Geek Abroad (7 page)

“No,”I said truthfully. “I don’t.”

Henry looked up and grinned at me. The smile reached his eyes, which were the exact color of the river that runs through Orange Cove at its deepest point.

“Good,”he said.

And I couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement at knowing that Henry liked me.

After that, Henry and I started to spend more and more time together. Partly it was because Sadie was restless to get back to work, so my afternoons were freed up while she wrote. And partly I just had fun with Henry. I felt like I could be myself around him. When I was with Henry, I wasn’t the brainy girl who goes to that geek school. . . . I was just me. Miranda.

Another thing I really liked about Henry was how happy he seemed to accompany me on my various sightseeing expeditions. He didn’t roll his eyes and act like it was all beneath him. He even seemed enthusiastic about going. Together we went to the Tower of London, which was amazingly cool. And we took a water taxi down the Thames River to Greenwich, where we hiked up a huge hill to the Royal Observatory to stand on the prime meridian, each foot planted on a different hemisphere. Even though it was touristy and more than a little cheesy, we even went to Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum, with its gory Chamber of Horrors.

I was learning a lot about Henry. He was smart. (His top three university choices: Oxford, Cambridge, and the University of London.) He wanted to be a barrister. (His top three alternative careers: pro soccer player, movie critic, hypnotist.) He and his friends were accomplished practical jokers. (Top three practical jokes of all time: Henry switching around the keys on his friend Simon’s laptop, so that Simon grew increasingly frustrated as he kept misspelling everything he typed; Joseph slipping an antitheft security strip in Henry’s pocket, so that he set off the alarm at a Virgin Megastore, and was subsequently tackled by a security guard; and Oliver stashing a handful of frozen prawns in the glove box of Joseph’s car.)

“That’s just gross,”I said, appalled.

Henry had started to laugh as he told me about it, and by now, he was chortling so hard, his eyes teared up. “Joseph kept saying, ‘Do you smell that? It’s all pongy in here.’Pongy, I tell you!”

“But what happened? Didn’t it ruin the car?”I asked.

“Well, I won’t say it ever smelled good after that,”Henry said, wiping his eyes.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,”I said.

“Girls never appreciate practical jokes,”Henry said philosophically. “Must be a genetic thing.”

But despite all of the time we spent together, Henry never once tried to kiss me or even hold my hand. As clueless as I was about guys, even I couldn’t have misinterpreted his interest. . . . Or could I have? Maybe he’d finally noticed that I have a horrible, too-big nose and the sort of frizzy hair that turns bushy in the humidity. But, even so, he seemed perfectly happy hanging out with me most afternoons. It was very confusing.

I checked my e-mail every day, but Dex never wrote. Finn sent me the occasional note, and Charlie wrote frequently. She’d started dating a guy named Mitch, a junior at Orange Cove High who worked at Grounded, our favorite coffee shop. When I’d last seen Charlie and Mitch together, they hadn’t seemed all that serious. But in the two weeks since I’d been gone, they’d apparently gotten really close. In fact, it was all Charlie wrote about—how good Mitch smelled, how she loved the shape of his ears, how his brown eyes were the exact color of a slab of dark chocolate. It was actually pretty revolting, and very un-Charlie-like, so much so that I wondered if she’d sustained a blow to the head in my absence. The Charlie I knew and loved was deeply unromantic.

On Christmas Eve, while I waited for the quiche Sadie had baked to be ready, I checked my e-mail and was soon rolling my eyes over Charlie’s latest gushing letter about the bracelet Mitch had given her and how much he’d like the portrait she’d painted of him. Trying to stay positive and supportive—no one wants to hear that they’re acting like an idiot over a guy—I wrote back and told her that all sounded great and I was happy for her. Then, my duties as best friend discharged, I launched into my current dilemma. I outlined the Henry situation and the lack of communication from Dex, and then begged Charlie for some advice.

So what should I do? Do you think Dex has forgotten me? Is Henry really interested in me? If so, why hasn’t he made a move? Do you think it’s because I’m leaving in eight days, and he doesn’t want to get attached?
I wrote, and then hit the send button. Charlie’s response came back five minutes later.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re:[Re:] Love is in the Air

You’re overthinking this, Miranda.When love is right . . . it’s just right. I can’t explain it, but if Henry’s the one you’re meant to be with, you’ll just know. Trust me. I knew with Mitch, on a deep—so deep it was almost cellular—level.

As for the Dex situation, well . . . I wasn’t going to tell you this, but since you asked ... I actually ran into Dex a few days ago. Mitch and I went to see that new Joaquin Phoenix movie—Mitch was so sweet, he insisted on paying for everything, and while we were watching the movie, he had his arm around me and was drawing circles on my shoulder with his fingers, and I just about melted. . . .

Where was I? Oh, right: Dex. He was there. At the movies.And he wasn’t alone. He was with a girl. I don’t know if it was a date—I didn’t see them kissing or anything—but they were laughing a lot. I’m so sorry. I hate being the one to tell you about it, but I also don’t want you to waste your time in London worrying that you’re cheating on Dex.

I stopped reading Charlie’s e-mail, and then started again from the beginning. But the content didn’t change. Dex had been out on a date. With some other girl.

I began blinking very fast, trying to keep back the tears that were welling up in my eyes and clinging wetly to my lashes. My stomach felt pinched and sour, and my throat was oddly dry and prickly at the same time, as though I’d swallowed a fistful of feathers.

So that was why Dex hadn’t written to me . . . he’d found someone else. A girl who made him laugh. Charlie hadn’t said whether the girl was pretty, but I had to assume she was. Dex’s last girlfriend was a model. In fact, maybe that was why he’d lost interest in me; maybe I wasn’t pretty enough for him.

I could actually feel a throbbing pain in my heart. I had liked Dex. Really, really liked him. And I’d thought he liked me, when clearly . . .he hadn’t. Or, at least, he hadn’t liked me enough. Which was almost worse.

I wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t come to London. What if I’d canceled my trip at the last minute and stayed home? Would Dex and I be together then? Would he be at the movies with me, laughing at my jokes?

“Miranda.”It was Sadie, calling from the bottom of the stairs. The house was so tall and narrow that her voice echoed in the stair-well. “Dinner’s ready! And I put the
Mame
DVD on!”

I inhaled a deep, ragged breath, and tried not to sniffle.

“Okay, I’m coming,”I said, shutting down my e-mail, without responding to Charlie’s note.

Merry Christmas to me,
I thought, and sadly wiped the tears off my cheeks with the back of my hand before heading downstairs.

Chapter 7

Sadie and I had plans to spend a quiet Christmas lounging around in our pajamas, drinking cocoa and watching a movie marathon of all our old favorites:
Jerry Maguire, Moonstruck, Gone with the Wind
. We ate leftover quiche for breakfast, and Sadie planned to roast a duck for dinner. I felt too depressed over Dex to really get into the Christmas spirit, but I tried to fake it for my mom’s sake. And I was—temporarily, at least—cheered when I opened Sadie’s gift to me: the new laptop I’d been pining away for.

“Mom!”I cried, pulling the laptop out of its box and cradling it against my chest. “It’s perfect, perfect, perfect!”

Sadie beamed at me. “I thought you’d like it,”she said. “And I adore my new bookends.”

Sadie loves all things Art Deco, and I’d been lucky enough to score a pair of vintage bronze greyhound bookends on eBay. She’d already set them out on her desk, where they stood guard over a row of her best-selling novels, which she wrote under her pen name, Della De La Courte.

My dad had sent me a pretty gold bracelet, Peyton gave me a gift certificate for a pedicure (which I knew was her way of criticizing the state of my feet), and Hannah gave me a cute T-shirt with a picture of the Union Jack on it, which just goes to show she can be oddly thoughtful at times. Finn gave me a computer game he’d designed, and Charlie had painted a tiny portrait of my dog, Willow.

All in all, it was a great Christmas. . . . Except for the part where I was completely heartbroken over Dex.

“Forget about him,”Sadie declared once she’d finally dragged out of me the truth about why I was so mopey. “Have I taught you nothing? You don’t need a man, Miranda.”

“I know,”I said sadly. “I just really thought he liked me.”

“Well, if he doesn’t, there must be something wrong with him,”Sadie said.

“Of course you’d say that. You’re my mother.”

At this, Sadie looked surprised. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to your faults.”To prove her point, she began to tick them off on her fingers. “You can be obstinate, a bit of a smart-ass, grouchy when you first wake up. . . .”

“Talk about the pot and the kettle,”I grumbled.

“. . . And you suffer from low self-esteem,”Sadie finished.

“I do?”This truly surprised me. I’d never thought of myself as having a poor self-image.

“You do. Of course, it’s not your fault. It’s practically pathological how low self-esteem is at your age. You young girls spend all your time worrying about boys and whether or not you look fat in your jeans. . . .”

“I never worry about whether I look fat in my jeans!”I exclaimed.

“That’s because you don’t have a spare ounce of fat anywhere on your body,”Sadie said, looking me up and down. “It’s your metabolism. I was the same way when I was your age. I could eat anything I wanted and never gained a pound. Just wait until you turn thirty. . . .”

“I know, I know, then it will all catch up with me,”I said, rolling my eyes.

“Well, it will. Anyway, where was I?”

“You were talking about my low self esteem. Right before you told me how fat I’m going to suddenly get when I turn thirty.”

“Oh, right. No, darling, your only problem is that you don’t appreciate all of the wonderful and unique characteristics that make you you,”Sadie said. “You don’t see yourself for the lovely, personable, intelligent young woman you are.”

I thought about this. Could it be true? Was it possible that I was really drop-dead gorgeous and just couldn’t see it through the veil of my low self-esteem? I turned to look in the large ornate mirror that hung on one wall of the living room, the glass of which was smoky with age, and studied my reflection.

The large nose was still there. Ditto for the frizzy hair, today in extra-bushy condition since I hadn’t bothered to brush it. So, okay, my eyes were a nice enough shade of brown. My chin wasn’t so bad, and my skin was relatively clear. Overall, I was . . .presentable. Maybe even cute on a good-hair day. But gorgeous? No way. Not a chance.

“A late bloomer,”I muttered aloud, remembering something my father had said.

“What, darling?”Sadie asked.

I turned away from the mirror, back toward her. “Oh, nothing. It’s just something I overheard Dad and Peyton talking about one night this fall. They said I was a late bloomer. Actually, Dad said I was a late bloomer. . . . I think the word Peyton used to describe me was
odd
.”

Sadie doesn’t get mad very often, but I could tell that this revelation had truly angered her. The color drained away from her face, her eyes narrowed and flashed, and her lips pursed so tightly they were white at the edges.

“That woman called you
odd
?”she asked slowly, carefully enunciating every word.

I nodded, and wished I hadn’t said anything. I hadn’t meant to upset Sadie; I just wanted her opinion on whether or not she thought it was true.

“Sorry, forget it,”I said quickly.

“I will not forget it,”Sadie thundered. She stood and paced around the living room. “Where’s the phone? I’m going to call your father.”

“You can’t call him now. It’s four in the morning in Florida,”I protested. “You’ll wake everyone up.”

“Your father will be lucky if that’s all I do to him,”Sadie muttered ominously. “How dare he let that woman talk about you that way?”

“You don’t think I’m odd?”I asked hesitantly.

“No! Absolutely not!”

Her absolute tone relieved me more than her answer. I knew Sadie would disagree with Peyton on principle, but surely if I really
was
an oddball, Sadie wouldn’t be so vehement in her denial.

“How about the part about me being a late bloomer?”I asked.

Sadie stopped her frantic and as of yet fruitless search for the phone, and turned to look at me. She sighed. “Would that be such a bad thing?”she asked.

“So you do think I am a late bloomer!”I exclaimed, my voice getting shrill with despair.

So that was why Dex had dumped me. Laughing Girl probably wasn’t a late bloomer. If anything, she was probably an
early
bloomer. The type of girl who started wearing a bra at the age of eight, and by sixteen was drinking martinis and getting Brazilian bikini waxes.