The Summer I Became a Nerd

#4

The last day of school finishes up with the customary trashing of the halls with all the papers previously buried in people’s

lockers, which I don’t do because the school janitor is a nice guy.

I take a detour on my way home past The Phoenix, and my thoughts quickly stray to Logan. I wonder if he’ll be at the end-of-

school party tonight, then quickly scold myself for thinking about another guy, even though the first guy is just a handbag.

I pull into my driveway right after my dad. Before I even turn off my car, he’s at the window, a grin as big as Texas spread

across his face.

“So? How does it feel?” he asks as he opens my door.

“How does what feel?”

“To be a senior? Big man on campus now.” He squeezes my shoulder as we walk up to the porch side by side. He smells like metal

and freshly cut wood because he’s a construction site foreman. It’s just his smell. It’s one I’ve always loved and always will

love.

“Oh, great. It feels great,” I say and mean it.

Mom is waiting on the porch holding the screen door open. “There she is! Our high school senior.”

My mom can come off a little flighty with her fly-away, frizzy brown hair, but I know she’s really very smart. Dad says she’s

where my brother and I get our intelligence from.

“Got any plans tonight?” she asks.

“There’s an end-of-school party I want to go to.”

“Where is it? Who’s going? And who are you going with?”

“Eric is picking me up probably around eight, it’s at the class president’s house, and everybody is going.”

I start up the stairs to my room and almost get into a tussle with the hanging quilt on the wall. I might’ve gotten smart genes

from Mom, but I definitely didn’t inherit her sense of style. Where she goes for a country-chic look that involves colors like

mauve and what I like to call makes-you-want-to-jump-off-a-bridge bluish-gray, I like vibrant colors and sleek, modern design with

a hint of whimsy.

“Well, I guess it’s okay. Twelve o’clock curfew, though,” she calls up to me.

“Okay!”

As soon as the door closes, I bolt over to my closet, stick my hand deep inside the stack of sweaters, and pull out the bag with

#400 inside. I have plenty of time to read it again before Eric comes to pick me up.

I spend the next couple of hours or so analyzing every tiny detail. This artist is so talented. His energy signatures—the glowy

stuff that appears around a character’s hands or eyes just before they use their powers to lay the smackdown on the bad guy—

remind me of flame and smoke. And the way he does fabric: so realistic.

Wendy looks especially fabulous in this issue. God, what I wouldn’t give to have those knee-high, black and fuchsia boots with

the killer stiletto heel.

All too soon, it’s time to return the bag and book back to its hiding place and get ready for the party. I take a shower, then

pick out a cute summer blouse with ribbon straps I tie into bows on top of my shoulders and a pair of denim shorts. My favorite

pair of chunky sandals that also have ribbons as straps, thick white ones, complete the outfit. By the time I’ve blow-dried my

hair, brushed it to a pretty shine, and put on my makeup in a dewy-eyed-princess fashion, I hear the neighbor’s dogs barking

outside. Eric must be here.

I get my purse and cross my room to go downstairs, but something crunches under my foot before I reach the door. It’s the piece

of paper with Logan’s ominous message and his phone number. It must have fallen out when I opened #400, and I was too engrossed

to notice. I get a weird, wiggly feeling in my chest as I stare at the numbers, despite the implication of his words.

“Maddie, Eric is here!” Mom calls from the kitchen after he lays on the horn for a few seconds.

The only place I can think to hide the paper is under my mattress, but what if Mom decides to change the sheets and flip it

tonight? She tends to do that kind of stuff when she’s waiting for me to get home. One night I came home to find the entire

living room rearranged.

If she found it, I’d have to answer all kinds of questions, so I stuff the number in an inside pocket of my purse, telling myself

no one will look in there tonight, and go downstairs.

Dad catches me before I dash out the door and pulls out his wallet, but I hold my hand up for him to stop. “I don’t need any

money.”

“Take it anyway, just in case.” He hands me a twenty from his tattered, leather wallet and two quarters from his jeans pocket.

“I have a cell phone, you know. Besides, we’re not going to be anywhere near a payphone.” I hold up the quarters.

“Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I always used to put a dime in my shoe when I was your age and going out on the town,” Mom says as she walks up and kisses the

top of my head.

Out on the town? Oh, boy. “Okay, well, bye y’all.” I escape through the front door.

As we pull off my street, Eric revs the engine of his extended-cab truck and peels out, the sound of his screeching tires bouncing

off all those quaint little, suburban houses.

“Come on, Eric,” I whine. “You think Mom and Dad didn’t hear that?”

“Who cares?” he says and pulls out his phone. “Dude, where you at?”

He’s probably talking to Peter. They talk on the phone more than Terra and I do, so I just resign myself to another boring ride

of listening to boy-talk.

We pass through our normally sleepy college town, but tonight it’s alive. Graduating seniors and the new seniors are all over the

place, not to mention the college students who are out having one more night of fun before heading home for the summer. It’s not

a big town, but we do have a Chili’s and a Wal-Mart.

We meet up with Terra, Peter, and a bunch of other up-and-coming seniors in an empty parking lot. The air is thick with the smell

of exhaust, beer, and juvenile superiority. I must say, it does feel good to be a senior.

Terra and I meet at the back of Eric’s truck and immediately go into the elaborate greeting we made up back in ninth grade. It

starts with two high fives, then goes into two shoe kicks, one hand heart, a hug, and finishes with a big kiss on the cheek.

“Have you asked your parents yet?” Terra asks.

It takes me a second to remember what I was supposed to have asked them. “Oh, the concert. No, not yet.”

“Oh my God, what’s wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry, I just forgot.”

“Sometimes I wonder whether you actually like Allison.” She sighs. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Oh, but I do have to. My “love” of Allison is part of my image, and I need that image to remain intact. Especially now with the

Logan debacle. “No, no. That’s not it at all. It’s just with the last day of school and—”

“Let’s move ‘em out!” Eric yells over the crowd, saving me from having to make up yet another lie. Terra is the one part of my

double life that feels real, despite everything. I hate lying to her almost as much as I hate what would happen if I didn’t.

We’re a force to be reckoned with, a parade of cars, trucks, and borrowed parents’ minivans, as we drive down the main street of

Natchitoches, hooting and hollering out our windows. This is considered one of those rites of passage in our small town. The new

seniors kind of marking their new territory. We pass a cop, and he just honks.

Candy’s place is a huge, classic plantation home. Columns line the front, hanging ferns alternating between them. The gravel

drive is winding and lined with ancient magnolia trees. We skirt the main house and pull up into the empty field next to it. There

are so many vehicles here it looks like the parish fair has come to town early.

Eric gets out and goes to the back of the truck while I touch up my sparkly, pink lip gloss. In the visor mirror, I see him pull

out a long, blue bag from the bed of the truck. I hop out and jog to catch up to him, since he’s already weaving between the rows

of cars.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“A tent.”

“And what’s it for?”

“Sleeping in.”

I take a deep, calming breath because he’s not being sarcastic. He completely thinks I don’t know what a tent is used for. “You

planning on sleeping here tonight?”

“I am, you are, everyone is,” he says as we make it out of the maze of vehicles and into the empty field. He waves his arm in a

broad arc like he’s introducing me to the head coach of the New Orleans Saints. Everyone is setting up tents and rolling out

sleeping bags. Peter and a few others are hauling wood to the center of the campsite, creating the base of what looks to be the

makings of a towering bonfire.

“I can’t stay here, I—”

“Just call your parents and tell them you’re staying the night with Terra. They’ll believe anything you tell them.”

Thanks, Eric, for yet another reminder of my spectacular lying ability. “They’re expecting me back at midnight, and besides, I

hate camping.”

“Aw, come on, babe.” He drops the tent on a clear spot next to the future bonfire. He wraps his arms around my waist, and lifts

me up so we’re face to face. “I leave for vacation tomorrow. This could be our last night to really be together.”

I can feel my resolve weaken because that is pretty sweet, but the second I let my face soften, he plops me back on the ground and

pulls a lighter out of his pocket. Peter tosses him a bottle of lighter fluid. Apparently, they’re ready to use profuse amounts

of flammable liquid to light the fire.

Two hours later, the ground is littered with cups. Nothing says party like red plastic cups, after all. I’ve been having a good

time. The music is loud and twangy. People I’ve never spoken to are now good friends of mine, at least for the night. Terra pulls

me over to the fire so the squad can do a senior cheer that ends with Rayann Black doing a back-handspring, then puking behind her

tent. That’s about when I start contemplating how I’m going to get home.

“Where are Candy’s parents?” I ask Terra.

“On a beach somewhere. Her older brother is here. He took everyone’s keys before they started drinking.” She nods at a guy

wearing a university sweatshirt, which is currently bunched up around his face because he is upside-down doing a keg stand. And

there’s Eric right behind him, cheering him on.

“So, everyone’s safe, and no one is going nowhere.” Instead of correcting her on her double negative, I just rub my upper arm.

Terra is one of those people who likes to emphasize her words with hand gestures, but once she gets a drink or two in her, she

becomes one of those people who smack you in the arm to get their point across.

“I cannot wait for the Allison concert. It’s going to be so awesome,” she says, and on the last smack she misses my arm and

glances the side of my boob. “Oh my God, did I just hit your boob? I’m so sor—” She freezes like a coon dog that just heard

some rustling in the woods. “Oh my God, I love this song!”

Once Terra skips away to find the source of the music, I find my purse and head toward the vehicles to get some air. I pinball

from person to person and finally make it to the improvised parking lot. Only once I’m three rows deep do I let down the tailgate

of someone’s truck, hop onto it, and look up. The stars are so bright tonight not even the raging fire behind me can dim their

glow.

If I were Wendy, a.k.a. The Bright Frenzy, I could just fly home, which would be the most awesome thing ever. Of course, thinking

about Wendy brings Logan to mind. The way his eyebrow quirked up in that rascally manner at lunch today…

…and the little slip of receipt paper in my purse.