Norah and The Nerd: Best Friends Romance (Love in Ocean Grove Book 4)

by Anna Catherine Field

  She rolls her eyes. “Reese Weatherly is one of the stars of Avondale—you know—the show Dean Turner is on.”

  I do know Dean. He went to our school until he left midway through his senior year to accept a full-time role on the show. He also linked up with Norah to make a fan video of a scene from the first issue of my graphic novel—mostly as a gesture for his superfan sister, Emily.

  “She shared your post from the other day?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Norah says, “to her sixteen million followers. Sixteen million. Do you remember what happened when Dean shared the video?”

  “You went from a hundred thousand followers to a million,” Delaney says. She follows all this social media stuff, too. They all do. I’m the only outlier here.

  “Okay…” I tug my cap off my head, run my hand through my hair and pull it back on again. “So this will get us more followers?"

  “Dean is new. He had four million followers when he shared that. Reese has sixteen. This is epic, Gabe. Completely epic.”

  She flips through her phone and smiles. “We’re gaining a thousand followers a minute. A minute.”

  Under the table, I step on her toes and she looks up. We share a small smile. It’s hard for me to understand this side of things but I appreciate that Norah does. And she gets me and my comics and my vision. Together we’re a great team, and as much as I love having people discover my work, the best part of this adventure is that I get to do it with my best friend.

  3

  Norah

  We survived the first day of school and the three of us have moved on to another ritual. Pizza from Pie Whole. We get out of school at three, giving us an hour to eat and debrief before I have to be at Bazinga! conveniently located next door. Today I’m extra wound up because of the ChattySnap share by Reese Weatherly. I know Gabe doesn’t fully understand how this could propel the comic. His career.

  “She’s hot,” Ben says, eyeing Reese’s profile picture. He takes a massive bite of pizza. “I’d date her.”

  “She liked our page,” I say to Gabe, ignoring Ben. Like he’d ever have the courage to ask out a girl like Reese. Or anyone else, for that matter. “Along with most the rest of the cast of Avondale and a few other celebrities.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “The video Dean made is making the rounds again. That happens,” I say, wiping the grease off my hands. “New followers discover things and start sharing again. It’s kind of cool.”

  “You’re so good at this,” Gabe says. He has a drawing pencil tucked over his ear, beneath the cap. I can tell by the tone of his voice he’s itching to get to work. School days stink for him. Not enough time to draw and write.

  “Everyone needs a superpower,” I say, mostly joking. The media stuff isn’t really a skill—not when the product you’re promoting is amazing like Photobooth Society. It has everything that makes for a perfect fandom. The comic itself is about a group of teenagers. Three boys, two girls. They stumble onto this old '80s-style arcade with a bunch of old games. In the corner is a photobooth. When activated, it’s like a time machine, and instead of photos coming out of the slot, there are instructions giving them an adventure to go on—a mystery to solve or something. The characters are perfect. The handsome jock. The two nerdy smart kids, a boy and a girl. The popular girl. The freak. Sure it’s the Breakfast Club in a graphic novel with time travel. It’s like the combination of the best tropes ever.

  It has a little bit of everything for everyone. Adventure. Mystery. Action. A few budding romances on the side. There’s humor and Gabe’s drawings are so lifelike—so amazing—people snap them up just for that.

  Ben is convinced the jock is based on him since he started playing lacrosse last year. Gabe and I both know he’s definitely the freak.

  “I’ve been thinking of the best way to capitalize on this new interest,” I say, stirring my soda. “Maybe we can talk to Blue Star about a limited-edition poster or something? Or maybe another book signing at the shop?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, pushing up his glasses. His phone buzzes on the table. He ignores it. It’s probably his mom. “I’ve already got this hard deadline in a few weeks for issue three and now I have classwork. I’m not sure I can handle much more right now.”

  The last thing I want to do is overwhelm Gabe, but I hate missing out on this opportunity. I’ll think about this on my own and not worry him about it.

  I shove in my last bite of pizza and look at the time. “I should get next door. You know Wade gets cranky if I’m late.” I slide out of the booth. Ben shoves the last part of his pizza into his mouth and they both follow me out the door. When we get outside, Gabe stops; he always comes in the shop and sketches while I work. I frown. “Are you coming with me?”

  He shakes his head. “I need to run home. My mom’s texted me like, six times. You know she always wants the full run-down on the first day of school.”

  Gabe’s mom, Bonnie, is a little overprotective.

  “What about you?” I ask Ben.

  “I spent the whole day away from my Nintendo—I’ve got at least three hours to make up.”

  “Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. Ben’s mom, Deborah, pretty much lets him do what he wants.

  Gabe catches my eyes. They’re bright green and make my knees a little wobbly. “I’ll call you later, okay?” he says, clutching his sketchbook.

  I walk in the store, happy to have something to keep me distracted.

  I’m standing in the kitchen of our two-story bungalow waiting for my mom to sign all the first day of school paperwork when my phone vibrates.

  G: Can I come over?

  N: Sure. What’s up?

  G: Not much. Just need a break.

  N: come through the window. You know how Mom is about school nights.

  My mother looks over at the phone, her lips turned down. She hates electronics. “Do you have any homework?”

  I point to the paperwork. “It’s the first day of school. That’s my homework.”

  “I don’t want you to get behind.” She gives me a Knowing Look. To be fair, I kind of deserve it. I may have gone a little overboard last year by becoming overly focused on the website and social media content for Gabe and my grades tanked significantly. That’s when she established the "no hanging out on school nights" policy. It coincided with Gabe morphing into the God of Geekdom (physically) so I didn’t push back too hard, but there were still some nights when Gabe needs a break from his house.

  Did I mention Bonnie is a little over-protective? And kind of hover-y? Don’t get me wrong, I love that woman like a second mother, but she’s a lot to take. I’m happy to offer sanctuary, because otherwise he tends to wander off to whatever girl is most interested in him that week.

  “Got it. No slacking off.”

  “I’m serious, Norah.”

  “Me too, Mom.” We lock eyes for a moment. I hate it when she acts like I’m not trying. I do try. We just have different priorities. She’ll never understand mine.

  She holds up the signed papers and I take them, leaning over to give her a quick hug. She pats my shoulder. We get along fine most of the time, it’s just with my younger sister and some of the stuff she’s been through, my mother is worn out.

  I head upstairs, passing Olivia’s room. The door is open (a rule created because of some of that stuff I mentioned) She’s got on her headphones and is playing a game on her phone, which is what she does with 99% of her time.

  My room is actually up on the third floor. It was once part of the attic but now there’s a small bathroom and my tiny bedroom with slanted ceilings. The best parts are the privacy and a dormer window that gives me a view of the Pacific.

  I know it won’t take long for Gabe to get here, his house is only a few blocks away. I head into my bathroom and change, stripping off my school clothes and tugging on a pair of leggings and a T-shirt.

  When I come out, Gabe’s sitting outside my window—hunched over so no one passing by can see h
im out on the flat roof. Oddly it’s easier for him to climb up here than the floor below, taking the old tree house ladder and shimmying across the long limb that holds a swing below. We discovered this one day when Ben and Gabe dared one another to try it. Ben almost broke his neck. Gabe easily shimmied across. Ever since, it’s been perfect for Gabe to come in and out without notice.

  I push open the window. “Hey.”

  “Hi.”

  He climbs in, taking care not to make a lot of noise. His legs seem longer than the last time he was in here. His shoulders wider, too. I glance at myself in the mirror on the back of my door. Same wild blonde hair. Same tall, skinny body. Same flat chest and zero hips.

  “So, what’s going on?”

  We sit on the shaggy, soft rug on my floor across from one another. This close, in the lamp light from my bedside table, I see the strain on his face. “My mom is riding me hard about college. She cornered me for three hours tonight to talk about me getting in my applications, taking the SAT, the ACT, and how we need to go on some college tours.” He rubs his forehead. “Oh right, and she thinks I need to cram in some last-minute service hours, you know, to make my application 'pop'.”

  “She does know you want to go to art school, right?”

  “Or no school, ideally.”

  I shake my head at that one. There’s no way Bonnie Foster is letting this kid bail on school all around, publishing deal or no publishing deal.

  “Where does she think you are now?”

  “At Ben’s. Helping him with his biology homework.”

  “You and Ben aren’t in the same biology class.”

  He leans his head back on the side of my bed. “She doesn’t know that.”

  “Yet, you know the moms talk and inevitably find out.”

  That’s one of our biggest issues. Our gossiping, nosy mothers. If one finds out something about us, they all know in a matter of moments. Stupid Facebook Chat.

  “What’s she going to do when you really do leave?”

  “Maybe focus on Sidney?” His younger brother. He pushes his feet against mine until they’re flat against one another. “I just need a break, you know how she gets.”

  “Stay as long as you’d like. I’ve got nothing to do but update our accounts a little. Anything you want to share?”

  He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and scoots around until we’re side-by-side, then holds the camera out to take a photo of the two of us. Our forearms brush and I feel a spark flare between us. I shift away quickly and he doesn’t notice.

  A second later he’s sent the selfie to me. “Use that,” he says, reaching for his backpack and retrieving his sketchbook. In a matter of moments, he’s working on a drawing.

  I look at the photo. It’s not that bad—my hair is under control. Gabe looks adorable, puppy dog eyes, smirky grin.

  He always tells me he has no idea how this social media stuff works but then he gives me something like this. As I upload the photo to our account, I can’t help but wonder how much he really knows and isn’t letting on to.

  4

  Gabe

  It’s the vibration in my pocket that wakes me abruptly. I fumble for my phone, aware of a heavy, warm weight against my legs.

  Ben: I just got the high score on KillerQuest

  I squint at the time. Two a.m. And then I acclimate myself. The weight against my legs is Norah. The pain in my back is my backpack jamming in my spine.

  Oh boy.

  If my mother realizes I’m gone, I won’t just have to go to college, I’ll get sent to boarding school.

  I had no intention of falling asleep in Norah’s room. On the floor beside her bed. Ben and I used to have sleepovers here all the time but not in a while. Tonight, I just couldn’t make myself leave. I just kept telling myself I’d go in five more minutes.

  Norah must have accidentally fallen asleep, too. The last thing I remember was the two of us across from one another working on projects—her on the tablet, me in my sketchbook. Now I look down at our tangled legs and try to figure out how to get out of here without waking her up.

  I work my way to a sitting position, taking care not to jostle her, and get the rare sight of Norah not in motion. That girl is always on the move. Thinking, scheming, complaining, working…

  One of her hands rests on her stomach. The other is clutching a plushy pillow shaped like a loaf of bread. Her cheeks are pink, flushed from sleep, and her hair more of a mess than normal. I like her curly hair, it suits her—untamed—but I know she hates it. When we were kids I’d pull naturally coiled springs to watch them bounce. Not so much anymore. I look at our feet. This is probably the most prolonged touching we’ve had in years.

  I ease away from her, instantly missing the heat. I know with everything going on, thinking about next year, college and moving away are the last things that should be on my mind, but it’s never far away. The thought of leaving Norah and Ocean Grove, this house and the comic-book shop, makes me uncomfortable. Nervous. Everything has been changing fast in my life lately. The book deal, the attention. All I want is normalcy and even that seems out of reach, especially with my mom pushing so hard.

  I stand, managing to not wake her, and grab my sketchbook and backpack. I open the window and climb out quietly, the cool night air hitting me in the face. One look back in tells me she hasn’t stirred.

  The first time I shimmied across the tree branch, I almost fell and broke my neck. But now I have the strength to carry myself across, dropping to the ground with a soft thud.

  I walk quietly cross the yard.

  “Ahem.”

  I hold in a yelp, but jump, coming face-to-face with Ben.

  “Hey,” I say, holding my chest, “You scared me.”

  “You sneaking out of Norah’s room?” He leans against Norah’s car.

  “Huh? No. We were working on the graphic novel and we fell asleep. Your text woke me up.” I frown. “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and I knew Olivia had that new game I’ve been looking at. Thought maybe I could sneak in and out. You’re not the only one that can climb a tree.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “You were going to sneak in and out of their house? In the middle of the night?”

  He shrugs. “Sure. Just to borrow it.”

  “Dude, that’s called breaking and entering.”

  “I wasn’t going to break anything.”

  I sigh. Ben’s my best guy friend but dang, he’s stupid sometimes. “It’s a bad idea. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  He seems to think it over for a moment, weighing his options but finally comes to his senses. Halfway home, he looks over at me with his hands shoved in his pockets.

  “I didn’t come over to borrow a video game,” he confesses.

  “No?” I’m not sure if that news makes me feel better or not. What was he coming over there for? Did Norah know? My heart tightens. Did she want him to? Does he do that often?

  While I’m freaking out, he continues, “Nah, I saw that picture she posted of the two of you and just wanted to see if you were still up. My mom and dad went to bed hours ago. I was just bored.”

  I exhale, feeling a sense of massive relief. “Eh, you weren’t missing much. Just work.”

  He gives me a side glance and something in his expression makes me think he doesn’t believe me, but he laughs and says, “Yeah, you guys are lame.”

  “Totally lame.”

  We part at the next intersection, our houses in opposite directions, and I can’t help but wonder what Ben would say if there were something more going on between me and Norah.

  I can’t help but wonder what I would do, too.

  5

  Norah

  I’m standing at my locker the next day rubbing my neck when Delaney walks up.

  “You look awful,” she says.

  “Thanks.” I try to move my head. “I fell asleep on the floor and jacked up my neck.”

  The locker door next to mine slams and
a feel a warm hand cover mine and start to knead against the strain. “I can help with that.”

  I can’t turn my head to see who’s touching me, but I know whose hands are working miracles against my tense muscles. The amused, slightly flushed look on Delaney’s face confirms it. Trevor Salvatore has been my locker neighbor for the last three years. He’s one of the combination jock-actors at the school, a notorious flirt and loves to harass me.

  Oh, and he’s also really cute.

  I press my nails into his flesh.

  “Ouch, jeez, Saddler, retract the claws.”

  “Trevor, what’s rule number one.”

  We’d had to establish these the first month of ninth grade.

  “No touching.”

  I smile and pat him on the shoulder. I can’t reach his head. “Exactly.”

  “I was just trying to help. I get a lot of muscle aches from wrestling.” He flexes as though I can’t see his bulging biceps straining against his too-tight T-shirt. “Come on.”

  “No, thank you.”

  I can’t handle Trevor. He knows it. I know it. He’s completely out of my league, totally not my type and really doesn’t like-like me. He just enjoys getting under my skin.

  “Well, you know where to find me and my magic fingers if you want a full massage session.” He waves his fingers and walks down the hall.

  “He’s such an idiot,” I say, grabbing the book for my next period out of the locker and then slamming it.

  “Cute, though.”

  “Stop.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll try out for the play. Be the Gomez to my Morticia.”

  I watch him walk down the hall, high-fiving a few other jocks. “He certainly knows how to play the part of cheesy romantic. He’d probably be good at it.”

  “Mmhmm.” She’s still watching him.

  “Hey,” a voice says behind me. I turn too fast and grab my neck.