All Geek to Me

by Allie York

  “It’s been a long day; can’t we go tomorrow?” I whine, staring at my clutch still hanging from Tuesday’s finger.

  “Noralee, are you backing out of your contract?” Greer arches an eyebrow at me over her glasses. She rarely wears them anymore, but she is so cute in them. She is also geek chic in her TARDIS blue dress with white pleats and black leggings with black boots. The heel on her boots make me nervous, but she wears them like a boss. Her coat is thrown over her shoulder, purse in her hand.

  “You know my word is law.” I reach out and snag my clutch from the end of Tuesday’s finger. “You guys look like a bunch of nerds.” I roll my eyes at them.

  “Okay, Peter Pan.” Rae blows a bubble with her gum. I reach over and pop it with my index finger.

  “Let’s go!” I wave my hand toward the door and we all go back the way I came. Rae turns off the TV before following them, and I hit the light in the kitchen. We file down the stairs, through the dark, all of us walking blindly through the store toward the front door. I pull my key out of my clutch to lock the door behind us and we pile into my car to go to the only place we would ever go out drinking in full nerd attire. Not that any of us have other clothes, but that isn’t the point. I start the car, turn the heat all the way up and turn to look at my passengers.

  “To O’Connell’s?” I ask like we wouldn’t have to drive all the way to Knoxville for a drink somewhere else.

  “To O’Connell’s!” Everyone yells and I back out of the parking spot to go buy my girls drinks.

  9

  Noralee

  O’Connell’s is the only place in East Hollow to get a drink. That’s right, we have one bar unless you want to drive an hour to our big sister city. No one wants to drive an hour to have a good Jack and Coke. At least we don’t. The gravel lot is packed as always, and we have to park at the far end. O’Connell’s is one of the biggest buildings in our town. It’s a two-story converted warehouse with a massive bar downstairs, tables all over, and a dance floor with a live band almost every night. The owner Regina O’Connell went to high school with us, graduating two years ahead of us, and is the most boss bitch in all of East Hollow. She has pink hair, is covered in skull tattoos, and runs a bar where she is the bouncer. We walk in and survey the place, waving at Reggie and the other bartender, Harlee, behind the bar before going to take our usual spot at a four top in the back. O’Connell’s is a little odd in how the system works. Every table has a number etched into the worn wooden surface, you go order at the bar, tell them your table number, and then a runner brings your drinks. Since I’m buying, I head to the bar and grab a stool, watching Harlee and Reggie serve other clients first. When Reggie gets to me, she leans on the bar and reaches for me. I stand and hug her.

  “It’s not a birthday. How’d they drag you out of the shop?” Without asking, she puts four glasses out and starts pouring our Jack and Cokes. We are so predictable that the bar we go to maybe ten times a year knows what we drink.

  “I lost a bet,” I admit and hand her my card. “This is my punishment.”

  “Coming to see me is punishment? I see how it is.” Reggie places all four drinks on a round tray and waves over a guy delivering drinks and motions for him to follow me to our table.

  “I can get it.” I reach for the tray and Reggie whips my hand with a towel. “OW!” Maybe it doesn’t actually hurt, but it startled me enough to seem like it did.

  “I’m not trying to pay someone to clean that up when you trip, run into something, or drop it. I’ve known you long enough to not be that damn stupid. Do you see how busy we are? I’m packed and you want to carry that tray? No way.” My reputation precedes me. I throw my hands up, hand the guy a five, and lead him to my table. Once he sets them down, I tell him to go ahead and tell her we’ll need three more in a few minutes. He winks at me and leaves us to our drinks. The band is playing some acoustic covers of popular metal songs. The place is a low hum of conversation, but I hear it loud and clear when Rae taps the table to get my attention.

  “Are you wearing hot cop’s coat?” I glance down and remember that I never took it off once I got home.

  “Yes.” It hangs down to my knees and I look ridiculous in it.

  “That’s cute.” Greer swoons a little and sets her drink down only to pick it back up immediately.

  “How did the rest of the night go after you let a stranger kidnap me?” I know my diversion isn’t going to work, but a girl can try. They all stare at me like I didn’t ask a career-impacting question.

  “Have you texted him to tell him thanks yet?” Tuesday swirls her drink with the black stir stick.

  “No…” I wasn’t aware I needed to.

  “Are you going to?” Greer picks her drink back up and I take a sip of mine at the same time, so I don’t have to answer her right away. He had his tongue in my mouth, but I don’t know his number. Keeping it classy.

  “Isn’t there a three-day rule?” I ask, sipping again. I only get one drink, so I’m going to make it last.

  Rae throws her head back to groan at the ceiling. “It’s not 1950. Girl, we live in a world where everyone is connected by the push of a button. DO you really want to wait three days to text him? Did you even set a second date? Does he want a second date? He left his coat with you, so I’m guessing yes.” Rae slides her glasses down her nose again, giving me her best intimidating stare.

  “You didn’t get his number, did you?” Tuesday puts down her drink. “What is wrong with you?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. His card is on the desk at work. I’ll text him in the morning.” I shrug. “It’s not that big a deal, right?” There is further staring and more silence. Apparently, it is a big deal.

  “You gave him yours, right?” Greer asks, looking at me like a complete idiot.

  Tuesday digs in her tiny black bag and produces a card, the card he gave them earlier when the kidnapping happened. “Text him now before one of us Thanos-snaps you out of existence to take that man.” I want to text him but being told what to do makes me contrary. After scanning the table, I grudgingly dig my phone out and type in the number.

  Me: Hi, it’s Noralee. I wanted to thank you for kidnapping me tonight. I had a great time.

  “There, I sent the text. Can we drink now and talk about speed dating instead of my date?” I put my phone away.

  “No!” The three of them yell at me, looking at me as if I’ve grown an extra head.

  “It’s my business! I need to know!” I shout at them over the music and take a long drink of my Jack and Coke.

  “Fine.” Rae rubs her temples. “The soccer player and the woman with the green hair left together, that older guy left with that woman who comes in for the new Teen Titans comics every month, and we had a group of about ten show up after it was over to pre-sign up for next week. All the participants cleaned up their own chairs, we made about three hundred bucks after the event, gave out twenty coupons, and Tuesday vacuumed. Is that enough for you? Can we hear about the date now?” Rae’s comprehensive run down makes me feel a little better about leaving near the beginning of the event.

  “Noralee!” Greer taps the table right as more drinks are delivered. Four Jack and Cokes, one cherry Coke courtesy of Reggie.

  “What happened?” Tuesday downs her first drink, reaching for the second. I hand the man another five and check my phone at the same time.

  Wyatt: I was just lying here thinking about you. I didn’t get your number and was trying to figure out if I’ve always been this stupid or if you distracted me that much.

  I must be smiling, because before I can type an answer, Rae has my phone. “Hey!” I make a grab for it, but she passes it to Greer who passes it to Tuesday.

  “Awwww! Hurry and text him back so I can read it.” Tuesday looks more excited than I am.

  “I’ll text him back, but you aren’t reading it. Nosy bitches.” I glare at them, daring them to snatch my phone again.

  Me: I’m sure I’m just that distracting. />
  Wyatt: Definitely. I had fun tonight too. Is it too much to tell you I’m looking forward to next week?

  Me: I’ll allow it.

  Wyatt: Okay, good.

  Wyatt: I should be sleeping. Don’t you work on Saturdays too?

  Me: I do, but the drinks I owe are currently being paid. I can sleep with a clean conscience.

  Wyatt: Have fun, be safe, and I’ll talk to you later?

  Me: Get some rest. You can’t Spiderman up a tree to save a kitten if you haven’t slept.

  Wyatt: Goodnight, Miss Reynolds

  I tuck my phone back in my pocket and realize that my friends are all staring at me. “What?”

  “Tell us!”

  I relent and tell them the entirety of the night, from me falling while getting in his truck to the mind-blowing kisses outside the shop. I leave out the butterflies in my stomach, and the desire to invite him in after the date but tell them all about dropping my coffee and tripping over the concrete. I even tell them about the cops coming to save me from the ‘attack’ that someone reported. They all agree that I should make sure he comes again next week so they can make fun of me in front of him and make me even more clumsy. If I get embarrassed I will one hundred percent fall or trip. My friends suck.

  By one in the morning, I’m exhausted, and my friends are wasted. Not just wasted, nerdy white girl wasted. This means Rae is dancing like Elaine Benes from Seinfeld next to our table, head nodding off tempo and accidentally kicking people in the process. Tuesday and Greer are yelling over the music, arguing about whether Star Wars or Star Trek has a better fan base. When Tuesday starts pointing in her sister’s face, claiming that Star Wars fans hate six of the nine movies, I decide it’s time to exit the establishment. I grab the first person delivering drinks I can find and tell them to close our tab. I know once Reggie sees us leave, she’ll take care of it, but telling someone makes me feel a little better. Either Reggie or Harlee will be in at Words for Nerds soon, and I can sign my receipt then. I know we’ve fronted Reggie enough Batwoman comics to cover our multitude of drinks tonight.

  I finally get Tuesday and Greer to stop shouting long enough to leave, with Rae following along behind us, still dancing like her body is being controlled by an invisible puppet master. Once we get outside, the yelling continues and I shove them both into the back of my car, letting Rae sit up front with me. If the twins kill each other, I don’t want blood on me. At least Rae is a happy drunk. There is no way in hell these drunk women are coming home with me, so I begin by stopping at Tuesday and Greer’s apartment and I tell Rae to stay and dance while I walk them in. It is no easy task. Greer keeps trying to push through me, claiming that Star Trek fans can’t agree on a Captain and are thus, the inferior fandom. She also swears that Star Trek is unbelievable because William Shatner is bad at ‘dialoguing’. Tuesday is too tired to argue that Star Wars has a little green guy who is the main source of information. At least this time it’s Star Wars versus Star Trek and not Harry Potter versus Twilight. I was also a little drunk for that fight and it almost came to blows. Harry Potter is something I will defend to the death.

  Getting Greer and Tuesday in the house after having to ask for the key three times is so much fun. Every time I ask for the key, Tuesday quotes Ghostbusters asking if I’m the gatekeeper. Once I say yes, Greer giggles and calls herself Zuul while handing me the key. As much as I appreciate their humor, I’m tired, and they’re annoying. It doesn’t even feel like the same twenty-four hours as my date with Wyatt. Greer is asleep before I close her door, rambling nonsense in her sleep. Tuesday is crashed out on the couch, sitting up, mouth hanging open. I can guarantee that I’ll be alone in the morning when it’s time to open. Thankfully, Saturday mornings are pretty slow since the majority of our clients sleep in.

  I lock the door behind me, leaving the key on the table near the door, and go back to my car to find Rae dancing in the middle of the parking lot of the apartment complex. At least there aren’t any cars. “What song is playing?” I ask when I get to Rae. She listens to everything from country to heavy metal to instrumental, so nothing will surprise me.

  “Taylor Swift.” Rae sways and throws an arm around my shoulders. Never mind, that one is not what I expected. She’s not a pop fan.

  “Right, T Swift is a classic.” Nothing against Taylor, but I doubt that Rae has ever listened to her voluntarily.

  “Duh!” Rae yells in my face then laughs, her cheeks red from drinking way too much. I get her back in the car and drive with her still dancing and singing an old Taylor Swift country song at the top of her lungs. She tries three times to roll the window down before I finally put the child lock on, and she pouts.

  “It’s too damn cold,” I give her an explanation, but she continues to pout, arms crossed.

  “It’s not cold unless it’s snowing, and it’s not supposed to snow until tomorrow.” Rae gives me a look as we pull up to the condo she shares with her older brother. His navy SUV takes up most of the driveway, but I squeeze my little Honda in and unlock the doors.

  “Do you need help?” Rae hops out of the car, still singing, and shakes her ass all the way up to the door. I hang back and watch. She opens the door, turns to shush me, then dances in and closes it. No way in hell those three will make it in to work on time tomorrow.

  The first few times I came home and had to walk through a maze of shelving and human sized cutouts to get to my apartment door, it freaked me out. Now it doesn’t bother me. Even when we rearrange, I know that horrible people who look like Willem Defoe are not hiding behind the Katniss cut out. Don’t ask me why Willem Defoe is my nightmare burglar, the guy just freaks me out. Tonight—well, this morning, is no different when it comes to getting home after dark. I park between Rae’s and Tuesday’s cars on the far side of the lot to leave the front open for customers. I notice that my light is out over the front door. My sign lights up of course, but I have a safety light over the door that lights up my whole strip of sidewalk. Inside I can see the red glow from the exit lights and the outlines of shelves. I turn the car off, switch off the lights, and look up to see movement inside through the glass door. I think. I sit very still, watching for another sign that someone is inside. My heart jumps to my throat and a cold sweat breaks out on my neck. I reach for my phone slowly and press 9-1-1, my thumb hovering over the green call button. I’m obviously losing my mind. I had one drink, three hours ago, but I’m pretty tired. Being exhausted is making me hallucinate. I hunker down in the car as the first flurries start to fall. Nothing happens for several seconds; my heart rate goes back to normal and I’m able to swallow again. It must have been my headlights dancing in the glass. I grab my purse, keys, and keep my phone in my hand to walk across the lot. The snow starts picking up as soon as I open the door, swirling around me in a picturesque Christmas movie way. I stop to stare behind me at the streetlight and watch the fluffy flakes float about.

  The sound from behind me makes me jump and scream. I watch as the world slows down around me. The door to my shop flies open with so much force it hits the wall, and three people in all black run out. I’m standing in the center of a spotlight, but they don’t seem to notice me. Each has a bag slung over their shoulder and they run down the strip past the pet store before getting into a car. It revs to life, making a full circle in the lot, then peels out. My brain short circuits, the hammering in my chest continues, bringing a ringing pulse to my ears, and I’m so terrified that I literally can’t move. With my eyes not moving from the front of my shop, I take ten steps back, tug the door handle on my car, then use the keys to get in. I lock the doors the second my body slides into the seat and I scoot down so that I can’t be seen over the dash. One deep breath, two deep breaths, three deep breaths. I hold up a finger for each one, counting them off with my thumb. My chest stops feeling as if it may explode and I pick up the phone to call the police, never taking my eyes off the door to my shop, my home.

  “9-1-1 what’s your emergency?” The man’s voice
comes over the speaker and I jump, the sound shattering the calm I’d created in my car. “Hello?”

  “Oh, someone broke into my shop.” Saying the words makes my stomach turn and I sink deeper into Wyatt’s coat. The man in my ear asks for details: the address, am I safe, are they still there, is anyone hurt? I give him all my information and he tells me to stay on the phone until the police arrive. I do, only speaking when he asks for details about what I saw. I’m suddenly aware of why eyewitness testimony is sometimes wrong. I can’t tell him if there were three or four people, the color of the car, or if they were carrying anything. He thanks me once the police pull in the lot and I thank him, hanging up once the officers start piling out of their cars. I can barely see for the way the wind has picked up and the snow has gone from flurries to a heavy downfall. I gather my courage to get out when I realize that the cops can’t see me hunkered down in the car in the dark. The four of them turn to me when I open the door and I feel safer instantly. When they approach, they introduce themselves and two ask me to stay outside with them while the other two go in and clear the place. I watch them open the door and disappear inside, the headlights glaring off the door too much for me to see.

  “I saw you earlier. Long night, huh?” In my daze I didn’t realize that the two officers waiting outside for my statement are the same two I saw at the park with Wyatt.

  “It went from great to terrible,” I admit.

  “Let’s go through what happened and we’ll follow you home, okay?” The shorter of the two men puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

  I laugh with no humor in it. “I live here. My apartment is upstairs.”

  “Is there someone who can come stay with you?” The taller one steps forward brushing a longer lock of hair from his forehead and smearing the snow through his brown hair.