Page 14 of Nerdelicious
I glance over at the clock. It’s three in the morning. We left Jude’s sometime after midnight, I think. I click on the lamp next to the bed.
There’s a glass of water, two aspirin, and a folded piece of paper sitting on the nightstand next to the clock.
I take the pills, chug some water, and then pick up the note.
The edge is ragged, ripped from a spiral-bound notebook. My eyes trace over the words, written in careful block script.
Then there’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They’d banish us, you know.
My breath catches on a surprised laugh.
He’s written the rest of Emily Dickinson’s quatrain. I stare down at the words.
No one ever understands the things I say. Except maybe my parents. Jack especially never got it. He would brush me off or ignore me. Roll his eyes at obscure references and jokes that only I could understand.
But Beast knew. He got it. It’s such a stupid little thing, and yet...
I’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Who are you, Beast?
Chapter Four
“The hottest geekon TV is Liz Lemon. It’s not up for debate. She’s nerdelicious. Her name is even a type of food.”
–Overheard at Comic-Con
It’s Sunday, which means three major events: church, Sunday night supper, and mandatory check-in with the ’rents.
“Jack is dating your friend Morgan,” Mom says. The words pop out of the phone and into my ear in one big rush, like a comic bubble that readsPOW!
I sit on the edge of the bed and hold the phone away for two full breaths. Then I force it back to my head. “Oh, that’s nice.” The words are dry on my tongue.
It’s a good thing I took this call upstairs in my room and Grace and Granny are outside somewhere. I would never have heard the end of it. Between the two of them, they would have picked and poked until I unraveled. They still might. I wouldn’t put it past Grace to have tapped my phone. The girl is a tech genius and as crafty as Puck.
I wince.
“We saw them at Blossom,” Dad cuts in from somewhere in the background. “He’s still a putz.”
Blossom on Ninth? That’s where he used to take me when we first started dating, back in high school. It’s one of the best vegan restaurants in the city. He knows my parents have a standing date there every Thursday. Was he trying to run into them? So that they would pass the information on to me?
No way. I’m reading too much into it. He doesn’t care. Hasn’t called. Probably doesn’t even realize I’m not in New York anymore.
“We wanted to tell you before you found out from one of your other friends,” Mom says.
Friends? I don’t have friends in New York, except Scarlett. All my other “friends” were Jack’s friends, and now that I’m two thousand miles away, their loyalty reverts back to him.
Scarlett never liked Jack. She’s the reason I’ve been living in Texas in the first place. The ranch house belongs to Scarlett’s parents—Granny’s son and daughter-in-law. They’re never here because they are major artists. Like the really famous, rich types who do shows all over the world, tell everyone they’re BFFs with Banksy, and have assistants and junk.
Scarlett grew up in Blue Falls before moving to New York. She hired me a couple years ago to help her with her food truck, For Goodness Cakes. This past Christmas, right after Jack and I split up, I came with her to visit her family for the holidays and ended up staying to help Granny. Granny had some fainting spells, and everyone was worried about her living here, mostly alone, except for Grace. I had nothing else to do. Though, I probably needed to feel useful more than Granny actually needed help.
“Do you care?” Mom asks after I’ve been silent for too long.
What were we talking about? Oh, right. Jack. Jack with someone else.
