Romancing the Nerd (3 page)

Cara turns to me. “A what now?”

“I’ve known Dan for years. We were really close friends once upon a time, then all of a sudden, WHAM!” I smack my hands together to give the full effect. “He goes from Mister Nobody to the king of the scene. And all because he’s good at basketball and he became pretty close to the definition of ‘attractive.’ What kind of world do we live in, y’all, when all it takes is a good three-pointer and nice eyes to become everyone’s favorite person? Anyway, I’ve always found the concept of ‘popularity’ a strange one, and this is my chance to understand it. Why are some people popular and others not? What does it do to a person? What does it do for society in general?”

Beth’s brows knit together. “So, you’re going to, what, study him? Basically use him as a guinea pig?”

“Exactly. The whole thing will be in the name of science so, ya know, I’m not tricking him or anything. I’m doing this for the good of society. Plus, he’ll never know. My blog will be totally anonymous.” I don’t mention that I’m looking forward to it in a weird, sadistic way because that would not paint me in a good light.

Cara snorts and points a finger at me. “Just tread carefully, okay?”

“Don’t worry,” I assure her, “I’ve got this.”

Beth and Cara begin to discuss how to make sure our costumes have just enough va-va-voom without having to use double-sided tape on our boobs, and my mind wanders. It settles comfortably into guilt mode.

Am I a horrible person for doing this to Dan? Probably. Should I forget the whole thing? Double probably. Will I? Probably not, because the second I start to think about the bad thing I’m trying to do to him, I remember the bad things he’s done to me. The basketball incident is just the final drop in the bucket. He doesn’t know it, but I heard him that day almost a year ago talking to his “friends” in the locker room. I never thought the air conditioning being broken in the boys’ locker room would be a fortuitous thing for me.

The door was propped open so they could get a little air flow in there and Martin Hedge’s voice floated into the hall, along with some pretty foul odors, I might add. “What about that Zelda girl?”

“No, man,” Dan said, “she’s not like the others. There’s no satisfaction to be had there.”

It’s said that smell is the sense that most easily evokes memories. B.O. and sweaty sneakers will forever remind me of the day Dan Garrett truly became a jerkwad in my book. I’d been holding out hope up to that very moment that Dan wasn’t a total shithead, but I couldn’t live in denial anymore. He was just like the rest of them, concerned about one thing and one thing only: getting laid. And yes, I know hormones are a thing that happens to guys, because they happen to girls, too. And yes, I’ve also spent some time talking about the sexual appeal of this or that guy with Beth, but it was never in a disrespectful way. Dan took something I told him in confidence and twisted it, made it sound like the fact that I wouldn’t put out meant that I wasn’t worth the time. And
that
is a big ol’ bucket full of nope.

We’ll be even stevens after this. He might never know it, but I will, and that’s what matters. Yeah, I’ll go with that. I’m doing this for the good of humanity, for science. My conscience is clear.

Chapter Three

Dan

“
Coach, forgive me, but how does riding the bus to games instead of taking my comfortable vehicle give me life experience?” I lean forward and hook an arm over the back of Coach’s seat so I can see his face.

His expression doesn’t read, “What an interesting and well-articulated question, Daniel,” like I was hoping it would. It reads more like, “If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll
give
you some real-life experience.”

I smile and sit back. “Never mind.”

Before I kill some time with a little Angry Birds on my phone, I check the notifications I’ve gotten from my blog. Looks like someone really enjoys my posts. There are “likes” and “reblogs” all over the place. Her name is effyeahFinityGirl and her picture is… Well, it’s mysterious, I guess. I can’t really see her face. Her long blond hair obscures her profile, but I can make out a heart-shaped mouth. And she’s sent me a message.

effyeahFinityGirl:
Hi, Dantheman! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely love your blog! I’m a big Super Ones fan, too! Although the new spin-off is slightly unoriginal, I’m hopeful it’ll get better. Would love to chat about it if you’re up for it?

Okay, so she overuses exclamation points, but wow, talk about a girl after my own heart. I got into a heated debate with Logan just the other day about the unoriginality of the Super Ones spin-off.

Me:
Finally, someone with some sense! Are you free later? I’d love to have an intelligent conversation about the spin-off with someone who isn’t easily swayed by sentimentality like most of my friends.

I check back over the message. Led with a compliment? Check. Big words? Check. Friendliness? Check. I think there’s a certain finesse to talking with strangers on the internet. Especially potentially hot strangers.

Message sent.

After a few fails at Angry Birds level thirty-two and a shouting match with Douchebag Donovan about him kicking the back of my seat, my phone dings with a new message from effyeahFinityGirl.

effyeahFinityGirl:
I’m definitely free later! I’m a night owl so I’ll be up for a while. Just message me. Sound good?

Score. I swear, talking to girls online is so much easier than in real life. In real life, there’s body language and tone of voice to consider. I just don’t have the attention span to be able to focus on whether or not a flip of the hair is flirting or batting away a fly. Of course, this could be a thirty-year-old man, but whatever. It’s not like I’ll ever actually meet this person.

Talk to you then,
I message her just as we’re pulling into the Lakeview School’s parking lot.

We all pile out of the bus and head to the locker room. I freaking hate away games. I think it all boils down to the smell. The smell of some other place’s locker rooms and court is always different. Not to mention that feeling of “we all hate you here.”

We suit up. Everyone is quiet like they always are before a game. Getting in the zone and all that. Like the others, I have my own way of revving up. I have this playlist on my phone full of nothing but music from movies. Particularly the songs that were playing during the “workout montages.” Nothing beats “Eye of the Tiger” when you’re getting ready to demolish the other team.

The band is setting up in the bleachers when we head onto the court for the pre-game warm-up. It’s hard not to find Zelda because of that bright red hair, even if it’s almost all covered by that goofy feather hat. I still feel the need to talk to her about what happened at practice the other day. I tried to get in to see her when she was in the nurse’s office, but Beth was guarding the door like a Roman soldier. And that scene in the parking lot did not go like I wanted it to. When I catch Zelda’s attention, she doesn’t give me the Eye of Hate as I was expecting. She’s smiling. Which, at first, makes me think,
Great, she’s not pissed
, but then I realize how weird it is. The girl hasn’t smiled at me since I bailed on that one LARP game. I still kind of feel bad about that. Craytor, my badass dwarf, was supposed to mentor her new dwarf character, but I got invited to a party that night. This was during my make-the-cool-kids-hate-me phase in which I acted like an idiot at their parties in the hopes they wouldn’t want anything more to do with me. Of course, the more stupid and immature I acted, the more they wanted me around.

I raise an eyebrow at her, a big, silent “What are you up to?” written across my face, I’m sure.

She just smiles bigger and goes back to talking with Beth. I look around me, wondering if maybe that smile was meant for someone else, but it’s just me.

I don’t like this. Not one bit. Zelda is definitely one of the smartest chicks I’ve ever met. She’s also one of the most stubborn. So, why the smile when she’s supposed to hate me?

A bad feeling creeps across the back of my neck when she looks at me again, that smile still in place. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great smile. I’ve always thought she was adorable. I thought so even more after I lost her. It’s like that quote: Absence makes the heart feel like a microwaved burrito, never quite warm in the middle and burn-your-tongue hot on the outside.

I’m about to charge up the bleachers to find out what her deal is, but I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn and come face-to-face with Carrie Danvers, one of our cheerleaders. She’s been pursuing me pretty hardcore for the past couple of weeks. It’s hard for me to keep in an exasperated sigh.

“Hey, Dan. You going to the after party tonight?” She bats her heavily mascaraed eyes.

“Uh… Nah, I’ve got plans.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “Aw, come on. I’ll be there.”

“Sorry, I can’t. I have a date…thing,” I say, hoping it’ll throw her off my trail.

Wishful thinking, Dan. “Well, if you get bored on your date thing, text me.” She licks her lips and sorta bites the bottom one. The action is so deliberately over-the-top.

I grunt as a response, then escape to our team’s seats. Douchebag Donovan plops down next to me and something is off. Normally, he’s a ball of nervous energy at this point. I learned early on not to stay too close to him before a game because he gets weirdly yell-y and headbutt-y, like a good concussion is what the team needs to be revved up and win or something. But right now, he just slumps down in his chair with his bottom lip poking out like a scolded child.

It takes me a minute to decide whether or not to leave him alone. In the end, my better nature takes control. “Dude? You okay?”

“Mind your own business, Garrett.” He shoots eye-daggers across the gym at his dad, who is finding a place to sit, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s having some type of parental discord.

“Yeah,” I say, “my dad’s kind of an asshole, too.”

He jumps to his feet, fists at the ready and eye-daggers now targeting me. “You calling my dad an asshole?” He’s like a mountain of rage, and I do not want to be a casualty of that avalanche.

I hold my hands up and scoot back a little in my chair. “No, dude. Not at all. I’m sure he’s a fine, upstanding gentleman.”

His stance relaxes and he sits down again. “That’s what I thought.”

That’s when I notice the red mark on his cheek. I think about maybe addressing it, but the ref blows his whistle, signifying the start of the game.

Zelda

“
Well, that was like shooting fish in a barrel, wasn’t it?” Beth asks as we unpack our instruments.

“I told you. This is going to be so epic. He has no idea what’s about to hit him. I mean, science has no idea what’s about to hit it.”

“Uh huh,” she says in that way of hers that means I’m not fooling her for a second. “So what’s going to happen on this date?” She cuts her eyes at me mischievously.

I scoff. “Date? No. No, this is not a date. This is experiment A.”

“Not a date? Okay, number one, you’ve set a time to meet. You’re meeting in a chat room, but it still counts. Two, y’all will be talking for an extended period of time about things you both find interesting. This is so a date, Zelda.”

“Fine. But it’s a fake date. It’s not like I have any amorous feelings for him or anything.”

“You used to, though. Remember?”

I scowl at her, then look around to make sure no one is listening to us. If someone were to hear even an implication that I used to have a thing for Dan, I’d be mortified. “Don’t you even. That was forever ago, and he’s not the same person he was then. That Dan didn’t ignore friends. That Dan didn’t lie about having something super important to do then go to a party on a Saturday night instead of LARPing. That Dan didn’t objectify me to his new friends. It’s all just…Just. Unforgivable.” I make sure there’s not even a hint of humor in my next words. “And if you suggest there’s anything going on between us again, I will be forced to hurt you. Not even joking, okay?”

Her eyes go wide and she holds her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. Note taken. I have to admit he did pull a one-eighty when he started playing basketball. I never in a million years would have expected him to go to one of those parties.”

“Exactly. I mean, look at him.” Just as if he heard my words, which is impossible because he’s down on the court and we’re up in the bleachers, Dan turns his head in my direction.

Our eyes connect. If this would have happened a couple of days ago, I would’ve just given him the Eye of Hate and looked away. But I’m feeling super-confident at the moment, so I meet his gaze full on. I even smile a little.
I’ve got you now, you traitor.

“Oh, I don’t mind admitting that I do look at him. Frequently. He’s pretty hot.” Beth giggles.

I break eye contact with Dan to stare dumbfounded at Beth. “What is wrong with you? He’s not even close to being hot. I mean, sure, he does have nice hair, but external beauty isn’t everything. In fact, it doesn’t mean much at all, in my opinion.”

“You’re kidding, right? He’s like if a young Bob Dylan and James Dean had a baby.”

I shake my head. “Again, none of that matters. He’s a jerk.”

“Whatever you say, Miss ‘How can anyone hate Justin Bieber? He’s so gorgeous.’”

I punch Beth playfully in the shoulder. “I’m never going to live down my Bieber phase, am I?”

“Nope.”

The game starts and we take our cues from the conductor. Between playing the regular sports hits like “Another One Bites the Dust” and helping the cheerleaders with some chants, I watch the game. Even if I find most of the guys on the team repulsive, I can’t stop myself from cheering them on. Dan isn’t doing as well as he normally does though. He keeps tripping and stuff. Weird. But I refuse to feel bad for him. Instead I repeat the game plan I came up with last night, over and over in my head.

Introduce

Admire

Make conversation

Gain trust

Remain vigilant

Outsmart target

Obtain proof of hypothesis

Terminate contact

This plan is as solid as a hundred-year-old tree.

If this works out—no,
when
this works out—it’ll be a blow to all those people in my school who think they’re in any way better than someone else. I want to prove that popularity changes people for the worst. I want those aspiring to popularity to realize that it’s not worth it. That it is, in fact, folly and can only lead to the decay of one’s morals and self-worth.

Take Colin, the team’s equipment manager, for instance. Right now he’s busting his ass to keep the players hydrated and stocked with fresh, clean towels. But do they ever thank him? Do they ever deign to just give a nod of appreciation? Not that I’ve ever seen. Then why does he continue? Some might bright-side the answer and say he needs some extra-curriculars on his transcript. And to those some, I say, “Give me a break.” He does it in the hopes of making popular friends. He does it in search of acceptance, and poor Colin will never get that. But what if he was better at sports, or he fit in with their preconceived ideas about physical beauty? He’d be a shoe-in. It’s all about the surface layer with them, and I hate that.

This mission could turn into something big, a kind of screw-you to all those people who think the sun rises and sets with them. All I have to do is follow my simple plan to the letter and victory shall be mine.