The Summer I Became a Nerd

#14

Mom is sleeping on the couch in her grandma nightgown when I get home. I sneak upstairs to wash all the stupid Smurf paint off and

change into pajamas. Mom always complains the next day about muscle cramps if she sleeps all night on the couch, so I tiptoe back

downstairs to wake her up.

“Mom,” I whisper and shake her shoulder. “I’m home. Go to bed.”

She snorts lightly, and her eyes pop open. She always wakes up like this, which freaks me out at first, and then I have to giggle,

but tonight, at this moment, nothing is funny.

“Hey, honey, did you have a good time?” she says sluggishly.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“What happened?” she says in that mom-way, like she knows something is wrong.

“Nothing.” I put on an oblivious face. “Nothing happened. Go to bed, okay?”

“Are you sure?”

I start to tell her I’m sure, that nothing happened, but she knows me better than anyone.

“Something happened. You want to talk about it?”

Yes! I would love to talk about it. I can feel the words bubbling up. It’s crazy how Mom has a way of pulling things out of me,

but I can’t admit I lied to her about where I was going tonight. So, I try to tell her only the parts she needs to know.

“There’s this guy,” I say.

“Ah, I think I know where this is going.” She sits up and settles in to listen.

“I mean, I know I’m with Eric right now, and he’s awesome. Well, kind of. In a superficial sort of way.” I frown. Wow. How do

you really feel, Maddie? “Anyway, I feel bad because I really like this other guy. He’s funny, and we have a lot in common and—

”

“Like what?”

Think fast. Do not confess how much or Mom will be all over you. “Uh, like, we’re both going to be in honors classes next year.

”

“A smart guy. I like it.”

“Yeah, but Eric is in Florida, and he won’t be back for at least another two or three weeks. I don’t want to break up with him

over the phone, you know.” And there it is. Mom has once again tugged out a truth I myself didn’t even know existed. I let out a

deep sigh I’ve been holding in ever since Logan suggested he was just my summer experiment.

“Do you want my advice?” Mom always says this because we used to fight all the time over her giving me her opinion about

clothes, nail polish, or whatever when I really didn’t want it.

“Yes, Mom, I want your advice.” After the last big fight we had, we made an agreement: she would have to ask the question and I

would have to actually say these words in order for her to continue.

“I know you don’t want to break up with Eric over the phone, but if you intend on spending time with this new guy, then you need

to call Eric. Either that or tell this new guy he can wait until Eric gets back and you can break up with him properly. It’s all

about how you treat people. You have to be considerate of Eric’s feelings.”

Of course, this is exactly what I didn’t want to hear, but Mom’s right. This has to be done.

…

In the morning, I pick up my phone to call Eric, but I just stare at the screen. Am I really about to do this? Break up with the

most wanted guy in school for Logan, a guy I’ve only really known for not even two weeks? Mom’s right, but what will this really

accomplish? I’ll ruin Eric’s vacation. How can that be the best thing to do?

The only other option sucks. Ask Logan to “wait for me” until Eric gets back? What is this? The fifties?

I put my phone down and try to do normal, everyday things. Maybe if I give the problem a little breathing room, it’ll work itself

out.

Yeah, right.

I’m doing the dishes when I catch myself staring out the window, wondering what Logan is doing at that very second. As I fold

clothes with Mom, we watch her soap opera which incites images of Eric freaking out after my call. Would he be so distraught he

would throw himself off a pier, all the while professing his love for me? I doubt it. We’re not in love. He knows it. I know it.

I go through this same cycle for the entire day, plus most of the next. It’s around 6:30 that next evening when I finally decide

to really analyze the situation.

Approaching this as scientifically as possible, I open a blank document on my laptop and set up two pros and cons lists, one each

for Logan and Eric. When I’m done, the scales are obviously tipped. The best pro I can come up with for Eric is he washed my car

for me two months ago. That is nothing compared to Logan being a horrid dancer, which I consider a pro because it’s adorable.

My decision is made.

I call Eric immediately before my courage fades, but surprise, surprise, he doesn’t answer.

“Hey, Eric,” I say to his voice mail. “I wanted to let you know that I, um… The thing is… We need to talk. About important

stuff. Relationship stuff. Like, whether or not we should be together stuff, because I don’t think we should be. So yeah. Um.

Give me a call as soon as possible, please?”

When I hang up, all I can think is, Oh yeah, Maddie, ‘please’ is really going to lessen the blow. Great job! But a big weight

does feel like it’s been lifted. It’s done. Eric and I are finished. Now to talk to Logan and beg for forgiveness.

…

The radio station is tucked in the middle of the campus in a small brick building surrounded by the Keyser Hall and Rapides dorms.

Logan’s is the only other car in the lot. I’m sitting in the same spot where I parked only two nights ago.

He’s in there right now, probably shuffling through CDs, pressing buttons, or whatever it is he’s supposed to do to get ready

for his show. Maybe I should wait and talk to him later. Is being a disc jockey like being a football player? Do they have to get

all testoteroned out and focused before air-time? Would I throw him off his voice-game? Could I wait until tomorrow? No,

definitely not.

A Jeep whips into the parking lot, and out hops Ben. He’s a short, black guy with down-to-his-waist long dreadlocks. He fast-

walks toward the door, but I call to him before he gets there.

“Ben?”

“Yeah?” He skids to a halt.

“Hi, I’m here to talk to Logan real quick. Can you show me where—”

His brows furrow. “You’re the cheerleader, right?”

“I’m a cheerleader. I don’t know if I’m the cheerleader.”

He crosses his arms and leans back a little as he looks at me like he’s sizing me up. I suddenly wish I’d put a little more

effort into my outfit. A T-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops doesn’t exactly scream, “I’m the woman of his dreams.”

“All right,” he says after a few seconds. “I probably shouldn’t allow this, but I need my talent to be happy. You are here to

make him happy, right?” He points a scolding finger at me.

I straighten my back. “Yes.”

He nods once and continues on to the door. I follow him down a skinny hallway. The walls are cinder blocks painted in a glossy

white and the carpet is the same low-quality kind that’s in every school. The place smells like dust and Cup O Noodles.

Ben leads me to a small room that looks like every radio station I’ve ever seen in the movies, except not as glamorous. It’s

cramped and very dark. The control board or whatever you call it looks like it needs some work. Some of the knobs are missing. The

Plexiglas window that separates us from the deejay booth is dull and could use a good long soak in a Windex bubble bath. I can see

Logan through it, though. He’s sitting at a crescent-shaped table with headphones on, flipping through a stack of CDs. My heart

squeezes, then goes into overdrive at the sight of him.

Ben knocks on the window, bringing me back to my senses. Logan looks up from his CDs at Ben, then squints at me, trying to see

through the horrible window, I guess. He picks up his glasses from the table and shoves them on his face. My stomach flutters, and

my knees go a little weak. Who knew glasses could be so sexy? I try to smile and wave, but I’m sure I just look like I’m in

pain. Behind the black-rimmed glasses, his eyes grow large.

We stay like that for what feels like eternity, Logan just staring and me with my hand suspended in the air, a questioning grimace

on my face. Finally, he blinks a few times and waves for me to come in. I can feel a real honest-to-God smile take over my lips.

Ben leans over a microphone and presses a button. “You have less than two minutes until we go live.”

Logan nods but continues to wave me in. I stumble over the leg of a rolling chair that’s pushed up to the control panel as I head

for the little swinging door that leads into Logan’s booth. I thank all that is good and holy when I don’t face plant into the

wall.

When I finally make it inside, Logan stands. “What are you doing here, Maddie?”

My heart squeezes again at the sound of my name. “I wanted to talk to you. About the other night.”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps flipping through the CDs.

“Dude, one minute,” Ben’s voice says from somewhere above me. I look up to see an old box speaker hanging on the wall.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Logan picks up a tall stack of CDs, using his chin to help balance them against his chest, and

stomps toward me. I plaster myself to the wall on my right so he can shove the CDs through the door and into Ben’s waiting hands.

“Here’s the playing order.” Logan pulls a sheet of paper out of his back pocket and hands it to Ben. He closes the door and

turns to me. How close we are now reminds me of the aquarium, of how I could see his contacts. But, this time, his lips are tight.

“What is it?”

The dusty smell disappears to be replaced by his smell. If it’s a cologne, it’s a subtle one. Maybe it’s his soap. Whatever it

is, it smells really, really good. Kind of earthy but clean. I suddenly have the urge to bury my face against his neck and take a

deep whiff.

“Come on, dude. Let’s get a move on,” Ben’s voice says from above us again.

Logan raises his eyebrows in a silent, “Well?”

“I like your glasses.” That’s it. That’s all I can say. It’s all his fault, really. Obviously, my brain is not able to

function properly when he’s this close.

His stance relaxes as he lets out a long, slow breath. “You want to sit?” He reaches over and pulls a rolling stool up next to

him, sits in his seat, then puts on his headphones.

When I sit down, our knees bang together. I try to say I’m sorry, but he just shhh-es me. I’m about to scoot away and give him

his space when he shoves another set of headphones at me. I slip them over my ears, thinking how nice he is for wanting me to be

able to hear the music.

Ben’s voice echos through the headphones, “Five… Four… Three…” Through the window, I watch him hold up two fingers, then

one, and then he points at Logan.

The ceiling light above us flickers, then dims as Logan leans toward the microphone on the table. Looks like this place could use

some electrical wiring work, too.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to another broadcast of Logan’s Show of Awesome. We have some spectacular music planned for

tonight, as always, but tonight is special, folks.”

I lean forward and prop my chin on my fist, letting his voice melt over me.

“Tonight, I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

The words take a while to register in my mind. I sit up and stare at him. Slowly, that knowing smile I’ve grown accustomed to

creeps across his lips.

“Say hi to the awesome listeners, Wonderful Wendy.”