“What was that all about?” Mom is propped against the inside of my door with a sort of suspicious look on her face.
I shrug. “No idea. You know Dan. He’s weird.”
She raises one eyebrow. “He wasn’t the one acting weird, dear.”
Oh man, I hate it when she dears me. It makes me feel like I’m five years old again, and I just flushed that twenty dollar bill down the toilet. That “dear” is rife with pity, a kind of “aw, poor thing, she doesn’t know any better.”
“It was nothing, Mom. Really.”
I open my laptop, which causes Mom to sigh and leave. I temporarily think about printing out a picture of Dan so I can throw things at it, but that might come off as slightly crazy. Okay, more like licking-the-windows crazy. Instead I tick off the accomplished parts of my eight-part plan. One through four are done and done well, in my opinion. Now I just need to remain vigilant and move onto outsmarting him.
I check over the dirt—I mean, the scientific data I have on him already—but none of it is even near the breakthrough I really want. All the mean things he’s said in our chats about his so-called friends seem to be stuff he has no problem saying to their faces. It’s frustrating. In our chats he’s called some of his teammates “knuckle draggers,” he’s called a teacher a “barnacle on the hull of the education system’s ship,” and he’s referred to our cheerleading squad as, “the succubi of school funding.”
Who am I to argue with all of that? I did argue about the cheerleading thing because I tried out in ninth grade, and I can say for certain that those chicks are athletes. And when I protested, he conceded the point, saying, “True. I’m not suggesting more money needs to go to the other sports. I just think more money needs to go to academia.”
Damn him and his logic.
So yeah, the stuff I have on him now is kind of…silly? Nonexistent? I need more. I need something that will blow the walls off his assumed persona.
He messages me then, at the very moment I’m planning his downfall.
Dantheman: Please, God, tell me you haven’t abandoned me, too?
It takes a second for me to get my emotions under control. Effyeah is the only one who doesn’t know the depths of his assholeness. He’s looking for sympathy, and as much as I want to cuss him out, I can’t.
Me: Why would I abandon you? You of superior knowledge, you of elevated wit.
It doesn’t hurt to revisit the second part of the plan as often as possible. He is a vain being, after all.
Dantheman: *polishes nails on shirt* Thanks. It’s just been a rough day. Got into it again with my dad a second ago. Had to pull out the big guns.
There he goes again with trying to make me feel sorry for him. Nope, nope, and nope. I am immovable. I am an iceberg and he is the Titanic. Grumpy Cat is my spirit animal.
Me: Awww, that sucks. What big guns do you speak of?
Dantheman: Told him I’d quit the team if he took away my internet connection. I know it sounds like first world problems, but you’re kind of my lifeline to sanity, atm. Sorry if that’s a bit forward, but it’s the truth.
Oh lord, Grumpy Cat, give me strength.
Me: No, it’s cool. I’m honored.
Dantheman: And in the spirit of being completely forward and honest, I feel I need to tell you something.
Yes! Is this it? Is he about to reveal his deep dark secret? Please, please, let this be it.
Dantheman: I kissed Zelda Potts today. Not sure if that means anything to you. I think you and I have a connection, but I don’t know if you feel the same. If you do, I wanted to be honest. If not, well, that sucks, but it’s cool.
I throw my head back in exasperation, and it clunks against the headboard of my bed. I don’t give a second thought to the goose egg that’s probably going to form in a minute or two. This is his big, dark secret? I don’t know whether to be insulted or disappointed.
Both. Let’s go with both.
And what the hell is effyeah supposed to say to this? Is she supposed to be okay with it? If I want to keep chatting with Dan, other-me has to be okay with it. I think. God, I don’t know. If other-me is okay with it, will that be unrealistic and make Dan suspicious?
Dantheman: Was that weird? That was weird. I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.
Crap, I’m taking too long to answer.
Me: No, I just…
I just what?
I slam the laptop closed and toss it onto the end of my bed like if I put distance between it and me that’ll solve something. So much for remaining vigilant.
Chapter Fourteen
Dan
The Natchitoches Christmas Festival is weird. On one hand, I hate it. It draws tourists to our small town, and if you’ve ever driven behind someone who has no idea where they’re going on a double-lined, two-lane, curvy road, then you know my rage. On the other hand, the Festival is our town’s thing. Zwolle has their Tamale Festival—that’s right, the Zwolle Tamale Festival. It rhymes. New Orleans has Mardi Gras. Well, we have that, too. All of Louisiana does. But Natchitoches does Christmas up right on the first Saturday of December. There’s a parade, there’s fireworks over the river, and, best of all, we get Friday off school.
One would think that having a three-day weekend while my parents are out of town for a taxidermy convention would make me happy, but I spent most of the day trying not to feel sorry for myself. It’s been a week since I last spoke with effyeah. The only communication I’ve had with my dad consisted of grunts and shrugs. And Zelda wouldn’t even acknowledge my existence once during this entire past week at school.
By the time it gets dark, I’ve gone through my entire anti-pity-party regimen. I’ve gotten five hundred kills on Shoot Your Face 3. I’ve watched my favorite Lord of the Rings movie, The Two Towers. And I read all of my new comics. I even order a pizza using a fake name just in case Dad has given orders to all the pizza places to not deliver to me. Still, I feel like crap so I’m desperate, which is why I turn to social interaction.
It’s Christmas Festival night so there’s absolutely no use in taking the monstrosity, since after the parade the roads are crammed full of families trying to get back to their homes in order to avoid the party crowd. Front Street, the all-brick road that is the center of Natchitoches tourism and runs parallel to Cane River, is not a long walk from my house, so I strike out on foot. I get to the bridge that crosses Cane River, dodging Drunky-Mcdrunkersons the whole way, and I stop for a moment to admire the lights.
Every year, Natchitoches adds a new Christmas light display along one side of the river. The water reflects the lights, making it seem like a scene from a fantasy. Lights also drip from the bridge and above Front Street. My favorite part of the lights is what I like to call the center of the web. Lights of all colors spread out in rays from a tall, old-timey street lamp at the end of Front Street and weave their way up side roads.
After crossing the bridge, I hit the epicenter of Natchitoches Christmas revelry. Front Street has been blocked off for the festival as usual and vendors selling everything from fried alligator to light-up necklaces to “Who Dat” Saints T-shirts line the riverbank. A live band is playing Zydeco music down on the stage by the water. I’m about to head there because if Zydeco can’t cheer me up nothing can, but I get a text from Logan.
Logan: You should come over. Having a party. Hashtagxmasfest
One would think that with him being a total nerd Logan would understand internet culture, but he’s never gotten the hang of the hashtag.
Well, I wanted some social interaction. Logan lives in an apartment right off First Street and it’s only a few blocks away. I try to cross through the festival crowd as quick as possible, but I catch a whiff of fresh funnel cake and my mouth waters. I sniff out the funnel cake cart like a bloodhound.
As I’m waiting in line for the heavenly fried dough covered in powered sugar, I hear my name boom out above the commotion. I turn to see Douchebag Donovan barreling through the crowd toward me. I want to take
off, but I hesitate a second too long. Damn you, funnel cake!
He slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Dude, didn’t expect to see you here. You never go out.”
“Uh, I’m just getting something to eat.” That’s right, keep it short.
“Cool. So you know some college students, right?” he asks as I pay for my food.
What the hell? Why does he care about that? “Uh, yeah.”
“Awesome. Where’s the party at?”
I almost drop my precious deep fried delicacy. “How did you… I mean, uh, no. I don’t know. I was just going to go back home.”
“Riiiight.” He draws the word out like he doesn’t believe me at all, which is surprising. I never pegged him as perceptive. “Come on, dude. Don’t leave me hanging. I’d love to hook up with some hot college chick.” He digs his elbow into my ribs and waggles his eyebrows. “Or chicks, if you know what I mean.”
I know I said I’ve resorted to social interaction to defunkify, but hanging out with Donovan is so not what I meant. “Sorry, man. I got nothing.” I make my exit at superspeed and lose him in the crowd.
As I weave through people on my way to Logan’s, I savor this sugar-covered guilty pleasure. And I don’t use that term lightly. It really is guilt inducing. I know I should be feeling delightfully rebellious and I do, but my dad’s disappointed face keeps popping into my head. The look he had when I gave him the “I’ll quit the team” ultimatum was the worst. He was so shocked at my audacity that he just turned around and walked calmly up the stairs, into his office, and closed the door. He must think I’m such a rotten kid, or maybe he’s wondering where he went wrong in my upbringing. He’s probably thinking both.
God, I’m such an ungrateful ass.
I’m finally distracted from my stupid thoughts when I get to Logan’s place. It’s a two-story building that has about five apartments. These are nothing like those nice, new apartments they built across from the college. This place is old and well lived in. The kind of place that has seen so many Bob Marley posters, bead curtains, and porch couches, it’s ridiculous. The kind of place that will never not smell like pot, beer, and incense.
All the apartment doors are open as people flow in and out of them. As I walk up the steps, I hear a loud “Yes!” from the end of the porch where a group is playing a drinking game called Quarters. Suddenly, someone punches my arm. Hard.
I turn, grasping my arm, to find out what asshole just hit me for no reason and see that I was totally accurate in the assumption that it was, indeed, an asshole.
Donovan looks around, eyes sparkling like this party is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “I knew you had a line on a party, dude!”
I throw my hands up. “What the hell, man? You followed me? Not cool.”
“Relax. It doesn’t look like an invitation-only thing.” He turns to some random guy and asks where the beer is.
I shake my head as he darts into one of the apartments in search of alcohol. Taking a deep breath, I gird my loins in preparation for the dreaded socializing. I stand on my toes and try to find Logan in the sea of people, but I find someone else instead. Zelda maneuvers through the crowd with her arms drawn in and her eyes downcast. Her shiny red hair falls to the side in one of those elaborate braids that looks like it could only be done by someone with seven fingers on each hand. She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder pink sweater that, on anyone else would drive me crazy because it’s not straight, but on her it drives me crazy for a different reason because she’s quirkily drawn a silver star near her collarbone.
It doesn’t matter how many times I tell myself not to follow her, I still find myself doing just that. It feels like one of those moments when you know you’re screwing up, but you still move forward.
Zelda
Beth is so lucky that I love her and I want to see her happy. Parties are not exactly my scene. The last one I can remember going to was Natalie Barten’s eleventh birthday party, which I spent conversing with the moms in the kitchen instead of testing out Natalie’s new makeup. And even though it was Maddie who invited us here tonight, I fully intended on not going. It was Beth’s, “Come on, Z, I’ve never been to one of these things before. My adventurous spirit craves new experiences,” that convinced me to show up.
The thing is, I said I would go, I didn’t say that I would mingle or cavort or whatever it is people do at these things. So, I make it my priority to find somewhere to hide out until Beth’s ready to leave.
The bottom three apartments have been designated party central and Logan lives with his roommates on the top floor, which is off-limits. A few minutes ago when we got here, we found Logan and Maddie in the bottom center apartment on the couch playing some crazy racing video game.
I wait for their race to finish before tapping Maddie on the shoulder, as is gamer etiquette. She glances up with a gleam in her eye because she just thrashed Logan and came in first place.
“Ladies! I’m so glad y’all came! Have a seat, grab a controller. You guys want a beer?” She scoots to the end of the couch and reaches into a mini-fridge to get two bottles.
“Thanks,” I say and take a seat on the floor. We walked here from my house, so I feel okay about having a drink, but I should probably take it easy since, surprise surprise, I don’t drink like ever. Plus, there aren’t very many people here at all so I don’t worry about finding a quiet place. Beth sits next to Maddie. “Thank you, I’d love one.”
Logan hands me a controller. “I’m warning you now, Maddie does not take it easy on anyone. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never played, she won’t give you any slack.”
Maddie shoves him playfully. “Shut up, I’m not that bad. But still, how are you going to get better if I ease up? You gotta up your game, Mr. Scott.”
As we get into the game, more and more people show up. After a while and two beers, I pull my focus away from the screen to realize the place is packed and my anxiety flares. This girl needs some alone time.
“Hey, Logan, the line for the bathroom looks really long. Do you think I could use yours upstairs?” I ask.
“Sure. It should be open. Just try to be sneaky about it so no one notices you.”
That shouldn’t be a problem, since I feel invisible most of the time. “Thank you so much.”
I weave through people and out onto the porch, making sure to keep my arms close to my body. I slip past the loud people who’ve set up a drinking game at the end of the porch and duck under the sign hanging across the stairs that says, Off-limits. Seriously.
Logan hosted a LARP game here once so I know my way around. I head through the front room to the bathroom in the back. When I’m done, I figure I can hang out up here for a bit. I send a text to Beth letting her know where I am and head down the hall toward the front room to find a spot. Surely I can waste some time playing Candy Crush or something.
As I pass Logan’s room, I catch a glorious purple glow. My curiosity gets the best of me. I walk in and flick on the light switch. On the wall above a bookshelf hangs something truly magnificent. Delicately, I pick up the Mace Windulightsaber replica. It reminds me of those super expensive knives professional chefs use that are weighted perfectly for precision. I take a step back and brandish the weapon at a poster of Aragorn from Lord of the Rings on the wall.
“Don’t worry, your highness. Your Jedi escort will see you to safety,” I say in my best Obi Wan accent.
“The force is strong with this one.” The words come from behind me.
I whip around out of pure freaked-out instinct, swinging the lightsaber in a big arc. It clashes with one just like it, except it’s blue. I look up into Dan’s smug face and wish these lightsabers weren’t replicas. Sure, it’s a cute face, but it’s a face I’m not in the mood to deal with at the moment. I swirl my saber to move his out of the way and put the point of it to his chin.
“Don’t make me slice your nose off, you scruffy-looking nerf herder.” I’ve always wanted to call someone that, but the opportunity never p
resented itself until now.
He tosses his lightsaber onto the bed and holds his hands up in surrender. “I yield, but only because that is a limited edition.”
He takes the Windu awesomeness from me and while he puts it back in its place of reverence, I tiptoe to the door.
“Where are you going?” I think I hear a bit of disappointment in his voice, like he doesn’t want me to leave, but I’m not betting on it.
“To find somewhere quiet.”
He smirks. “You came to a party to find somewhere quiet? Your logic is not quite on point there.”
I deadpan a laugh. “Ha ha. I came for Beth; she’s never been to something like this and I can’t say no to her. So, technically I’m not at a party, I’m just waiting for a friend. Besides, I don’t really know anyone here except for Maddie and Logan. It’s no big deal.”
“You know me. So, let’s socialize. I hear that’s a common occurrence at a party.”
Part of me wants to tell him that no I really don’t know him at all and the other part wants to say that I know him better than he could ever imagine. But neither one of those things will get me out of this situation.
I’d avoided him for the rest of the school week. If I saw him coming, I’d take detours all over the place just so I didn’t have to be confronted with that full bottom lip of his, which would then lead to remembering what that lip feels like. All that hassle and all it takes are two beers for me to give in.
“Okay, let’s socialize.”
“Great.” He claps his hands then rubs them together like he’s about to start a game of chess. “Uh…”
The moment stretches out and my eyebrows go higher the longer it takes for him to say something.
Romancing the Nerd Page 11
