The Summer I Became a Nerd - By Leah Rae Miller Page 0,5
purveyors of the female form in comics today, even if he has a tendency to overexaggerate certain body parts.
Ever since then, I’ve had a thing for Logan Scott. Not an actual thing since I have a boyfriend and that would be bad, but he’s got these cute freckles on his nose and cheeks, probably from playing soccer—he’s the Natchitoches Central High School’s goalie—and he’s always reading, comics mostly, but every once in a while, I’ll catch him with a high fantasy book with dragons or elves on the cover. Not that I’m stalking him or anything.
He has really nice eyes, though.
His brow furrows when he looks at me. “Sorry, we’re all out.”
“Really? What’s that?” I point at the book he’s currently stuffing under the counter.
“It’s…” He trails off as he takes in the way I’m dressed. He tilts his head to the side like he’s trying to see behind me. I whip around, thinking someone else is there, but the store is still empty. When I turn back, a knowing smile plays at the edges of his mouth. Sighing right now would be bad, but he has perfect boy-lips—not too full, not too thin.
He props his chin on his fist. “Do I know you?”
“Uh, no, I mean, I don’t think so. I’m just passing through town. I mean, I don’t live here or anything so how could you know me?” I say in a rush.
“Okay.” He squints like he can pull a confession out of me with his eyes alone. “That’s too bad, because this is the last copy.”
He pulls #400 out and waves it around, which sends electricity shooting through me because: (1) it’s right in front of my face, and I can see the amazing cover, and (2) the way he’s flopping it around is breaking the spine, which breaks my heart. You’d think a guy who works at a comic shop would be a little more careful.
Instinct kicks in, and I throw out my hands like he has a gun pointed at a puppy. He stops and lays the book on the counter between us.
“Why is it too bad?” I ask. “I’m a paying customer. I give you money, you give me #400. That’s how these things work.” I tentatively reach for #400, but he slaps his hand down flat on top of it.
“It’s too bad you’re just passing through, don’t live here, and don’t know me, because this is my copy, and if you weren’t just passing through, lived here, and knew me, I might let you borrow it.”
He smiles that knowing smile, and more of that electricity shoots through my body, but for completely different reasons: (1) that smile is the irresistible kind I can’t help but return, and (2) his voice has a soft, smooth quality that makes my brain turn to jelly.
I shake these thoughts from my mind when a voice in the back of my head shouts, “Quarterback boyfriend!”
“Well, by passing through, I meant visiting. I’ll probably be around for the next couple of days so I could have it back to you pretty quick.”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Hmm.”
“I promise,” I blurt out, my hands clasped together. I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to begging. “I’ll have it back to you in a couple of hours even.”
There’s that smile again. He might be adorkable, but he’s not being very nice, teasing me like this.
“We’ll be closed in a couple of hours, so I’ll give you my number, and you can call me when you’re done.”
“Perfect. No problem at all.” I nod again and again until I think I’ve given myself whiplash.
He presses a button on the cash register, and blank receipt paper rolls out of the slot on the top. He hands me #400. I devour the cover with my eyes as he rips the receipt paper off and jots down his number. When he reaches for the book again, I jerk it away, thinking Mine!
“I just want to put this in there so you don’t lose it,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to calm a hostile beast.
“Oh.” I hand him the book. He slides the piece of paper behind the last page. “Can I get a bag? I don’t want it to get any sun damage.”
The bag might be another piece of evidence I’ll have to find a hiding place for, but I might never have the guts to come back to The Phoenix. I want a memento, darn it.
#3
That was incredible! No, it was amazing! Incredizing?