Geek Magnet

by Kieran Scott

  “Okay, let’s do it,” Robbie said, slapping his hands together as he stood. He stepped toward me with his arms outstretched and I tripped back.

  “What? No.”

  “What? Yes,” he said. He hit the rewind button and the tape zipped backward. He paused it right as the dance began. “You don’t really expect me to ask Tama to dance with me without any practice. Even I’m not that stupid.”

  I was suddenly very aware of my heartbeat. “There’s no way I’m dancing with you.”

  “You really know how to stroke a guy’s ego,” Robbie joked. “Come on. I’m not that repulsive.”

  “You’re not repulsive at all, it’s just—”

  “Well, that’s good to hear,” Robbie said with a teasing smile. He was enjoying this.

  “It’s just that I don’t dance,” I admitted. Never had. Not once. Not with a guy. I was a dance-free zone.

  “Well, neither do I—I mean, except on stage. But I’ve never danced like this, so we’re even,” he said.

  He hit “play.” The music started and Robbie pulled me toward him by my wrist. He grabbed my hand, which was sweating, and held it, then put his other hand on my waist. My boobs pressed into his chest and I flinched, but Robbie didn’t even seem to notice. He was too busy consulting the TV screen.

  “Here goes nothing,” he said. “Okay, it’s a waltz, so one, two, three . . . one, two, three. Looks like a big step on one and two little steps on two and three. Got it?”

  “Sure.” I so didn’t have it.

  “Okay, go.”

  He started to step in a circle, pulling me with him. I staggered along, mortified. “One, two, three. One, two, three,” he counted under his breath.

  My foot caught on his ankle. “Oops! Sorry.” I was sweating like mad now, wishing I’d taken off my sweater, at least.

  “I got ya,” he said, his grip tightening on my hand. “Keep going.”

  “One, two, three,” I counted, staring down at our feet. He slammed his hip into one of the set chairs.

  “Ow! Dammit!”

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Keep going,” he said through his teeth.

  “One, two, three,” I counted. I glanced up at the TV screen, and the second I took my eyes off our feet, they got hopelessly tangled. I felt that instant swoop of gravity and shouted as we went down. The floor was not soft.

  “Oof !”

  “Ow. Okay, ow,” Robbie said, grabbing his elbow. “That was not a good bone to fall on.”

  He shook his arm out and I brought my knees up under my chin. “Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.”

  “No! No. We cannot quit that easily,” Robbie said, standing. He took my hands and hoisted me up. “Maybe we just need to simplify it a little.”

  “Actually, I think it’s the twirl and the dip at the end that are really important,” I theorized. It seemed like the most romantic part to me.

  “Okay, good.” Robbie was psyched by this development. “So maybe instead of going in circles, we just step side to side and do the twirl thing a couple of times.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I said.

  “Let’s do it.”

  Robbie rewound the tape and we started from the beginning of the music. He took my hand again and held it up, then placed his other hand on my waist. This time we simply swayed back and forth. I was just getting used to the motion, when I realized that Robbie was staring at me. Big time.

  “What?” I said, my skin prickling.

  “Trying to make eye contact,” he said. “I hear eye contact while dancing is key.”

  “Where would you hear something like that?” I said.

  “My grandmother. She’s a wise woman,” he said.

  His grandmother. How cute was that?

  His eyes were completely focused on my face. I tried to stare back into them, but I kept cracking up laughing. And he thought I’d make a good actress.

  “Wow. You suck at eye contact,” he said. “Come on. Give me something to work with here.”

  I took a deep breath and steeled myself. It’s just Robbie Delano, KJ. You can do this. And so I did. I looked right back into his eyes. And we continued to sway to the music. His hand around mine. His hand on my hip. Our chests pressed together. I stared into his eyes, and soon I found that laughing was the last thing on my mind.

  “How’s this working for you?” Robbie asked me quietly.

  “Good!” I blurted, my heart slamming against my rib cage. “It’s . . . it’s good.”

  “Good,” he replied.

  My palms were totally slick by now. My pulse a rushing freight train. What was going on here? This was how I felt around Cameron, not Robbie. This was all totally wrong.

  It’s just the slow dance, KJ. It’s just because it’s your first slow dance. Don’t get all carried away.

  “Okay, here comes the twirl thing,” Robbie announced. “Let’s try it.”

  He pulled me closer to him and my breath caught, then he spun me away and I almost lost my balance, but he pulled me back in, slung his arm around my back, and dipped me, never letting me fall. By the time I stood up again, the whole room was reeling and the people on the screen were kissing passionately and Robbie was holding me, his breath short and quick, his face ever-so-close to mine.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  “That was . . . that . . . was . . .”

  Just the dance, KJ. Just the slow dance.

  Cameron was the guy I liked. Cameron, Cameron, Cameron.

  “Perfect.”

  ACT TWO, SCENE SIXTEEN

  In Which:

  THERE’S A SURPRISE VISITOR

  “SO, WHO’S COMING TONIGHT?” STEPHANIE ASKED AS SHE WRAPPED my big-barreled curling iron around her hair.

  “Almost everyone, I think. Ashley, Jonathan, Cory, Carrie, Robbie . . .”

  Which will be great, as long as there’s no dancing.

  I glanced at Stephanie, wondering if I should tell her about that weird moment I thought I’d shared with Robbie, but decided to keep my mouth shut. It was nothing, after all. And how was I supposed to explain it after freaking on her for not taking my thing with Cameron seriously? Things were tentatively normal between us. I didn’t want her lecturing me for being a total flake.

  “Anyone from the crew?” Stephanie asked.

  “Well, I’d bet money Glenn is coming, though luckily he doesn’t apprise me of his every move anymore,” I said with a shudder. “And Janice and Andy . . .”

  Stephanie turned back toward the mirror. “That’s good. Sounds like it’ll be a good turnout.”

  I dug through the pile of clothing on my desk chair, looking for my black cardigan sweater. It was times like these that I secretly wished I listened to my mother when she told me to clean up my room. If I hung all my clothes in the closet after I took them off, she would say, then they would be there when I went to look for them and I wouldn’t have to go through this. But at the end of the day, throwing them on the chair was just so much easier.

  “Aha!” I yanked the sweater out from the bottom of the pile and pulled it on over my burgundy T-shirt. This was about as close as I got to dressing up. Instead of a baggy sweater or T-shirt, a less baggy T-shirt and baggy sweater. Plus dangly earrings instead of studs. Plus my favorite plaid sneakers, of course. Which, unfortunately, were tangled up in a mess of dozens of other pairs of sneakers on the floor of my closet. They took about ten minutes to extricate. But at least all my sneakers were in my closet, right? That had to count for something.

  “I wonder if anyone’s bringing anyone,” Stephanie said. She let her hair go and a perfect spiral curl fell down around her face, joining all the other perfect spiral curls.

  “No one ever does,” I said. “It’s not exactly the social event of the year.”

  “I guess not.”

  I did a double take as she leaned toward my mirror to apply some extra lip gloss.

  “Steph, you look . . . hot,” I said. The girl was wearing
eyeliner. Last I checked she didn’t even know how to apply eyeliner.

  She smiled. “I do?”

  “Uh, yeah. What’s with the primp?” I asked.

  She blushed under her powder blush. “I just thought it might be nice to, you know . . . look nice.”

  “Okay.”

  This was so not Stephanie. It was so not Stephanie, I was a little confused by it. Why would she get all dressed up and made up for Fred’s party, of all things? And then, out of nowhere, a thought hit me. Was Stephanie crushing on someone I didn’t know about? Was that why she was wondering if people were bringing dates? Maybe I wasn’t the only one holding back. Which was so wrong. If Stephanie had a new crush and hadn’t trusted me enough to share it, I’d be heartbroken. Our friendship couldn’t have changed that much, could it?

  “Steph?” I asked tentatively.

  She stopped fluffing her hair. “What’s the matter?”

  And then, the doorbell rang.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Your house,” she said with a shrug.

  I ran downstairs and over to the door, shoving aside the window curtain. Tama was standing on my front step chatting with Leo, and Cameron Richardson.

  No. Freaking. Way.

  The curtain fell back into place. I pressed my back against the door. Cameron Richardson was at my house. He was standing on my doorstep at this very moment looking all beautiful in his brown leather jacket and jeans. Cameron Richardson was here!

  The doorbell rang again. “God, if she left already—” Tama said.

  I held my breath and flung the door open. “Hi!”

  “There you are!” Tama said.

  “Hey, KJ,” Cameron said with a smile.

  “S’up,” Leo added.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I asked.

  “We’re taking you out,” she said, glancing into my house. “Get your coat.”

  “What do you mean? What about Fred’s?” I asked.

  Cameron scoffed a laugh and I instantly wanted to bitch-slap my tongue.

  “I’m ditching that cheese-fest. We have something so much cooler planned,” Tama said. “Come on.”

  A car turned onto my street and my heart leapt into my throat. But it wasn’t my dad’s car. Too quiet. Still, I had to get these people out of here before he came home. It was Friday night—Bad Dad Night—and God only knew how he’d react to me standing here with the door open (losing heat) talking to three people he didn’t know (he wouldn’t remember Tama), one of whom was smoking (Leo).

  “You guys, I can’t ditch Fred. He’ll die,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to say it. But I did. Because it was true.

  “So what? It’s Fred Frontz,” Cameron said. He ran his finger through his curls and glanced in the window at his reflection.

  “Exactly. And this is me. And Cameron,” Tama added through her teeth, widening her eyes.

  Okay. She had a point. Was I really going to choose a night of Grease-watching and fruit-punch-sipping in Fred’s moldy basement over going out and doing something cool with Tama and Cameron Richardson? Answer: hell no.

  “KJ?”

  I glanced at Stephanie, who was standing in the kitchen. “Could you guys hold on just a sec?” I asked.

  Tama groaned. “Fine, but hurry up. It’s freezing out here.”

  I closed the door after one last glance at Cameron, just to make sure he was actually there, then grabbed my coat off the hook and ran over to Stephanie. “It’s Tama and Leo and they have Cameron with them.”

  “No way,” Stephanie said, her eyes wide.

  “I swear! He’s out there right now! And they want me to go out with them.” I shoved my arms into my coat and grabbed my purse.

  “But what about Fred’s party?” Stephanie asked.

  “I know. I know. I don’t want to ditch it, but Steph, this is Cameron!” I wailed quietly. “This is practically a double date! I have to go!”

  Please let her understand. Please, please, please don’t let her make me feel guilty about this, too. Stephanie took a deep breath. “You’re right. It’s Cameron.”

  Thank you!

  “So will you cover for me? With Fred?” I asked.

  “Sure. I’ll just . . . tell him you’re sick or something,” she said grudgingly.

  “Are you mad?” I asked.

  “No! No, of course not. This is Cameron Richardson. You’ve been waiting for this your entire life.”

  “I know!” I hugged her hard and she hugged me back. “I can’t believe this is happening!”

  “Me neither,” she replied. She picked up her own coat and put it on, lifting her freshly curled hair over her shoulders. I realized that I had never gotten a chance to ask her about her potential crush, but there wasn’t time now. I’d have to grill her later.

  The doorbell rang again and my heart jumped. “Okay, I gotta go. Have fun!”

  “You, too!” Stephanie replied.

  We walked out together. Tama was irritated at the sight of Stephanie. “Oh. You’re here.”

  “Don’t worry,” Steph said flatly. “I’m just going to walk up to Fred’s party.”

  “Oh! Cool!” Tama said, suddenly bright as a floodlight. She wrapped her arm around mine as we all turned back down the path. “Say hi to everyone for us!”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and waved at me. Five seconds later I found myself in the backseat of Leo’s pickup truck with Cameron Richardson sliding in next to me.

  “So. This should be cool,” he said. His leather jacket squeaked as he sat back.

  “Yeah. Definitely,” I replied.

  I glanced out the window to hide my giddy smile. Leo revved his engine and zoomed backward out of my driveway. He roared past Steph, walking up the street with her hands in her pockets, alone. I felt a lump of guilt in the pit of my stomach until we got to the top of the hill and she dipped out of sight. Then it was just me and Cameron and the whole night ahead of us.

  ACT TWO, SCENE SEVENTEEN

  In which:

  I WANT TO DIE

  O’REILLY’S. O’REILLY’S POOL HALL. THE VERY NAME MADE ME nauseous. Made my heart sick in a way that was almost unbearable. I had always wondered what it looked like on the inside behind those blacked-out windows. What, exactly, the appeal of the place was. And now that I was seeing it for the first time, I was disgusted. The dark, low-ceilinged room was filled with stale gray smoke. Every guy in sight was sucking on a beer bottle. Every woman, too, though there were far fewer of them. I stood near the wall, clinging to my own elbows, trying to make myself as small as possible. Every time the heavy wooden door squealed open, I flinched and my heart stopped.

  I could not be here. Could not. But how could I possibly tell Tama and Cameron and Leo that? What, exactly, was I supposed to say?

  Uh, guys? My dad comes here practically every Friday for the nightcap to cap his many nightcaps. I know this because my mother has had to pick him up here semi-unconscious on more than one occasion. So if we could just hoof it on down to Friendly’s now so that I can avoid the most horrifying experience of my life, that would be super cool. I’ll even buy the Fribbles.

  Yeah. That was not going to happen.

  “This is a cool place, huh?” Cameron said. He took a slug of his beer—Leo had bought bottles for all four of us without being carded—and placed it down next to mine on the tall table. Mine was still full. His, half drained.

  This was wrong. This was all wrong. This was where the smell came from. That awful Bad Dad Night smell. And Cameron was drinking. Perfect, boy-of-my-dreams Cameron. The last person I wanted to think of when I was with him was my father.

  The door opened again. A large man in a leather vest walked in. I gulped smoky air. Tried not to cough.

  “Yeah. Cool.” I rearranged my cardigan over my chest and held it there with folded arms. Two old men with beards had been ogling me all night and they both laughed when I made my adjustment.

  “You okay?” Cameron asked me.

&
nbsp; No. This is my worst nightmare.

  “I’m fine,” I said brightly. I tried to make my face match my voice, but it came out kind of tight and manic. Cameron looked disturbed. God, I hated my father. I just hated him. He had made me this way. The thought of him was making it impossible for me to relax. Impossible for me to be a normal freaking teenager. Thanks to him, this whole night was ruined. Thanks to him, watching other people ingesting alcohol made me want to gag. And cry. And hit something.