Geek Girl (13 page)

“
What?
What are you saying?” He’s bewildered, palms up in supplication.

“How many times have I asked you to come with me, hang out with my friends?”

“You used to ask all the time, but you haven’t asked for a long time.”

His statement is true, but I’m not about to admit that.

“Well, I’m asking now. Or do I have to forsake my friends on top of everything else I’ve given up for you?”

“That’s incredibly unfair, Jen. I haven’t asked you to give up anything.”

“Really? Is that what you think? Then why have you been looking at me like that all day?”

“Like what?”

“Disgusted because I look the same as I did when you first met me instead of like the watered-down version I’ve become lately.”

He gets up, walking over to stand right in front of me, effectively cutting off my pacing. He’s right in my face and though I can see the storm raging in his eyes, he doesn’t yell or try to intimidate.

“I was attracted to you from the first minute you walked up to me, and you know it. You made sure of it. I wouldn’t care if you were now bald and covered in warts. Your
looks
aren’t why I like you, why I want to be with you.” His jaw clenches as he glares at me. “I’ll talk to you later,” he bites out.

I watch, stunned, as he walks out. Trevor has never walked away from me. My sails deflate, and I sink down on my bed. This isn’t how I pictured it going. I wanted him to grovel, to do whatever I wanted to keep me happy.

Fifteen minutes later my phone rings. It’s Trevor.

“Yeah?” I growl roughly, wanting him to know I’m still angry.

“When?” he asks. This throws me.

“When what?” It’s hard to sound mad when you’re confused.

“When do you want us to hang out with your friends?”

“Saturday,” I shoot back, knowing there will be a party somewhere.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Fine.”

“And Jen?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re right—we have only done the things I’ve wanted. I’m sorry if I made you feel like what you want isn’t important to me. It is.”

I sigh. Why does he have to be such a dork, making my insides all gooey by saying such things?

“I’m sorry too. I don’t want to fight with you.”

“So, where are we going on Saturday?”

I hedge a little, afraid he’ll back out if I tell him it’s a party. “I don’t know. I’ll have to find out what’s going on and let you know.”

“Okay.”

I feel that little worm of guilt trying to push its way up again at his easy acceptance and trust in me, so I push it down and offer a tiny olive branch.

“How about if you come over at six, and I’ll make you something to eat first?”

“You cook?” he asks in disbelief.

“You’re not the only one who has hidden talents, Scully.”

“Scully’s a woman. I think you mean Mulder.”

“Maybe, maybe not,” I say and hang up to the sound of his laughter.

On Saturday morning, my foster mother takes me shopping for food when I tell her my plan to make dinner for Trevor. I’m sure she has great hope that the nerd holds influence over me and will change me into the ideal foster child that she can show the world with pride.

One of the things I make is a killer chicken dish, although it’s a talent I hoard. I let Sue give me advice on how to cook, since she’s unaware of my ability. I tell her I want to do chicken and potatoes and let her chatter about preparation. After all, she’s footing the bill.

I could get a job, but past experience has taught me that doing that only gives foster parents the idea of forcing me to purchase all of my personal necessities instead of getting them for me. I figure since they’re getting money from the state for the dubious honor of having me live in their homes, they should pay for everything.

When we get back to the house, she hovers a little, but pretty soon I look over to see her smiling at me like the cat that ate the canary.

“What?” I ask.

“You’ve been keeping a secret, haven’t you?”

My mind immediately races to discover which of my many secrets she might have discovered. I shake my head in denial, waiting for her to tell me which one she’s discovered.

“I think you’ve been in a kitchen before. You almost look like a pro.”

“Yeah, right.” I shrug, relieved that this is her discovery.

“Seriously, you’re cooking with a natural ease, and you look pretty happy doing it.”

I hurry and put a scowl on my face, but this just makes her laugh.

“Ever thought of becoming a chef? Maybe opening your own restaurant someday?” she asks as I lean into the fridge to pull some items out.

I school my face before looking up at her—I don’t want her to see on my face how close she has come to guessing my only dream, the one that crushes me with its impossibility.

“Maybe I can be a cook at the diner. Being a
chef
requires schooling. Somehow I don’t see college in my future,” I tell her.

“Why not? You’re definitely smart enough.”

“You’ve seen my grades, right?”

“I have, yes. I also know they aren’t a true reflection of what you’re capable of.”

My anger sparks.

“And you know this after knowing me for less than a year?” I ask sharply.

“Yes.” Her answer is simple, straightforward. I roll my eyes. She’s almost as impossibly nice as Trevor is.

“Mind if I watch and learn?” Her question surprises me—and pleases me a little. I’ve never had
anyone
want to learn from me—if you discount some of the things I’ve taught my friends that were either illegal or at least not fit for polite company, as the saying goes.

When Trevor shows up—bringing me a big apology bouquet of wild flowers in true geek fashion—he makes my day with his genuine praise for my culinary skills. I’m also happy that he’s come casual in a plain gray T-shirt and jeans, keeping the nerdiness to a minimum—and looking pretty hot in the process, I have to say.

“You look good, Trev,” I tell him and get a kiss for my compliment.

⊕⊗⊕

The party is being held at a house I’m unfamiliar with. It belongs to a new kid who moved in after the end of the school year. Beth met him and found they had many of the same interests, those mainly being partying, skipping school, and adding piercings to their bodies—all things that had once been my center of interest as well.

“His parents named him Adama after some character in a movie, one I’ve never heard of. Some kind of battle movie or something,” Beth had told me earlier when I called to tell her I was finally getting Trevor to a party.

“
Battlestar Galactica
,” I said.

“What?” Her tone suggested I’d spoken in a foreign language, and I realized I knew this without even asking Trevor.
Wait till I tell him
, I thought.

“That’s the name of the movie.”

“And you know this because . . .”

“Long story.” I changed the subject, not wanting her to know the extent of the geek knowledge I have absorbed. “Listen, Beth, this is Trevor’s first party. Kind of spread the word to take it easy on him, will you? It won’t help my case if we plunge him in full force.”

“You abandon us all summer and you want our help?”

“I told you, it’s a process. Tell Kyle. He’ll take care of it.”

She didn’t make any promises, but as Trevor and I arrive at the party and walk in the front door, I can see she has talked to Kyle. The house is dim with music blaring, kids are drinking, and many of them are high, but there isn’t any obvious drug usage going on; it’s all being kept behind closed doors.

Beth and Ella meet us at the door, and Beth has in tow a tall, skinny kid with a flop of blond hair, bloodshot eyes lined with black, many facial piercings going on, dressed in solid black. He’s exactly her type—and mine too. Then I look at clean-cut Trevor, compare him to Adama, and think maybe my type is changing a little, because Trevor looks so much better to me than Adama does.

Weird.

“Adama, this is Jen and Trevor.”

Trevor glances at me with lifted brows, and I mouth, “
Battlestar Galactica
.” He grins in response.

They lead us into the house, and even though Trevor and I still have something of an unspoken agreement about maintaining our “friends only” cover, he grabs my hand tightly. I look at him, wondering if it’s making him nervous being here. Then he does an odd thing and pulls me closer and slightly behind him, and I understand that he’s nervous about
me
being here, protecting me.

I laugh and pull away from him, stepping in front.

This is
my
turf.

Kyle comes out of a bedroom, followed by a billow of sweetly acrid smoke.

“Hey, hey, look who’s decided to grace us once again with her presence,” he speaks slowly, voice pitched too loud and too high. He leans in and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek, then notices Trevor.

“Trevor, my main man,” he calls, giving Trevor an uncoordinated high-five. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, how are you, uh . . .” Trevor looks to me for help.

“Kyle,” I supply.

“Right, Kyle.”

“I’m mellow and happy, man. Can I get you something to drink?” he slurs, leading Trevor stumblingly into the kitchen with an arm slung around his shoulder. I follow, wondering if I’m going to have to remind Kyle to take it easy.

“A Coke, I guess?” Trevor says.

“One Coke coming up.”

Kyle pours a cup of flat Coke from a two-litre bottle. He gestures to an array of bottles behind him.

“Which additive, my friend?”

To his credit, Trevor keeps shock and disgust off his face as he surveys and sees that the bottles are all varieties of alcohol. He reaches out and grabs the cup from Kyle.

“Plain works for me,” he says, and Kyle laughs, slapping him on the back, causing some of the Coke to spill out of the cup and over Trevor’s hand.

“Someone has to be the designated driver, huh?”

Trevor just smiles humorlessly, but already Kyle is turning my way.

“And what can I get your royal cuteness?” I grimace at the unwelcome endearment.

Trevor looks at me, and I can see he’s trying desperately to keep his look neutral even though he’s curious about my answer.

“Diet Coke,” I say, smiling at Trevor.

“Straight?” Kyle’s tone indicates that this is an unusual request.

“Of course,” I say firmly.

Kyle looks from Trevor to me and back again. The light bulb comes on. “Ahh, right.”

I want to kick Kyle for being such a moron when I see the shadow that passes through Trevor’s eyes. Kyle hands me the filled cup, and Ella comes to my rescue.

“Adama has a great patio out back. C’mon, I’ll show you.”

We follow her out of the hot, thick air inside the house to the clean, clear oxygen outside. There are some kids hanging out back here, talking or making out. Strangely the making-out kids make Trevor more uncomfortable than the kids drinking.

The patio is a complex pattern of bricks, with outdoor furniture around an unlit fire pit. This is hedged by wooden boxes of flowers, leading down to a carpet of dark green grass. It really is a nice yard.

“Your parents don’t mind you having this many people over?” Trevor asks Adama casually, setting his cup of untouched flat pop down on the flower box ledge.

Adama smiles maliciously and gives a low laugh.

“Guess they probably would if they knew. But since they’re in Paris, I doubt they’ll suddenly show up.”

“You don’t worry they’ll find something when they get home to indicate . . .” He waves his hand in the noisy direction of the house. “All of this?”

“Dude, I’ve got years of practice. They travel a lot.” Adama laughs at his little joke, joined by Ella and Beth. Trevor looks at me like,
This is fun to you?

“I’ll be back,” Trevor says to me.

“Bathroom’s through the door and down the hall to your left,” Adama tells him. Trevor nods as if that was his intention, but I know him. He’s retreating—taking a break from what is completely different than anything he’s done before.

As he goes in the house, Beth and Adama begin making out. Ella rolls her eyes and scoots over next to me.

“You got him here, but he still seems like the same old Trevor,” she says. I shrug, and she looks thoughtfully toward the house where he disappeared. “Well, maybe not exactly the same. He dresses differently. Looks a little looser. Maybe your plan is working.”