to be done,” she said, rolling my socks into balls.

  I turned to her. “What are you talking about? It has to be done by Friday! That’s when Dylan’s party is!”

  She shook her head. “That’s not when I mean. You know that quote I have over my computer?”

  “Which one? There’s, like, fifty of them.” Mom was big on quotes. In fact, she had taken a Learning Annex course entirely devoted to inspirational quotes.

  “The one that says ‘A poem is never finished—it’s merely abandoned.’ The same thing can be said for a movie. You can sit there polishing it and polishing it, but at some point you have to put it out in the world.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I sighed. But I bet Woody didn’t release anything into the world until he felt it was good and ready.