Confession Of A Nerdoholic

by Savannah Blevins

  I answered it too quickly. It immediately threw up a red flag. Oliver came over and sat beside me. “Elle, you look like you’re about to cry.”

  His hand touched my shoulder, and I had to fight back the tears. I didn’t want Oliver to know about Bartholomew. My father would hate him. He’d find something unsatisfactory about him, and then, slowly but surely, create a wedge between us.

  “It’s nothing. He just wants to see my midterm grades.”

  “Ah. And you don’t want him to see your anatomy grade.”

  “Pretty much.”

  My hand shook. I clutched it around my knee to keep it still. “You’re already bringing it up. You can show him your final grade. If you keep up your pace, you should easily get a B.”

  I nodded, hoping he didn’t see the tears well up. That wouldn’t be good enough for my dad. “Do you mind if we put a hold on the movie marathon? I should probably finish up those study questions so I can focus on my quiz for this week tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sure. We can study.”

  I bit my lip. Oliver adjusted his glasses.

  It hurt to say it. “I should probably study alone tonight.”

  I reached up and pulled the hem of his shirt down over the edge of his pants to cover up the skin that peeked out. “I tend to get distracted when you’re here. At the library, I can convince myself I can’t seduce you with so many witnesses, but here…”

  “What if I studied in the other room?”

  I patted him softly on the leg. “I’m glad you think so highly of my self-control, but yeah…that won’t work.”

  He pursed his lips. “You’re kicking me out?”

  “Don’t say it like that.”

  He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I understand. I want you to do well too.”

  I pulled him into a hug. “Thank you.”

  I wanted nothing more than to somehow pull the impossible and stay here with him next year, whether it was because my father finally became a real live human who could accept faults in people, or I finally accepted the fact that I’m meant to be parentless. Oliver gathered up his things, and I set a container of extra soup on top of his stack of books in his arms. “I made extra in case you needed a snack later, or breakfast tomorrow.”

  He leaned over his books to kiss me. “You’re an angel.”

  As he closed the door behind him, I collapsed against it. And I cried.

  I always had this constant sensation that I would eventually lose everything good in my life. Or more accurately, it would be snatched away from me.

  Back on the sideline. Back to being forced to enjoy the pleasantries of my fantasy worlds as opposed to the beautiful reality of life with Oliver.

  Chapter

  Twenty-Two

  DEAD WEEK

  Dead week. It was that awkward seven days between the last day of your classes and when final exams started. Everyone was in the library. Oliver and I had our usual table in the back. Sloan and Preston took the one to our left, while Ava and Brad held down the couch and small table behind us. We all had our to-do lists and worked in relative silence. It was go-time. Anatomy would be my very last final the following week, which meant I had five other exams to study for and take before I had to focus on that test, which loomed over me like a giant anvil of doom.

  Gretchen and I provided the group with study time snacks. Oliver pulled off his sweater while enjoying one of my new blueberry delight cupcakes. I had a giant double fudge brownie next to my book. Oliver glanced over at me and noticed me staring. He wiped the blue icing from his lips. “Eyes on your book.”

  I sat my chin in my palm. “Some things are worth failing for.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Summer break,” he said confidently. “We just have to make it until summer break.”

  The thought caused my heart to ache. Oliver had this grand plan to travel this summer. He wanted to take me to DC to see the capital and visit the museums because I’d never been. He already had an itinerary planned out for us. I wanted to take him up on his offer. I could see it in my mind. We’d sit together on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, looking out over the mall, watching the sun set behind the Washington Monument while he rattled on about the history and the logistics of it all. I would listen quietly, taking in his every word and the sound of his voice. We’d eat dinner in Chinatown amid the bright lights and noise of the tourist crowds, and then we would retreat to our hotel, riding the metro to the outskirts of the city.

  I needed that daydream to come true.

  I needed this lock on my heart to be broken and the barrier between me and my own dreams to be torn down. I wanted to live life outside my father’s rules without the fear of the heartbreak my mother caused me. I wanted a fresh start. A new blank page to start a new chapter of my life. No backstory. No old burdens to dampen the new scenes.

  A balled-up piece of paper hit me on the side of my face. I whipped around to see a smug Sloan smiling in my direction. “Study,” she mouthed, shooting me a very motherly type stare.

  I stuck my tongue out at her and diverted my attention back to my work. Oliver’s chair scooted in my direction, the wood of the seat knocking against mine. He didn’t look at me, he simply moved his books over so he could reach them. Our ankles locked together beneath the table, and he smiled as he continued to read his book.

  I smiled too—I couldn’t stop it.

  I didn’t think I understood what actual happiness meant until now, until I experienced that small moment in which life, even with all its possible downfalls, was perfect. We stayed in the library and worked until lunchtime, then we migrated as a group to the coffee shop. It was time for Preston to start his shift, so he pushed a bunch of tables together for us.

  After lunch, we all went our separate ways. I had to work. Oliver went with me. Gretchen had deliveries to make and asked Oliver if he could watch the cash register for her while she was gone. It was usually a task I did myself between filling my own orders, but Gretchen knew I hated it. Oliver’s kind, people friendly personality was much better suited for the job.

  I stood at the counter, swaying my hips to the music from the radio in Gretchen’s office. Oliver peeked his head around the corner. “What are you making tonight?”

  I grinned over my shoulder at him. “Something new.”

  He immediately rounded the corner. “New?”

  Oliver tried to sneak a look into the bowl, but I pulled it away. “No looking.”

  I found a clean spoon in the drawer and dipped a small sample of my new icing onto the end. “Open up. Tell what you think it is simply by the taste.”

  Oliver closed his eyes and opened his mouth. “I love this game.”

  He took the bite then sank against the counter. “Oh my gosh, that’s good. That tastes like these orange Creamsicle ice creams pops I used to eat as a kid.”

  “That is exactly what I was shooting for. I’m going to make a vanilla orange swirl cake with this on the top.”

  “Tonight?”

  I laughed. “Yes. Tonight.”

  “Are you going to make extra? In case you mess up, or your boyfriend steals them, right?”

  “Yes. There will be a couple extra.”

  Oliver took a seat on the stool next to the counter and made himself comfortable, and I continued to work. The cupcakes in the freezer should be cooled down by now, which meant a few final whips on my new icing, and everything would be ready for the final steps. Oliver picked up a spatula and spun it around. “Have you heard from your dad anymore?”

  My head popped up. My immediate response told me to lie. I didn’t want to lie to my boyfriend, though. I also didn’t want him to know my father continued to call and now text me every day with very strict instructions to send him my grades.

  The texts and voicemails weren’t as nice as they used to be. The one he sent yesterday stated something along the lines of it being my last warning. Finals were next week, though, and I could just show him my final grades for the class. I could en
dure the lecture of five A’s and one B. There still might be a chance I could beg his forgiveness and manage to stay at Maryland next year.

  There would be no hope if he saw that midterm grade, though. No hope at all.

  I just had to avoid him for one more week. “He’s been in touch,” I said stiffly. “I’ll be glad to have this semester over and behind me.”

  Oliver fiddled with the other utensils on the counter to keep from looking at me. “How is your relationship with him? You don’t really talk about him…well…at all.”

  I stared down in the bowl in front of me. “My father is different.” I paused, trying to find words that didn’t make him sound horrifying, which would be the truth. “Very difficult most of the time.”

  “Like how?”

  I set the bowl down and went to retrieve my cupcakes from the freezer. I’d never discussed my father with anyone before. Not even Sloan or Ava. They knew my mother had left us, but I couldn’t bear to admit the one parent I did have acted as if I was a complete and total failure all the time, even though Sloan figured it out for herself.

  Oliver got up from his seat. “Are you afraid of him?”

  I glanced up. “No.”

  My voiced sounded off. It sounded like a total lie. “He’s not abusive to me,” I added.

  Oliver’s fingers grazed my elbow. “There are other types of abuse than just physical abuse, Elle. I see that look in your eyes every time your phone rings. Just now, when I mentioned him, your entire body froze up.”

  “He’s just strict with me.”

  Oliver held me in place. “How?”

  “The normal things. If everyone else’s curfew was eleven o’clock, then mine was nine. Everyone else got to drive to school, and he dropped me off at the front door.”

  Oliver held my gaze. “And what are the not normal things?”

  I bit my lip.

  He knew.

  Oliver knew what was wrong without me having to tell him. Was it really that obvious? Did Sloan and Ava notice it too? Was my shame that easy to see?

  I looked away.

  “Eloise…”

  “My clothes were always a big deal,” I said, my voice already breaking. “Everything was always too revealing, or too tight. I could wear jeans and a t-shirt and he’d accuse me of going out to try to hook up with guys. And dating…well, dating was impossible. No boy was ever good enough. He either didn’t like their parents, or heard these ridiculous rumors. He always had a reason for why I couldn’t go.”

  It hurt saying it out loud. Because I knew, even as I tried to explain it away to myself, how he treated me was wrong.

  “He wouldn’t let me eat sweets. For Christmas last year, he gave me a gym membership, and said it was for my own good. He gave me a debit card. I was never allowed to use cash. That way he knew exactly what I spent my money on and he could analyze it at length.”

  Oliver touched my cheek, and my words started coming out as sobs. “He told me the reason I needed to graduate top of my class was because girls who looked like me had to work twice as hard.”

  Oliver kissed me.

  His hand knotted in my hair, and his lips, urgent and all consuming, found mine.

  “He’s wrong.” Oliver gasped the words between kisses. “You know he’s wrong, right?”

  I did now.

  I pressed my face into Oliver’s shoulder and held him. What I didn’t tell Oliver was what my father would surely think of him. I’d never been allowed to date. You’d just end up like your mother. I didn’t know how long I stayed there like that. Time didn’t seem to matter. At some point, Gretchen returned from her deliveries, and I finally let Oliver go to finish my cupcakes. He stayed close to me, though. Only inches separated us.

  We didn’t talk any more about it. I thought Oliver could tell I’d reached my emotional capacity for one day. What I told him was only the tip of the iceberg of Bartholomew Duncan. After I finished my shift, he walked back to my apartment with me. Oliver found a recipe for chicken lasagna, and he wanted to try it. As in, Oliver wanted to cook me dinner. He said he’d been studying the recipe and he thought, with my expert guidance, he could manage it.

  I looked forward to watching him try. Either way—good, bad, or burnt to a crisp—I would eat it. We stopped at the grocery store and picked up everything we needed then went to my apartment. Sometime in between my putting my stuff up and grabbing a ponytail holder for my hair, Oliver had found my Betty Boop apron and made himself at home in my kitchen. I made myself comfortable on the couch and started up our Superman marathon we didn’t get to finish the other night. I bypassed the West years and went straight to present day Henry Cavill.

  “Hey, Elle, can I use this to stir up stuff?” Oliver stood at the edge of the kitchen counter holding an apple peeler.

  I pointed toward the utensil holder next to the fridge. “You’d have better luck with the whisk.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “And a whisk looks like…”

  I rolled my eyes and pushed play on the movie before going to join him. Someone had to teach the poor boy to cook. It might as well be me. I slapped his butt. “Move over, Boop. Let me teach you how to work your way around a kitchen.”

  Oliver and I cooked dinner together. He did all the manual labor, and I guided him. We ate lasagna on the floor in front of the television like two kids watching Saturday morning cartoons.

  The doorbell rang the same time Oliver placed our dishes in the sink. He started to turn on the water, but paused. I remained seated in my spot on the floor, plotting how to get him to take his shirt off. The doorbell rang again. “Are you going to answer that?”

  I shrugged. “It’s probably Sloan.” And she could wait. She could turn into one of those little stone gnomes, for all I cared. Oliver laughed as a loud knock echoed through my apartment. “That sounds urgent. What if she needs you?”

  I eyed him. “You’re too nice. We’re going to have to work on that.”

  I dragged myself off the couch and to the door. I swung it open, prepared to scowl at my friend before giving her a lecture. Except it wasn’t Sloan.

  My mouth dropped open. “Dad?”

  It was definitely him. Six feet, three inches of power suit and anger. My father pressed his lips tightly together, his features stern and unyielding. “Well, look who is alive. It’s my daughter who I had to fly across the country to see and make sure she wasn’t dead in a ditch somewhere.”

  I winced. Crap. I really should have sent that message to his secretary. “Dad, I’m sorry. I can explain.”

  He stepped past me, but I grabbed his arm. His dark eyes looked down at me, glaring at the point where my hand touched his arm. “You’re lucky I don’t put you on a plane back home this instant.”

  “I told you I can explain.”

  “I’ve called you, Eloise…for weeks. No answer. I’ve left you voicemails. I even called the university. They said they couldn’t tell me whether you’ve shown up to class or not. I had to cancel three meetings to fly out here and check on you.”

  I tried to hold him back, but it was too late. He was in the door. Oliver stood in the middle of the living room. My dad paused as soon as he saw him. This was bad. So terribly bad.

  He glanced at me then back at Oliver. “Who are you?”

  Oliver swallowed. I instinctively jumped in front of him. “This is Oliver. He’s my tutor.”

  “Your tutor?”

  I moved further in front of Oliver in hope my dad wouldn’t notice the dishes, the movie playing, and the total lack of books anywhere in sight. “Yeah. He’s been helping me study. We were just about to start.”

  “You were going to study?” His voice dropped. “Well, then, let me see your midterm grades. I want to know how well this tutoring has been working.”

  “We only started this week.” I was horrible at lying, especially to my dad.

  “Your grades, Eloise. I want to see them. You think I wouldn’t notice how you suddenly stop answering my calls the
same week your grades were to be issued?”

  Of course he noticed. He’d probably been waiting for the opportunity for weeks. “Midterms don’t matter.”

  He set his features straight. “They matter to me.”

  I took a deep breath, tears already welling in my eyes. Worst nightmare didn’t even begin to explain the gut wrenching knots that twisted in my stomach. I walked over and found the college issued stock paper I’d stuck in a drawer by my desk. I handed it to him. He read down the paper. “You’re failing.”

  “It’s one class, and I’ve already brought the grade up.”

  “This is unacceptable.” He threw the paper down on my desk. “You’re transferring at the end of the semester.”

  “I can bring it up.” My gaze dropped to the floor.

  “To what, Eloise? To a C? Those kinds of grades won’t get you into—”

  “I’m not going to graduate school.” I tried to make my voice sound strong. I tried to be confident. “I know that’s your plan for me. To eventually make me change my major and follow your route to success, but it isn’t my plan.”

  I sounded more like a ten-year-old who’d been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

  My father flexed his fingers across the back of my computer chair. “Tell your friend to leave, Eloise.”

  I bit my lip. I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t take him telling me what to do. Eighteen years, he’d controlled me. Every aspect of my life. I couldn’t take it anymore. This tiny piece of freedom I’d gained since coming to college only proved how much more of it I needed. “No.”

  Oliver took a step forward. “Elle, maybe your dad is right. I should go. For now.”

  I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to agree to anything my father suggested. “I said no.”

  My father’s eyes lit up with fire, but I held my stance. I lifted my chin and looked Bartholomew directly in the eye. “You can leave.”

  His chin set tight. “You think I won’t put you on a plane this afternoon? You—”

  “I’m legally an adult. You can’t make me do anything anymore.”

  “I pay your tuition.”