The Nerdy and the Dirty

by B. T. Gottfred

  Which I believe can be translated into: I love you, Benedict.

  Penelope

  And then I told Benedict about my parents. I couldn’t not tell him everything. I knew I had to, but as I was telling him everything—all the stuff Father Jeremy told me, but also every fight and crazy thing that’s happened since—I kept thinking at some point he was going to stop me and say, “Penelope, I’m sorry, but you are way too psychologically damaged for me to consider romantically any longer.”

  But, fuck, he never said that. Not even close. Instead, after I had poured it all out, Benedict told me, “Now I better understand your profound source of wisdom. You have been, in many ways, your own parent since infancy.”

  Yeah.

  * * *

  It was almost midnight by then and we needed to go somewhere, so he called his mom and asked if his dad was there. He wasn’t. He asked if I could spend the night. She said yes.

  So we went to Benedict’s house, which was this huge, sprawling mansion on a lot that used be a farm or something. I mean, I don’t even know what to think about this right now.

  Elizabeth and his mom met us at the door and they both gave me a hug, which I don’t know how I could explain how good it felt but it did. Benedict at some point asked if it was okay if I slept in his room with him.

  His mom said, “You’re seventeen. You’re old enough now.”

  But, to be honest, if this whole crazy day had happened a week ago, I bet Mrs. Pendleton—who’s a fucking saint—would have probably said the same thing except she wouldn’t have mentioned being seventeen.

  * * *

  His sister lent me some old clothes of hers for pajamas, which was a bit embarrassing since she’s younger than me but so much taller. But seriously, it was awesome and I’m going to stop stressing about crap I can’t control, like my height … and my parents.

  Except I should tell them I’m not dead.

  Which I told Benedict, who said, “I could tell them.”

  “What do you mean you could tell them?”

  “I could call and tell them. If they yell at me, I will not get hurt because they are not my parents.”

  “Okay.”

  So I gave him my mom’s number and he called her with his phone. He put it on speaker so I could listen. After she answered, Benedict said, “Mrs. Lupo, this is Benedict—”

  “OH MY GOD—DO YOU KNOW WHERE PENELOPE IS? WE ARE SO WORRIED! IS SHE ALL RIGHT? YOU TELL HER WE ARE GOING TO SUE PAUL AND HIS FAMILY! NO ONE HURTS OUR DAUGHTER!” My dad was in the background, seconding everything she said. I love how my mom was going to sue Benedict and his family ten hours ago and now she was going to sue Paul. For the record, my parents have never sued anyone. It’s just what they say. Anyway, she went on like this for a while and I kept wanting to say something, but Benedict squeezed my hand gently before I ever could. After my mom’s rant slowed,

  Benedict said, “Penelope will be staying at my house tonight. She is safe.”

  She yelled, “BUT YOUR FATHER CALLED—”

  “Yes, he did. He is not here nor will I allow him to be here if Penelope is here.”

  “Okay. Tell her we love her. I STILL DON’T THINK WHAT YOU DID UP AT WILD WOLF WAS OKAY! But tell her I’ll pray for her.”

  “I will,” Benedict said, but then he mouthed to me, No, I won’t. He’s getting funnier by the hour.

  I heard my father tell her he wanted to talk. They fought for a second over the phone, but my mom relented. My dad got on and said, “Hello, thank you for taking care of our baby girl. I’m sorry for saying what I said at the restaurant. I get crazy because I love her so much and I just want her to be safe.” And then my dad started sobbing on the phone. “I just want her safe and you make her safe and I love you. I love you for making my daughter safe, so thank you, thank you, you come in anytime and I give you free pizza for you and your family anytime. Okay? I love you, I love you. Okay, I go.” Even though he was telling Benedict he loved him, which was nuts, I mouthed, I love you, Dad.

  Then my mom got back on and said, “Everyone thinks I’m the crazy one, but you see what I have to deal with? What are we supposed to do now? Just wait for her to call us? We are so worried. Tell her we can go shopping tomorrow. Tell her I’ll buy her a new phone tomorrow.” And since that was my mom’s way of telling me she loved me, I said, in my heart to both the mother on the phone and the mother that did what she had to in order to protect me back in Brooklyn all those years ago, I love you too, Mom.

  BENEDICT

  That night, after I got off the phone with her parents, Penelope and I got into my bed. The last time I slept in this bed, I had never kissed a girl. Now, I was lying on my mattress with my girlfriend’s head on my shoulder.

  Penis Benedict wanted to have sex, but I didn’t. Not exactly. So I told Penis Benedict to go to sleep.

  Penelope thanked me again for talking to her parents. She then came up with a plan. Tomorrow, she said, she would text her mother from my phone. Her mother hated texting, but Penelope said, “If she wants to talk to me, she’ll have to learn.” She would tell both her parents that when they yelled she was going to walk away and only communicate by text until they calmed down.

  “And you can spend the night here any time you need to,” I said.

  “That would be so nice.”

  “I think your plan is brilliant. You’re brilliant, Penelope.”

  * * *

  We lay there in silence for a little bit. Penelope rubbed my chest with her hand to which Penis Benedict said, REALLY? YOU EXPECT ME TO GO TO SLEEP WITH HER DOING THAT?

  I think Penelope heard him because she reached her hand down there. “I love you,” she said and then we had sex. Quietly but as if we had done it a thousand times even though it was only the second time.

  * * *

  “Benedict,” she said afterward, when we were lying still again. Only this time I had my head on her shoulder. “What would you say to your dad if he came home right now?”

  “I don’t know. If he said anything bad to you, I think I would tackle him.”

  “I’d tell him the highest form of intelligence is kindness and his son, my Benedict, is the kindest person I know.”

  As she said this, these thoughts started forming in my head and I just said them even though I didn’t know exactly what I was saying. “I bet my dad has an Evil Benny like me. His would be named Evil Sammy. Obviously. Except Evil Sammy is one hundred times more evil to my dad than Benny ever was to me. And the only way my dad can feel good about himself is to make other people feel bad about themselves. That’s why he wrote a book about being a perfect person, which only ever made me think I would never be perfect. That’s why he tells my mom she’s dumb and calls his son’s girlfriend names and fires me.”

  “So you’re saying he’s got social problems.” Penelope smiled.

  I smiled, but only a little, as I said, “Yes, obviously, but maybe it’s worse that that. Much worse. I’m not sure. No matter what, I guess if I saw him, I’d say, ‘Dad, stop listening to Evil Sammy tell you how horrible you are and start listening to the voice that likes you no matter how imperfect you are.’”

  * * *

  I never got a chance to say this to my dad. Maybe I will someday. He still hasn’t come home. He didn’t call on Christmas. My mother eventually tracked him using his credit cards, but she didn’t tell us where he was or what he was doing and neither Elizabeth nor I asked more than once. My mom did get a court to freeze most of the bank accounts. I think she was prepared for something like this. She knew he had more than just social problems a long time ago. Honestly, my dad is smart, but he is only smart in one way. My mom’s smart in so many ways I’m not sure I even know all of them yet.

  Even though it’s odd not having him in the basement, our house feels the same. In fact, we feel more like a family without my dad down there. I think when he was down there, all three of us were worried about him. But now we can just concentrate on worrying about people that worry
about us back.

  Penelope

  Paul got released on bail. Dean Jacoby called me—so weird—and told me everyone at school was on my side. They expelled Paul and have asked the Riverbend police to keep an eye out.

  I don’t think Paul would ever try to hurt me again. I don’t think he’s some kind of homicidal maniac. I just think he’s a scared, angry child that needs an adult to tell him it’s not okay to take your fear and anger out on other people. I’m just not going to be that adult for him. I’ve got enough problems being an adult for my parents.

  * * *

  Stacy sent me some rambling text about how she always knew Paul was an asshole, blah, blah, blah. I didn’t respond. No interest in talking to her ever again. Hopefully she gets the hint.

  I did go shopping with Iris (with my mom’s credit card) and it was nice. I told her some of what had gone on, but didn’t really get too far into it. I told her I wasn’t going to talk to Stacy anymore and she said she wasn’t going to either. When I asked why, she said, “A lot of reasons.” Iris did agree to go on a double date with Benedict and his new friend, Gator Green. Both Iris and Gator have lost a parent, so I thought, I don’t know.

  Anyway, the four of us went to a dumb action movie that Gator picked and then had pizza at my dad’s place afterward. I thought Gator looked pretty cute (even though he’s probably more out there than Benedict and me put together), but Iris didn’t seem to have any interest at all. I found out later that Iris likes girls, not boys, and her and Stacy weren’t just friends, so the whole Paul/Stacy thing ended up breaking her heart a lot more than mine.

  * * *

  On that night, and any night he saw him, my dad would pick up Benedict in a big bear hug, kiss him on the cheeks, and repeat, “I love this boy!” Benedict was super understanding about it. In some ways, my dad was exactly the kind of dad Benedict needed now. Just someone who tells him how much he loves him and feeds him pizza.

  * * *

  I downloaded the new Millie Dragon book the second it was available Christmas morning. And … guess what? She got a boyfriend for the first time. He, of course, doesn’t believe she can see demons at first. But then, blah, blah, blah, he finally believes her and they fall in love. Kinda stupid. Kinda perfect. I cried at the end.

  Benedict asked me to read his new favorite book, If Only Girls Weren’t Everything I Wanted I’d Have Nothing to Do with Them. When I told him I already had, he could tell I didn’t like it. I explained, “It’s just hard to care about a boy who cares about a girl that doesn’t care about him.”

  He said, with a wounded puppy face, “But what if I was in love with you but you didn’t love me back. You don’t think people would care about me?”

  “You would never love a girl that didn’t love you back.”

  “How do you know?” Benedict asked.

  “Because you will never love a girl besides me.” I really liked when I said this. So did Benedict. If I do ever write a book about my life—which I’m not going to, probably not anyway—I probably would include this line even though it would sound like a line a writer would say instead of a real person.

  * * *

  Benedict and I have sex a lot—a lot—and I never thought about any other guys (or girls) while I had sex with him until suddenly I did a couple times, and I worried that meant I loved him less but it didn’t feel like I loved him less so, what the hell, I told him and he said, “I’ve read a lot about this…” Of course he had. “… and it’s very normal. Just tell me when you are doing it next time and perhaps it will make it exciting for me too.”

  And I still think about sex all the time but maybe just a little less than before. I don’t judge myself as much, so maybe I think about it less because I’m not thinking about it just to make myself feel bad for thinking about it. I have no idea what I mean by that. I mean, I do, but I’m not explaining it any better than that.

  Benedict and I talked about this because, well, we talk about everything, and we both decided sex—doing it, talking about doing it, thinking about doing it, thinking and talking about other people doing it—makes us feel alive. Not exactly in the same way for each of us, but close enough. Yeah, we get why it’s not important to everyone like it’s important to us but we promise not to judge you for what makes you alive if you promise not to judge us.

  BENEDICT

  The day after my birthday, Robert texted me, asking me if I had talked to Allison Wray yet. I had been avoiding all thoughts of Robert for days because Robert is the best friend I have ever had but I fell in love with his dream girl and this was a difficult thing to explain to your best friend.

  But Penelope told me that if Robert and I are really meant to remain best friends, then he would forgive me and respect me for telling the truth. This sounded impossible, but I asked Robert to go to Midnight Dogs for lunch the next day. We talked about video games and TV shows until after we started eating. Then, while staring at his hot dog, Robert asked, “Did you talk to Pen about me?”

  “Robert,” I said, and waited until he looked up from his hot dog, which took an awfully long time. “You were right about almost everything, from us being dorks to Penelope being beautiful. I didn’t like that you were right, so I said mean things, for which I am now asking you to forgive me. While I was on vacation in Wisconsin, Penelope was on vacation at the same resort. We fell in love, which I did not expect at all, but maybe it makes sense if I think about how I love you, as a friend, and you loved Pen, from afar, and now I love her. It’s like the associative property. Maybe this doesn’t make sense. All I know is—you are my best friend and if I could go back in time and only say nice things to you, I would, but I wouldn’t go back in time to change how I feel about Penelope.”

  Robert didn’t say anything. But then he took a bite of his dog, and with his mouth full and his eyes again locked on his food, he said, “So Pen’s your girlfriend?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m your best friend.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, using the associative property, Pen’s my best friend now too.”

  I laughed at his joke.

  “That’s the first time you’ve ever laughed at my jokes, Benedict.”

  Yes, it was.

  Penelope

  After Benedict picked me up for school on our first Monday back from break, but before we picked up Robert, I asked him, “Are you nervous?”

  “Yes. Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you nervous?” Benedict asked.

  “There are just so many unknowns. We’ve spent like every second together the past two weeks. But now we’re going to school, school, where you’re brilliant…”

  “And you are popular.”

  “… and we don’t have any classes together. We don’t have any mutual friends.…”

  “Yes, we do,” he said. “We have Robert, and Gator, and Iris.”

  “The five of us … wow, we would be a sight if we all sat together.”

  “The Freaky Five.”

  “You just came up with that now?”

  “Yes, I’m very smart.”

  I said, “It would be a good title for a book.”

  “You should write it,” Benedict said.

  “I can’t fucking write.”

  “I bet you would be a writing genius.” Of course he would say that. The kid was whipped by Vagina Penelope bad.

  “I don’t know … okay … I have a question. A strange question. Ready?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Let’s say there was a book about us.”

  “Called The Retard and the Whore.”

  “That’s a horrible title—”

  “I’m making light of our most dramatic moment.” He grinned.

  “No one will know that.”

  “How about The Dork and the Nympho?”

  “Forget the title, that’s not even my question. My question is, how does the book end?”

  Benedict thought for a second, then
he said, “It would end with us holding hands as I died on my one hundred and seventeenth birthday.”

  “I knew you would say that.”

  “I like happy endings.”

  “But I don’t believe in happy endings, Benedict, because they’re kinda bullshit. See, even in your version, you die one hundred years from now and leave me alone. So our book can’t end with us just skipping into the sunset holding hands and singing love songs, blah, blah, blah. It’s got to end feeling real.”

  “Are you worried that our love story won’t end happily? I’m not worried at all about that unless you are, in which case I am worried a lot.”

  “I’m not.…” I was. But I didn’t say it like that, I said, “I just don’t want people to think all our problems are solved because we love each other. It’s lame. Life is so much more fucking complicated.”

  “Then end it now,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Benedict went on, “If you were to write a book about us, you should end it before we get to school this morning. A lot can go wrong once we go back to school.” We parked outside Robert’s house.

  “Yes, you’re right.”

  “You were supposed to disagree with me, Penelope!”

  Robert got in the car. He said, “Good morning, Pen. Good morning, Benedict.”

  “Robert,” Benedict said, “Penelope wants to write a book about us.”

  “I do not!”

  “Yes, she does. It’s going to be called The Dork and the Nympho.”

  “No, it’s not,” I said. “The word ‘nympho’ confuses people.” Especially boys.

  Robert thought for a moment then said, “I think The Nerdy and the Dirty would be a fantastic title. It’s humorous and the rhyming y’s are very appealing.”

  “He’s right,” Benedict said. “Robert’s always right.”

  I liked it, not that I’m going to write a book, probably not anyway. So I said, “No one would ever publish a book about teenagers with the word ‘dirty’ in the title.”

  “Why not?” Robert asked.