The Summer I Became a Nerd - By Leah Rae Miller Page 0,38
that smart kid school had a boyfriend who was in a band. But Logan doesn’t have a clue about how to make music, just how to announce it. The crazy thing is he didn’t really mind being bossed around and stuff. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the lying. See, she did end up with a guy in a band. Her roommate’s guy, actually. And she accomplished all that while she was still with Logan.”
“What a bitch.” The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“You said it. But then again, at least she wasn’t ashamed of him.”
I watch his back as he walks away. What was that supposed to mean? Then my brain catches up. Aren’t I in the process of dragging him through the mud in exactly the same way?
Logan appears from around the corner of the house, his head dipped as he rubs the back of his neck.
“You ready to go?” he says when he reaches me.
“But we’ve only been here for, like, thirty minutes.”
“We’ve done all we can do. The first game is always slow anyway.”
I wouldn’t know since this is my first game. “Are you okay?” I try to touch his forearm, but he dodges me. Over Logan’s shoulder, I catch Kelsey watching us with a smirk.
“I’m fine. It’s just…” He looks at me like he’s waiting for me to say something specific, something profound. I guess my expression of utter confusion isn’t what he’s hoping for. “I’m just tired. All day at the shop, then the show for two hours.”
“What about Dan?”
“I’ll go tell him. He’ll probably just find a ride.”
Ten minutes later, we’re heading back up the street and toward his house. It’s quiet for a long time before I can’t stand it anymore.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.”
He doesn’t say another word, and I’m not going to force him to talk if he doesn’t want to. It’s probably best to just leave him alone. It’s not like I should even be allowed to help him feel better. If what Dan says is true, I should just walk away before I turn into Kelsey. She straight up used him. I’m using him—sort of, though not for nefarious means or anything—and lying to everyone around me about who he is, who I am, and where we go when I’m with him. We pull up next to my car, and there’s a long, uncomfortable silence before I say, “Well, I guess I’ll talk to you later.”
I go to open the door, but Logan says, “What’s going on here?”
“What do you mean?” I scrunch up my face. The face paint has hardened so it’s just as uncomfortable as the question he just asked.
“There are some wet wipes in the glove compartment. What I mean is what are we doing? Is this like just some summer experiment to you or…” He trails off and looks out his window.
The accusation is like a punch to the gut. Because he’s totally right. I have been treating this like Las Vegas: what happens in the summer, stays in the summer.
I start scrubbing at my face and hands with the wipes, mostly so I don’t have to look him in the eye. “Was it that girl? Did she say something about me?” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice.
“Don’t worry about her,” he says. “What I mean to say is could you ever see me as… There have been some moments between us, right? I know I’m not imagining them.”
In a span of seconds, those “moments” flash through my mind. Not only do I remember that day in The Phoenix when I was dying to read #400 and our impromptu happy dance in front of Mr. Whiskers, but I also remember moments he doesn’t know about. Like the time I watched him try and fail to open his locker for five minutes, then spent the rest of that day fantasizing about what would have happened if I had gone over and helped him. Or when I talked the squad into cheering at a soccer game just so I’d have a reason to see him play.
But those memories are quickly replaced with moments that haven’t happened yet. Moments like seeing Logan in the hall on the first day of senior year and having to pretend I don’t know him. Rayann asking, “Who was that?” and me answering, “I have no idea.”
I don’t want to do that to him. Which is why I say, “No. No moments. I