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