The Summer I Became a Nerd

#8

Me: I’m here.

Awesome Logan: I don’t see you. Where are you?

Me: In the back.

Awesome Logan: You have to come in the front door. No hat, no shades.

Me: Why?

Awesome Logan: Those are the rules.

I toss my phone in my purse and slam my fist against the steering wheel. Then, I shake my hand because that hurt.

“I will not let him get to me,” I say out loud to the interior of my car, but saying it does not make it so. He certainly got to

me the other day with his comic book talk and cute watch. I’m convinced I’ll never be able to smell that old book smell and not

think of him. Which is not good because I have a boyfriend.

Straight ahead is the backdoor to The Phoenix, and no matter how hard I try to use my imaginary mind powers to get Logan to walk

through it, it’s not moving.

He’s really going to make me go through the front sans disguise? What could he possibly have for me that’s worth exposing my

nerd tendencies to the populace of Natchitoches?

I won’t do it. I won’t fall for it. He can’t manipulate me like this.

Maybe if I run, I can make it inside before anyone sees me.

He better not be standing there with a box of chocolates and a teddy bear.

I take off my Celtics cap, shades, and hoodie and clutch my purse to my chest with one hand. The other hand rests on the door

handle. I take a deep breath and start counting in my head.

One… Two… Three!

I’m out of the car and down the alley between The Phoenix and Mes Amis in seconds. In front of the store, there’s a car in the

parking lot. Crap! I shove the front door open so hard the bell overhead clangs like I offended its mother and run at full speed

down the middle aisle.

The next events seem to happen in slow motion, like I have the super-ability to stop time. Logan steps out at the end of the

aisle, blocking my way to the back, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He puts his hands up to get me to stop. I try to put on

the brakes, but it’s too late. We collide, his arms wrap around me as we fall, and our foreheads bang together. My head spins a

little as we lay on the floor in a tangled heap, me on top of him.

The moment I get a fraction of my wits back, I brace my hands on the floor on either side of his chest, but when I try to push

off, his hold tightens, keeping me firmly in place.

“Are you all right?” His mouth is so close to my ear his breath tickles it when he speaks.

“I’m fine,” is all I can say as I recover from the goose bumps tripping down my arms. “Are you okay?”

When we landed, it felt like he banged his head pretty hard on the not-so-soft floor. My fingers go to the back of his head as I

pray I didn’t give the poor guy a concussion. At my touch, he turns his head even more, so his nose and lips are against my jaw.

The goose bumps on my arms seem to forget I was trying to recover from them and redouble their efforts.

“Yeah,” he says on a breath, his arms tightening around me. “I’m okay. One could even say I’m euphoric. Ecstatic. Floating on

cloud nine, even.”

My brain has gone into full-blown “grin like a fool” mode again. I pull back a little and turn to him. I feel my way over his

scalp, searching for a bump, and he hits me with the brightest smile I’ve ever seen.

That’s when my brain just gives up and turns to mush.

Satisfied he isn’t concussed because no one in pain could pull off a smile that flirty, I push up again. This time he lets me.

And, here I am, straddling a hot guy in the middle of a comic shop. The apples of his cheeks turn an endearing pink, and his hands

drop to my waist.

“Ahem,” a voice says from above us. “I believe you dropped this, m’lady.”

The spell between Logan and me breaks, and I look up. Dan is standing there, holding my purse out to me. His brows knit together,

and I think he mouths the words, “No way.”

Logan and I untangle and stand. I take my purse from Dan, curtseying slightly. Isn’t that the proper response when someone calls

you “m’lady?”

“Thanks.” I try hard not to look either of them in the eye.

“Dude, I told you to stay in the back,” Logan says in a low whisper.

Dan drags his eyes from me to glare at Logan. “Well, excuse the hell out of me for trying to help. I heard a crash and thought

someone was hurt. You could’ve fallen. On a pair of scissors. Slit your jugular. How was I to know? Next time you’re in need of

life-saving action, don’t come crying to me,” he says, then his voice mimics a whiny child. “‘Dan, help me, I’ve broken my

spleen,’ because you know what I’m going to say? ‘Sorry about the spleen, dude, I have to stay in the back room for all of

eternity.’” He finishes his tirade and crosses his arms.

Logan shakes his head and turns to me. “He can exaggerate sometimes.”

“Me? Exaggerate? That’s a crock of—”

Logan interrupts. “Dan, this is Maddie. You know her, right? She goes to our school?” He raises his eyebrows and stares at his

friend.

“Dude, of course I know who Maddie Summers is, I’m not oblivious.” He turns to me and in a low voice—or as low a voice as poor

Dan can accomplish—says, “How you doin’?”

Before I can respond, Logan grabs Dan by the shoulders and whips him around. “Okay, Dan, thanks for your help. I just need a

minute, okay?”

“But I—”

“Good-bye.” Logan shoves him toward the back room.

“Geez, fine, I’m going!” Dan says and goes through the open door. But he sticks his head back out. “But you got some

‘splainin’ to do!” He ducks back before Logan’s foot can tag his shin.

“Sorry,” Logan says and rubs the back of his neck. Now, not only are his cheeks pink, but so are his ears.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I tackled you. I’ve watched too many football games, I guess.” The moment I mention football, it feels

like a weight settles over us. I hurry to change the subject. “So, what is this thing you have for me?”

“You’ll see. You want a cup of coffee or a soda or something? I have a break room kind of thing over here.” He nods toward the

side of the store.

“A soda sounds great.”

We go into what is more like a very cramped office than a break room. A built-in corner desk is overflowing with papers and

notebooks. Above the desk is a shelf packed full of random action figures, and I find myself gravitating toward it. A short

counter on the wall across from the desk holds a coffee maker, a microwave, and a sink. The mini refrigerator sits on the floor by

the door, covered in stickers.

I pick up Wendy’s action figure and marvel at the craftsmanship. It’s fully poseable, and her plastic cape sticks out behind her

like she’s perpetually standing in front of a wind machine. I pose her with one hand on her hip and one arm stretching above her.

I bend one leg slightly at the knee and point her toes. Classic flying pose.

Logan places a cold soda can against the bare skin of my arm, and I jump. “Those are awesome, huh?”

“Yeeees.” I draw the word out to emphasize just how awesome I think they are.

“Speaking of awesome, my radio show is doing really well.” He pops the top off my drink and hands it to me.

I stick the can to my lips and start chugging. Maybe he won’t prod me if I play the can’t-talk-too-busy-hydrating game. “Mmm-

hmm?”

“We started off slow the first night, but midway through the show, calls were pouring in. We were so amazed Ben started asking

how they heard of the show. As you can imagine, their answers were pretty consistent.”

I can’t swallow another drop of soda by this point because the carbonation is burning my throat.

“Oh really? Well…” I trail off as I feel bubbling at the base of my throat. This is not good.

Before I can stop myself, I let out the biggest burp I’ve ever, ever, ever had. I slap a hand over my mouth and stare at Logan

whose eyebrows have reached astronomical heights.

“Dude! So not smooth, man! Girls cannot stand rudeness,” Dan yells from the back room.

There’s a few moments of stunned silence before Logan and I both burst into laughter. He has the best laugh, by the way. It’s

unabashedly loud, just like my dad’s.

The bell over the front door rings, and Logan goes to take care of the customer. In the meantime, I drop into the spinning chair

at the desk and position Wendy like she’s hanging off my soda can. Terra texts me about what I’m going to wear to the concert,

but I don’t answer. When I’m in The Phoenix, I feel like I’ve been sucked into one of Baron Gravity’s black holes, a very

geeky black hole I don’t want to escape from.

Logan comes back and hops up onto the counter. “Anyway, I have something I think you’ll like. Think of it as repayment for what

you did for my show.”

I smile up at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but how can I refuse a gift?”

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out two cards with purple lanyards attached. He holds one out to me. I take it and

recognize the logo of Shreveport’s NerdCon. In bold, purple font below the speech bubble that holds the letters S.N.C., it reads:

V.I.P. DAY PASS.

“Oh my God, how did you get these?” I say, still staring at the pass.

“The S.N.C. sometimes gives out these passes to the businesses in the area that sell comics and stuff, but there is only one

comic shop in Shreveport so they sent us a few, too, since we’re close. It’s only for Saturday,” he says quickly, “but it’ll

still be pretty awesome because all the best stuff happens on Saturday. There’s The Super Ones panel. I heard they have some big

announcement. And the cosplay contest. All the heavy hitters, like Stan Lee, do their signings that night, too.”

If I go and someone finds out, my cover would be blown. Going to S.N.C. would be like shouting from the rooftops I’m a proper

geek. That I’m so much of a nerd I want to go and hang out with a coliseum full of them.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize nobody would know. I mean, the only people at my school I can think of that

might show up are the role-playing guys from the band room, and there’s no way they’d pay any attention to me with a bunch of

Princess Leias in gold bikinis walking around. Maybe it’d be safer than I think?

I must have been quiet for a while because Logan asks, “Are you okay? You don’t have to go. I just thought you’d like it.”

“No, I do want to go, I just…” In another life, I would explain everything to him. I would lay all my messed up fears on the

line so he could see I’m not worth all these sweet things he’s doing for me. But this is not an alternate reality. “I’m just

so excited!”

“Really? I didn’t think you’d be so easy to convince with your phobia and all. But the thing is, there probably won’t be

anyone you know there so—”

“Phobia? I don’t have a phobia.”

“Okay, maybe phobia is the wrong word. It’s more like a secret, right?”

“No.” I laugh nervously. How do I explain this to him without coming off as a jerk? I could say, “I just don’t want to be seen

by my friends doing anything incredibly geeky, that’s all. I have a reputation to uphold,” but for some reason, I don’t think

that would go over well.

Instead, I go with, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, that’s right, everyone disguises themselves before they enter a store. Everyone lies to their boyfriend about who drove

them home when he was too much of an ass to do it himself.” He hops off the counter and stands straight as a board, arms crossed.

My mouth opens and closes a few times as I try to come up with some type of response. I’ve got nothing. It’s all true.

“You know what, forget it. I’m sure Dan will be happy to go with me.” He tries to take the pass from me, but I tighten my grip.

“Hell, yeah, I’ll be happy to go!” Dan yells from the back room, which makes me jerk harder on the pass.

We’re in a tug-o-war now. Back and forth we go until I finally stand up and give it all my might.

“No!” I yank one more time, and he releases his hold. I clutch the pass to my chest. “I’m going. I want to go. I want to go

because it’ll be fun and there’ll be lots of people in costumes and… I’m going, okay?”

Logan just stares at me with this blank look on his face for the longest time. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I can guess,

though. He’s probably thinking he underestimated my nutso factor. He’s probably wondering what he’s gotten himself into.

Finally, his face brightens, and he smiles. “Good. I think it’ll be fun, too.”

“Damn it!” Dan yells, and I picture him shaking his fist at the ceiling.