Charm and Consequence (Novella) - By Stephanie Wardrop Page 0,24

creating the Teen Couture.”

She took her mother’s hand. “And tomorrow night I might get to see him—all because you convinced Jean-Pierre to hire me as a waitress last summer.” Angel hugged the velvet. “Imagine—tomorrow night—me in the same room as Antoine Vidal. And maybe, just maybe, I might make the final in the Teen Couture and get to meet him!”

“Yes, chérie, I know.” Simone’s soft brown eyes were sombre as she cupped her daughter’s face in her hands. “And I know how much you dream of it all. It’s just that . . .” Her face grew sombre. “You and your papa were so close and now he is gone. I don’t want you to be hurt by anything more. Some dreams can be dangerous.”

“Not this one.” Angel’s voice rang with confidence. “I know I probably won’t win, but something good will come of it, I’m positive.”

Her mother looked skeptical. “I hope you are right, mon ange.”

END OF SAMPLE

Look for HOW TO DATE A NERD coming from Swoon Romance this Fall.

HOW TO DATE A NERD

Cassie Mae

Chapter One

If I say I’m sick, don’t kiss me!

Rules of keeping up your popular rep:

Number one, the shorter the skirt, the better.

Number two, natural hair color is a thing of the past.

Number three, high heels are an extension of your foot. To go without them would be like losing a toe.

Number four, guys are disposable, and should never be used more than once or for an extended period of time.

And number five, never ever reveal you collect Star Wars memorabilia, you know every line from Lord of the Rings, and you actually know the birth dates of all the Harry Potter cast members.

Yeah. I’m a total closeted nerd.

I'm not cool with pity glares in the hallways, painful jabs, and social scars. No thanks. It's much easier to keep my true nature hidden beneath layers of eyeliner, skimpy outfits, and even, I must admit, a rockin’ body. Though the pushup bras tend to do most of the work.

Welcome to high school. Where everyone tries to be someone else.

Well… everyone except Zak.

Here’s the DL on my next-door neighbor. He’s labeled King Dork because he wears nerdy shirts and talks in geek code. The front pocket of the plaid overshirt he wears always has at least three or four Pokémon cards in it. And if it’s not that, it’s a graphing calculator he has to keep shoving down so it doesn’t fall out. There’s a Star Wars keychain always clipped to the back of his holey jeans and he sometimes carries a Wii controller in his back pocket.

And I’ve got it bad for the boy.

It’s not just the fact that he was the one to introduce me to the awesomeness of the Elvish language, the hidden mysteries of World of Warcraft, and the magical world that lies beyond Platform 9 ¾. He pulls off sexy geek so damn well! His dark, like super dark eyes and his matching hair, which flops around his forehead when he’s laughing too hard, combined with his nice height, and swoon… He’s like the Peter Parker of my high school.

I may be the only person who finds his nerdiness just so hecka irresistible. Everyone else treats him like some dead bug on the sidewalk. I know how it is, and I have no idea how he handles all the verbal abuse.

Middle school Zoe—Geek Zoe, I like to call her—was made fun of and tormented so much she spent most nights crying into her pillow. High school was the break I was totally looking for. A chance to freakin’ rewrite myself into someone who’s socially acceptable. The summer before school started, I grabbed loads of magazines and watched all those teen movies that so aren’t as awesome as Star Trek, but worked for my status education. And apparently, I was doing this popularity thing all wrong. I had to be, like, a major bitch to people, and I’d end up getting the hottest guy in the end.

Took some work, but I think I got it down. I should win an Oscar for how awesome I am at the fake personality.

But freak, it’s been two years since I was de-geek-a-fied, and I still find myself trying to stifle the urge to buy Comic Con tickets, and try not to act jealous when I see Zak dressing up for the event.

Don’t get me wrong, my life is pretty darn fantastic and a whole heap better than the alternative, which is getting my emotional butt kicked around.