The Summer I Became a Nerd - By Leah Rae Miller Page 0,8

response. Instead of deigning to answer him, I edge around him and go to my regular table, head down and shoulders scrunched up. Like somehow that might keep me from being seen. Eric has saved a seat for me, but before I sit, I look out over the sea of jabbering students for Logan. Just as I find him walking to his own usual table on the other side of the cafeteria, he looks directly at me. He raises that eyebrow again and puts on that knowing smile. I avert my gaze and sit down as fast as I can.

Unfortunately, I sit on something that’s moving. I squeal and jump back up, jarring the table, which knocks over Terra’s bottle of water. When I look at my seat, Eric’s hand wiggles its fingers at me, and he starts to laugh with great big, honkin’ snorts that echo above the other commotion.

Another quick glance at Logan and he’s shaking his head. I slap Eric’s muscled upper arm and say, “You’re such a jerk,” in my most I’m-a-giggly-cheerleader voice, but what I really want to do is dump my fifty-cent banana pudding on his tall, dark, and handsome head.

“Seriously, Eric, grow up,” Terra says as she mops up her water with some napkins.

“Whatever, that was classic!” He fist-bumps Peter.

“You going to the party tonight, Maddie?” Terra asks.

“Sure, I guess.” I look over at Eric. “Are we going?”

“Hell, yes,” he says through a mouth full of spaghetti, and I can’t stop my nose from scrunching up at the sloppy sound of the food vibrating in his mouth. Gross.

And that was the most important part of the conversation because the rest of lunch was spent listening to Eric and Peter discuss their upcoming summer vacation to Destin, Florida. If you could call it a vacation. It sounded more like Jocks Gone Wild with all the “getting wasted” with Peter’s brother and the “hot babes” that are sure to be on the beach. This last part was supposed to be whispered, but Eric is kind of like a four-year-old in a seventeen-year-old’s body. He doesn’t quite understand the concept of voice volume control.

There was no “I’ll miss you so much, Maddie-babe,” or “I’ll call you every night,” like a normal boyfriend would have said. Not that I expected that from him, or even wanted it.

I know I’m just an accessory to him, but what he doesn’t realize is he’s just a handbag to me, too. He’s not a bad guy. Despite his immaturity, he does most of the required boyfriend things. He puts his arm around my shoulders when we walk down the hall, he points to me when he makes a touchdown-scoring pass—after he points to the stands, of course—and he never chats up other girls in my presence. There’s just something missing. I don’t get that feeling. You know, the swoony one a girl is supposed to get when she sees her guy waiting for her by her locker in the morning. But what can I do? Landing Eric as a boyfriend was the coup de grace of completing my nonnerdy persona. The quarterback dates the cheerleader. This is the way things are supposed to be.

#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.