The Summer I Became a Nerd

#9

The next day, I go back to The Phoenix because (1) I don’t think I can handle even looking at Terra right now because I ignored

her last five texts about the Allison concert, plus I can’t stop thinking about going to NerdCon and what if I get a goofy grin

while daydreaming and she asks about it and I have to lie to her? (2) I have nothing else to do but wait for Logan’s Show of

Awesome to come on. And (3) I just can’t help myself.

I still park in the back, but I take my time entering through the front door since there are no cars out front. I stroll up to the

counter and wait for Logan’s usual greeting.

“Welcome to The Phoenix, anything I can help you with?” He looks up, and a tingle runs down my spine when his expression goes

from bored to what I interpret as, “Hey, it’s you!”

He closes the comic he was reading. “What are you doing here?”

I hop onto the counter, facing the shelves, and he comes around to stand in front of me. Swinging my legs, I say, “I don’t know.

I was bored.” I shrug. I preen. I even bat my eyelashes.

I shouldn’t be doing any of these things, but I can’t help it.

“Logan?” a woman’s voice calls from the office. I jump down and turn toward the voice, fighting a sudden urge to duck down one

of the aisles and out of sight.

The woman pokes her head out of the office. She starts to say something, but when she sees me, she stops.

“This is Maddie, Mom. Maddie this is my mother, Martha,” Logan says.

I take a step back, but Logan notices. He lays a staying hand on the base of my back.

“Hi.” I wave enthusiastically. Wave? Really? What am I, trying to be rescued from a deserted island or something?

“Hello, Maddie.” She steps out of the office and up to the counter. “Do you two go to school together?” She points from me to

Logan, back and forth, back and forth. The side of her mouth turns up in a type of smile I recognize immediately, and she props

her chin on her fist.

“Yeah,” Logan says. “Maddie is a cheerleader. She was also in my English class.”

“A cheerleader, huh? I used to cheer at my high school, and in college, too. I was a lot more flexible in those days, but I bet I

can remember one of our favorite chants.”

Okay, this is kind of a shocker. A high school and college cheerleader goes on to marry a comic shop owner. How did that happen?

She swishes her long brown ponytail behind her back, steps out into the open aisle, and smoothes down her flowing tie-dyed skirt.

She starts clapping in a pretty decent rhythm, nodding her head on each beat, but Logan cuts her off.

“Mom! I was wondering, since you’re going to be here all day, could I have the day off?”

Martha stops and looks at Logan, then me. “Sure, honey. Go have fun.” She hugs Logan, and to my surprise, she hugs me, too. “If

you’re going by the house, could you check on Leeloo for me? You know how your dad always forgets to refill the water bowl,” she

says as she goes back to the office.

Logan stuffs his hands in his pockets. “So, you want to check on Leeloo with me?” His head is tilted down so when he looks at

me, waiting for my answer, it’s through his lashes. How can I say no to that?

“Sure.”

“Great, I’ll drive.”

We go through the back room, and the smell of it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. Out back, I get my shades from my car, and when

I turn around, Logan is leaning against his hood playing with his keys.

“Can’t risk being seen with me?” he says when I put on my shades.

“No, it’s sunny. They protect my eyes from harmful UV rays.”

“Oh, right.” He blushes.

Just like my car, Logan’s air conditioner is busted so we drive down College Avenue with the windows rolled down. I look over at

Logan and he’s nodding his head to the music on the radio. His hair stirs in the wind. No hair products for this guy.

The Natchitoches University campus sprawls out to my right. Crepe myrtles and azaleas are in bloom, so it’s dotted with bright

shocks of pink and white.

“Great show last night.” I have to yell over the breeze and the music.

“Thanks.”

“That Capri girl sure does have a thing for you.” Last night, she called in again and again, asking questions about who

Wonderful Wendy was and where was you-know-where.

“No, she doesn’t. She has a thing for Awesome Logan.”

I just laugh and turn my face to the wind, eyes closed, letting the breeze cool the sweat on my forehead.

Even with my eyes closed, I know when we make it to Front Street. The muddy smell of the Cane River hits me, and the car feels

like it’s going over a million tiny speed bumps. The street has been paved with bricks for a long, long time. Like, before-

indoor-plumbing long time. The city replaced the bricks a few years ago and found all kinds of things buried beneath the surface:

old tools, pottery, and even a cow skeleton. The street runs straight for four or five blocks and is the main attraction in

Natchitoches. The river is on one side of it, and quaint local stores sell everything from books to toys to pastries to

instruments on the other side. The whole scene is especially pretty during December when they light up the buildings with

twinkling Christmas lights that reflect off the water like drowned fireworks.

The road smoothes out into normal black-top, and eventually Logan turns into a driveway. His house isn’t huge but a decent size,

and it’s nestled in what feels like a rain forest. Martha really loves to landscape, apparently. Ivy has overtaken the fences,

the brick walkway from the sidewalk to the front door is lined with freshly planted pansies, and when we pull up under a car

cover, the perfumey smell of sweet olive blooms permeate the air.

Logan turns down the radio and looks at me with a very serious expression. “What you are about to witness in no way reflects my

own sensibilities. I just wanted you to know that.”

“What am I about to witness?”

“It cannot be put into words.”

We park, and I follow him to the back of the house. The fenced-in backyard is littered with plastic toys and tricycles, all

bleached by the sun. A well-loved swing set sits in the corner. When we get to the door, there’s a big gray rock in the middle of

the welcome mat.

“Locked out again, Leeloo?” Logan bends down to pet the rock. It turns and snorts, and I realize it’s not a rock at all, but a

very fat pug. It’s face is all smooshed in except for its eyes, which bulge. It catches sight of me and starts making weird

honking noises that make me take a step back. Its pink tongue lolls out as Logan rubs its ears. It definitely has the “so ugly it

’s cute” thing going for it.

Logan opens the door and lets Leeloo half trot, half waddle her way in. He takes a deep breath before following the dog. In a low

voice he says, “Here we go.”