Confession Of A Nerdoholic

by Savannah Blevins

  I pulled my pillow over my face and screamed into it as if Freddy Krueger really was after me. My grade sucked in my anatomy class. It wasn’t because I couldn’t cut it—I had quite the impressive academic record—it was just hard to study anatomy out of a textbook when you knew the real, much more glorious thing sat in the third seat from the right, at the fifth table, on the first floor of the library.

  It was my piss poor luck that I went to the library for “nerd appreciation hours” right after my anatomy class on Mondays. So, every Monday, I sucked it up in class because I was so excited about seeing him that I couldn’t concentrate, which meant my grade was currently sucking it up as well. Now I would be late for the one day out of the week that I actually paid attention.

  I unraveled myself from my Hello Kitty blanket cocoon and stomped into the bathroom. No matter what I did, or how fast I rushed through my morning routine, I wouldn’t make it on time. I still hurried, though, as if my father stood behind me in his usual drill sergeant fashion, lecturing me about punctuality. I brushed my teeth and grabbed the first thing in my closet. I pulled my hair around in a funky side braid and tucked it under the hood of my rain jacket, because, of course, it was raining.

  Didn’t it always rain on the bad days?

  Normally, I walked the seven blocks to campus, but today I would have to fight the good fight with campus parking. I didn’t pay the fifty bucks for a student tag, which meant I’d probably get a ticket. It would be my third one this semester, but I could get four tickets before they booted my car, so it would be a worthy sacrifice.

  The science building was the farthest away from the parking lot. No amount of raincoat or cursing could save me from my squishy shoe fate. I managed to get thoroughly drenched. I looked like a cat someone shoved in the gutter. I walked in with twenty minutes remaining in the class. I should have skipped, but I was a glutton for punishment. I could still hear my father’s voice in my head, giving his lecture about the “kind” of people who skipped class and how I wasn’t that “kind” of person, even though he somehow managed to make it sound that way.

  As soon as I crossed the threshold, Mr. “I haven’t gotten laid since the 1960s” gave me his usual “you don’t meet my intellectual standards” glare. Except today he followed it with a very snarky, “Well good morning, Miss Duncan. It’s nice to see that your fifty-eight midterm average has inspired you to become a more dedicated student.”

  I probably could have let it pass. I probably should have let it pass. However, he stood there with his gangly old man beard and brown argyle sweater looking way too smug at the embarrassment he thought he had caused me. Unfortunately for Mr. Decrepo, I was born with the smartass gene attached directly to my ego. I trotted over to my usual back row seat, set my soaking wet backpack on the desk with a splat and smiled at him. “Well, it’s nice to see your erectile dysfunction hasn’t affected the stick up your ass.”

  I realized it wasn’t the best decision I’d ever made, but that was only after he kicked me out of class…permanently.

  I spent the next three hours of my already horrible morning at the student services office changing my schedule.

  Should it have taken three hours to change one class?

  No.

  But the people working there were so lovely, they felt the need to make me sit and wait an hour before I was worthy of their attention. Finally, after surviving their judginess at my situation, they transferred me into another section. The desk lady, with pictures of a thousand cats, practically slung my new schedule at me. Scanning the sheet, I slumped around the counter. I’d been transferred into the section everyone else refused to sign up for because the lab was at six o’clock on Friday afternoon.

  For the non-bar hopping lovers out there, which included myself, a six o’clock Friday night class really didn’t pose that big of a deal. However, Ava so kindly explained to me that, apparently, Friday nights were Ladies’ Night down at Rowdy Randy’s Pub. Hence the entire reason Ava refused to let me sign up for the afternoon section in the first place. She would be crushed I would no longer be able to take part in her favorite sporting event—Friday Night Who Can Be First To Get A Hunk Drunk.

  Ava was currently the reigning champ or the pub slut, depending on how you wanted to look at it. I really didn’t see the challenge in it. Maybe I wasn’t the competitive type, but it seemed to me that if you met the high standards of having a vagina you were pretty much guaranteed to score some points or some crabs.

  Yep, I would really miss Friday nights at Rowdy Randy’s.

  I tried to be positive. I honestly tried to convince myself that maybe my bad day would only last until lunch. I strolled into work with a positive attitude. The thought of baking had that effect on me. Forget oysters and chocolate. Cream cheese icing was the number one aphrodisiac. The giant kitchen at Sugar Cube was my sanctuary. The scent of frosting released every ounce of tension in my body.

  I couldn’t wait to have my own bakery. My own little escape from the outside world. I would hire someone to be the face of the shop, meet with potential clients, and work the cash register. I would stay in the back, away from the beady eyes of society, and bake. And bake. And bake.

  I would specialize in cupcakes. Gretchen, the owner of Sugar Cube, told me I had a gift. It took one bite of my famous strawberry cheesecake icing and she hired me on the spot.

  I trudged through the back door of the bakery like a drowned rat. Gretchen stood at the counter, hands and torso covered in flour, applying an intricate pattern to an off-center wedding cake. Her gaze shot up at the horrendous sight of me. “Uh oh. What happened?”

  Gretchen was everything I wanted to be. She was the successful owner of a magnificent bake shop. She had perfectly plain brown hair that was totally tamable on a daily basis, and most importantly, she was a social butterfly. She was a lovely type A personality with the added bonus of a top notch kindness gene.

  I let my backpack drop to the ground. “Don’t ask.”

  Her smile was soft as she motioned toward me with her spatula before sticking it in the bowl next to the cake. “No, let’s hear it. I can’t bear to let you walk off with that look on your face. You look like a teddy bear that lost all its stuffing.”

  I started wringing water out of my braid. “I woke up late, and showed up late for class.”

  Gretchen set a bag of icing down on the counter. “And then?”

  She knew me too well. “And then the professor smarted off to me, and I said something extremely inappropriate. Well deserved, but inappropriate.”

  Gretchen wiped her hand across her forehead, smearing flour across her face. “Let me guess…it was Dr. Howard.”

  “You would be correct.”

  Gretchen shook her head. “That old fossil needs to retire. He used to torture me, and that was fifteen years ago.”

  I blew a wet string of hair out of my eyes. “Well, now I get to go to lab on Friday night.”

  Gretchen walked over and slung her arm around me. Water dripped to the floor out of my clothes like I was some life size human sprinkler. “Take a few minutes and get cleaned up. Then meet me out front. I want to show you something I’m working on.”

  Gretchen had that mad scientist look on her face. It was the same look she had when she hired me. I nodded solemnly and dragged myself to the bathroom. I stood under the hand dryer in an attempt to dry the end of my dress that my jacket didn’t cover. The silky black skirt with yellow trim was one of my favorites. It reminded me of the one Olive Oyl wore in all those Popeye cartoons. The material would dry easily with time, but my black ballet flats—they would be annoyingly squishy all day. When I finally made my way back out to the bakery front, Gretchen stood next to one of the long glass cases.

  The other day, the case held a variety of candy, but today it sat completely empty. That was when I saw the sign that sat on top. It was new. White, trimmed in cotton candy pink. On it, in spiraling black letters, was the phrase, “Cupcakes by Eloise.”


  My mouth dropped open. “Is that for me?”

  Gretchen’s smile widened. “You’ve earned it.”

  I ran over and stared down into the empty case. “What does this mean?”

  “It means I want you to start growing a name for yourself. Your cupcakes bring in customers to my shop on a daily basis. You should get rewarded for that.” Gretchen stood back and showcased the sign like a model on the Price is Right. “You will not only get your salary rate, but you will receive a small profit from every cupcake you sell here. A small, but necessary thank you for helping my business grow these last six months.”

  My fingers clutched at my heart. “Wow, Gretchen. I don’t know what to say.”

  And I didn’t. This was an amazing opportunity. A chance to get my name out in the world. It felt like a start to an all too familiar daydream.

  “That smile on your face is enough,” Gretchen said with a laugh. “I’m glad I got to make your bad day a little better.”

  “This made everything about today worth it.” I cupped my hands around my face, thinking of the possibilities. “I don’t know where to even begin.”

  “How about that recipe for double chocolate everything I saw you working on last week? I definitely want to try some of those.”

  A smile instantly popped on my face. “You’ve got it.”

  I hurried around the side of the counter, but then doubled back. I grabbed Gretchen in the biggest, squishiest bear hug of all time…and I hated hugging people. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. This is by far the nicest thing anyone has ever done. I won’t let you down.”

  Gretchen patted my cheek. “You deserve it, Eloise. Don’t ever forget that.”

  She gave me a gentle shove back in the direction of the kitchen. “Now, go have fun.”

  I spent the next two hours baking and perfecting my chocolate cupcake recipe. I even used chocolate sprinkles on top and added a dollop of fudge in the center. Forget Midol, those things were like PMS hand grenades. They’d cure anything. I placed them in the case, and I couldn’t stop smiling. My cupcakes had always been in the cases, but now it had my name on it.

  I’d never been so proud of myself. All those awards on my mantel back home—those had been for my dad. This, though—baking and everything about it—was for me. And I loved it.

  I glanced up at the Willie Wonka-ish clock on the wall. I had time to make one more batch of something else before my shift ended. I quickly made my way back into the kitchen and snatched up my recipe book. It was just a small, flower covered journal I’d picked out of the sale bin at the thrift store, but now it held all my cupcake secrets. I flipped eagerly through the worn pages as the bell above the entrance dinged. Gretchen greeted the customer, so I stayed focused on my task.

  I ran my finger down the page for my blueberry delight icing when the conversation out front caught my attention. “Yes,” Gretchen said, “this is the same girl who makes the strawberry cheesecake ones you like.”

  “That looks like a lot of chocolate.”

  It was a male voice. I perked up, not because it was a boy talking about my cupcakes, but because someone in general seemed as excited about the thought of my chocolate cupcakes as I was. The admiration and excitement was evident in the chipper tone of his voice. I slipped my recipe book underneath my arm and eased over to the door that led out to the main room. Gretchen stood behind my cupcake section of the display case, but I still couldn’t see the customer on the other side. “I’ll take two,” he said, and then he stood.

  My knees locked in place and the recipe book fell to the floor.

  It was the boy from the library.

  The boy.

  The tie and cable knit sweater he had on yesterday was gone. He sported a long sleeve red and black flannel shirt that set off his dark glasses. His hair glistened with raindrops. The water in my shoes turned to steam as my heart beat rapidly in my chest.

  Library boy ate my cupcakes?

  He actually wanted two of them.

  Gretchen leaned across the case to grin at him. “Getting one for your girlfriend too?”

  His gaze dropped to the floor and he smiled sheepishly. “No. Both are for me, I’m afraid. I’m a pretty horrible cook. If it wasn’t for your bake shop and the Japanese eatery next to my apartment, I’d probably starve.”

  Gretchen laughed, and I sank a little lower to the floor and silently squealed. He didn’t have a girlfriend. I kind of figured that because I’d never seen him talk to anyone at the library, but the confirmation felt nice. Really, awesomely nice.

  I did the Macarena in a circle.

  “I’ll box these up for you,” Gretchen told him and disappeared around the corner.

  I made sure I remained unseen from my spot behind the doorframe. He walked around the shop, looking through the glass cases at the variety of delights Gretchen made. He looked at the cakes, the ten different types of fudge, and even the homemade lollipops, but he always came back to my cupcake case.

  Mine.

  It had to be a dream. Some torturous nightmare that would end any second, leaving me alone and depressed amid my Care Bear sheets.

  Gretchen returned with a bright pink box and opened the case to retrieve two of my cupcakes. I watched as she took his money and handed over my treats. He tucked them safely under his arm, gave her a friendly wave, and disappeared out into the rain.

  When the door swung shut, I finally started to breathe again. It was real.

  So very real.

  I tiptoed out until I could see Gretchen and motioned for her to come to me. I wasn’t capable of walking that far yet. She grinned instantly. “See,” she said, pointing toward the empty door. “I told you your cupcakes are a hit!”

  “Yeah,” I said, barely managing to get words out of my mouth. I pointed a very shaky finger at the door. “Do you know him?”

  She followed my finger. “No, but he comes in at least once a week to buy your cupcakes.”

  Something insane fluttered inside of me. A loved-crazed ninja with heart nunchucks that tried to fight its way out of me. “Once a week?”

  How in the world had I missed that? Shouldn’t my nerd radar have gone off? A twist in my panties. Nerd Alert. Library boy in the vicinity. Repeat. In the vicinity.

  “Yep. You’re becoming quite popular with the college crowd.” Gretchen looked so terribly proud of this accomplishment.

  I let out a small, almost hysterical laugh. Me, popular? “So, you don’t know his name?”

  “No.” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed slightly. She studied me closely, the concerned line of her lips turning up at the edges. “Do you want me to figure out his name? Or perhaps…introduce you?”

  I grabbed the counter. “No. No. No.”

  Gretchen laughed. “Eloise…are you blushing?”

  No. I wasn’t blushing. I was dying. The mixture of embarrassment and pure joy combined into a toxic poison that slowly started to suffocate me. Gretchen put her arm around me. “If you like the boy, why don’t you come out and talk to him next time?”

  Oh god.

  The dryness.

  All the dryness in my throat.

  “Why?” I looked incredulously at her. “Why don’t you go jump off the top of the Empire State Building? Because it’s scary and you’ll probably die from it.”

  Gretchen squeezed me tighter. “You’re a beautiful girl, Eloise. And you’re smart, funny, and I’m pretty sure you could cook and bake any boy into a food coma. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  I smiled back at her. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Then I remembered how the girl in the line at the coffee café looked at me yesterday. I was odd Eloise. Always on the receiving end of peculiar stares and awkward glances. I wasn’t the kind of person you could simply throw in someone’s face. I was too bold for that. I had to be introduced slowly. Carefully. Maybe not even at all. Then, of course, there was my father to consider. Even though I tried not to allow the thought of what he would do if he found out I was “wasting time”
on a boy enter my thoughts. “I think I’d rather stick to providing him with cupcakes for right now.”

  Gretchen nodded. “Well, you let me know if that changes.”

  I gave her a quick salute before retreating to my happy place. I picked up my recipe book, but I could no longer focus on my next project. All I could think about was my still nameless nerd sitting at his spot in the library enjoying my double chocolate everything cupcakes.

  I threw another cup of flour in my giant mixing bowl. Screw Mondays. This was the best day ever.

  Chapter Three

  COWBOY

  I rode the euphoria of my cupcake nerd fantasy for the next two days. It made it nearly impossible to study in between classes and work. To make matters worse, my father called. Bartholomew Duncan was in his usual mood. Cranky with a hint of do-what-I-say. He wanted to know why he hadn’t received a copy of my midterm grades yet. Of course, he told this to my voicemail because I didn’t answer my phone.

  We hadn’t had a real conversation for weeks. Not since the lecture about my major. It wasn’t a fight, because you didn’t have fights with Bartholomew Duncan. He told you what to do, and you did it. End of story. I’d spent my entire childhood under the thumb of his tyrannical rule, and I grew weary of it a long time ago.

  He didn’t know that I specifically requested my grades to be sent to my apartment address, and nowhere else. He couldn’t see that fifty-eight anatomy grade. I would have to tell him…eventually. However, I hoped I could ace a couple quizzes first, then recalculate my grade before I admitted to him that his high standard of a perfect 4.0 college career for me was a dream.

  It wouldn’t matter, though. He made it very clear when I defied his wishes and moved across the country that if I didn’t keep my grades up, he wouldn’t pay my tuition at Maryland next year. He’d make me come home and follow in his footsteps at Pepperdine. He would continue to try to control my major, my career choices and my dating life.