The Summer I Became a Nerd

#5

It had to happen at some point, right? I can’t keep #400 forever, as much as I want to, especially since he knows my secret.

I take my cell out and dial his number without looking at the paper because I might have stared at it enough times to memorize it.

Before I hit the call button, I go over my options one more time. I don’t want to spend the night in a field with a bunch of

drunk people—especially not when I’ll have to lie to do it. There is no one at this party I would trust to drive me home right

now, and I really don’t want to call my parents. It would only freak them out and possibly get everyone else in trouble. And even

though I know my brother would make the hour drive from Shreveport to pick me up, I don’t feel right asking him to do it in the

middle of the night.

Plus, I really need to give Logan #400 back.

The downsides are obviously the risk of someone seeing Logan and me together, and the fact I’m calling a guy I may or may not

have a crush on and asking him to pick me up from a party I’m at with my boyfriend.

I tap the green button before I can change my mind.

“Hello?” His voice floats through the phone, all calm and collected. Then, I hear a blood-curdling scream in the background.

“Oh my God, what’s going on? Who’s screaming?”

“Hold on,” he says, and then there’s some muffled, scrambling noises. “Dan, turn that down, dude. Blasting the volume is not

going to improve your skills.”

“Uh, hello?”

“Sorry, the Xbox was too loud.” I hear a door shut on his end, and everything gets quiet. “Who is this?”

“I…I have your #400.”

“Oh. Well?”

“Well what?” I ask in sort of a snippy tone. Then I remember I’m the one who called him, so I probably shouldn’t act snippy.

“Well, what did you think of it?”

“I loved it,” I blurt out, then slap a hand over my mouth. Even though I know he knows about me liking comics, it stills feels

weird actually admitting it.

“I heard it was good. Did Young One die? Wait, don’t tell me.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.”

“Never mind, tell me. Does he die?”

“Now I’m really not going to tell you.” I giggle and tug on a lock of hair. Then, I realize what a fawning girly-girl I’m

being and tuck my hand beneath my thigh. “Look, I called because…” I can’t finish.

“Because?”

“I kind of need your help,” I finally manage.

His tone raises a notch with what sounds like worry. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, I just… I need a ride.” I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Sure, where to?”

In the background, I hear the door open. Dan says, “Dude, is that the chick? What does she want? Is it a booty call? It’s a

booty call, isn’t it?”

I shake my head as Logan tells him to go away.

Dan must not listen, because he says, “This can’t end well, my friend. What did I say earlier? A hot chick equals high

maintenance, which equals you carrying her purse while she shops for shoes.”

“Home,” I say before Dan can turn him against me. “I need a ride home.”

“No problem.” More rustling, the click of a door shutting, then silence. “Where are you now?”

“Do you know where Candy Southern lives?”

“Yeah, I can be there in fifteen minutes. Is that okay?”

“Perfect. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, Maddie.”

I go through about a million different feelings and thoughts in the few seconds after he hangs up. He knew it was me at the shop.

For sure, he knew. Is he going to tell anyone? He hasn’t yet, not even Dan, though he must’ve said something because Dan called

me a “hot chick” while trying to turn Logan against me. Before I can panic about that, I realize Logan was worried about me.

That was sweet. He wanted to know what I thought of the book. He’s willing to drive out here for someone he doesn’t know.

Also, I really liked the way he said my name.

I run back to tell Terra and Eric I’m heading out. Eric’s too busy winning at giant beer pong—seriously, how hard can it be for

a quarterback to toss a football into a five gallon bucket?—to really pay attention to me, but Terra wants to know why I’m

leaving.

“I’m just tired.” That seems to satisfy her because an Allison Blair song comes on and she starts singing it loud enough for

everyone to hear.

I go back to my star-gazing spot, stare at the driveway, and try to think of something witty to say when Logan shows up. Nothing

comes.

What is he going to say? I’m almost positive he’s going to laugh at me, at my predicament. I’m a nerd hidden inside a popular

girl’s body, and the only person that can help me right now is someone I’ve hardly even acknowledged for fear of social ruin.

Man, he must think I’m just a shallow hypocrite.

Why do I want to cry all of a sudden?

Headlights appear on the driveway, and I jog toward them. Logan’s beat-up silver Accord pulls into an empty spot, and he leans

over to unlock the door. When I open it, a very dim overhead light pops on, and the first thing I see is his smile.

“Hi,” I say when I drop into the seat. How witty is that?

“How’s it going?” He throws an arm over the back of my seat and turns to watch the back as he reverses.

“Fine.” Man, I should write a book. I could call it Things to Say to Ensure You Come Off as an Idiot.

“Good, good.” He nods his head.

It’s quiet for a minute as we both stare ahead at the road. Finally, I strike on a gem of a conversation starter. “I didn’t

know you worked at The Phoenix.”

“I didn’t know you were into comics.” He quirks that eyebrow at me. “I haven’t seen you in the store before.”

“I usually just download my issues.”

“Aw, why would you do that when you have a perfectly good comic shop in town?” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel

along with the music on the radio.

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It’s just more convenient, I guess.”

“But don’t you miss actually holding the paper in your hands?”

“Yeah, I do. I miss the smell, too. There’s just something about it.”

“Exactly. The old ones especially, before they went to that glossy paper.”

This feels so weird, surreal even, to be having a real-life conversation with someone about comics. I catch myself bobbing my

head, agreeing with every word he says. I can feel a goofy grin on my lips. I literally have to shake my head, rattle my brain, to

come back to my senses.

I keep quiet for the rest of the drive. So does he, but I can feel him flick glances at me which, in turn, causes me to flick

glances right back. He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt. His hair sticks out at weird angles, but for some reason, the whole

messy, not-a-care-in-the-world thing makes him seem even more magnetic.

The only noise is the college radio station playing quietly through the front speakers. A Yoda bobblehead shimmies on the

dashboard. The car is clean or, at least, my seat is. It’s obvious he tidied up before coming to get me. In other words, the back

seat is crammed full of books, CDs, and notebooks. There are a couple of long, white cardboard boxes I know are made for comic

book storage. My fingers itch to open them.

When we make it to my house, I see my mom’s silhouette through the glass in the front door. She turns the porch light on. It’s

11:30. I’m early. She sticks her head out the door, and I wave. Her worried frown is replaced by a relieved smile.

“I’ll just run up and get your book,” I say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get it later.”

“But aren’t you ready to read it?”

“Yeah, but I can wait. You look nice tonight, by the way.” He clears his throat. Even in the barely there light, I can see his

ears turn red.

Is blushing contagious? Because my cheeks start to burn. “Thanks, and thanks for the ride.”

“Any time.”

“Okay.” There’s a second where I forget what it is I’m supposed to do next. Eric usually lunges across the seat and gives me a

sloppy kiss, but this isn’t a date, and Logan isn’t my boyfriend. Or Eric. I tuck my hair behind my ear nervously and look him

in the eyes. They are blue, not the color of the ocean blue, not the blue of a morning sky, just pure blue.

Somehow, my mind kick starts, and I remember what the next step is. “Well, good night.”

“‘Night.” He smiles a real smile. This one is so honest and bright it’s almost blinding in its cuteness.

His car almost stalls as it pulls out of the driveway. I wonder what he’ll do with the rest of his night. Is he going to continue

playing video games with Dan? Or is he going to curl up in bed with a stack of comics?

Now I’m thinking about him in bed. Possibly wearing nothing but a pair of Iron Man boxers. I shake my head. I have got to get a

hold on myself.

…

The next morning, I wake up to the smell of French toast drifting through the house. A weight leaves my shoulders when I realize

today is the first official day of summer. I hate the heat—it’s easier to get warm than it is to get cool—but the summer has

always been my time. I don’t have to pretend nearly as much. By the end of this week, I’ll probably be completely caught up on

my to-be-read pile—or file since it’s really just a folder on my computer—which means I’ll need to buy a new comic journal

because the current one will be full.

But, before I start rolling around in my nerd-world like Scrooge McDuck in a mountain of gold, I need sustenance. When I get

downstairs, Mom is at the stove. I stack a couple of pieces of buttery, syrupy goodness on a plate and sit down at the table to

dig in.

“Do you know where the air mattress is? Roland is coming home for the weekend soon, and he might need it,” Mom says, and my

heart fills with happy.

Roland is my older brother who goes to college in Shreveport. He was my hero growing up. Whenever he does come home, we stay up

way too late catching up on comic book talk. We’re going to have so much to discuss when it comes to The Super Ones. I can’t

wait to hear his opinion on the significance of The Young One’s OCD in comparison to Marcus’s drinking problem. And I’ll be

able to show off another completed comic journal. Ro gave me my first empty one after I spent hours poring over his own towering

stack of journals when I was a kid. On one hand, I want to curse him for ever getting me into comics. On the other, I wouldn’t

have it any other way.

“It’s in the hall closet by your room, but I doubt he’ll use it. He’ll just end up on the couch like always,” I say.

“I know, but I want to make him as comfortable as possible. If I have to hear any more psychobabble about why I turned his room

into a craft room, I’m going to lose it. Anyway, did you have fun at the party?”

“Yeah, it was okay.”

“Whose car was that last night?”

I almost choke on my food because the last thing I need is Mom poking her nose into the situation. She’s not exactly the biggest

Eric fan, and if she thought I was talking to someone else, I’d never hear the end of it. “Eric wasn’t ready to leave so I got

a ride with Logan.”

Mom sits across the table with a cup of coffee. “Who’s Logan?”

“He’s just a guy in my class.”

“Who are his parents?”

“Mom, come on.”

“Okay, sorry, I just like to know who my daughter is friends with.”

“We’re not friends,” I say, then backtrack, thinking she’ll want to know why I let a stranger drive me home. “Not really,

anyway. We just know each other from school.”

Dad comes in through the back door, stomping his boots on the welcome mat to get rid of any dirt. He always has had perfect

timing.

“Good morning, Madelyne Jean, Dorothy Ann.” He nods at us both like a true gentlemen. “What do you have planned today, Maddie?

”

“I thought I’d go over and hang out with Terra. Maybe go swimming.”

Mom sighs. “Ah, to be young again. Nothing to do but hang out and go swimming.”

I grab my plate and put it in the dishwasher. “It’s a tough life, but someone has to live it.”

“Don’t forget your sunblock!” Mom yells as I dart up the stairs.

When I get to my room, I give Eric a required girlfriend call. There’s no answer, of course, so I text him a quick message.

Maddie: Have a great time! Will miss you :)

I’m such a horrible person because that is a big, fat lie. Do I wish he’ll have a great time? Sure. But will I miss him? Not

really.

I put on my swimsuit and cover it with a fitted white T-shirt and some shorts. Then, I grab #400 from my closet and give it one

last read through. I’m going to miss it, but I’ll have my own copy in another month or two, right? It’s not like this one is

special or anything because it’s Logan’s.

I fold the Phoenix bag with perfectly straight creases until it’s a nice flat square that will fit in my comic journal. After it

’s safely put away, I carefully place #400 in my backpack along with some sunblock.

I prop some shades on my head and give myself a once-over in the mirror. There I am, just a normal teenage girl ready to go

swimming with her best friend on the first official day of the summer. Looking at me, no one would ever guess I’m really on my

way to visit the nerd capital of Natchitoches.