Nerd Romance — Books
“Some girls have great depth, K, and enjoy the taste of many genres. Learn to deal with it.”
When she joined him in her room, he was sitting on the floor inspecting her bookshelf. He looked at her suspiciously. “You have mystery books.”
“I like mysteries.”
“I thought you liked science fiction.”
She sighed. “I like science fiction, too. Some girls have great depth, K, and enjoy the taste of many genres. Learn to deal with it.”
His attention had returned to her collection. “I thought you’d have more books than this.”
Of course he would. “Not everybody lives in a big house with eight foot tall — ”
“Seven.”
Whatever. “ — seven foot tall shelves in their room, K. And not all of us can afford the Science Fiction Book Club.”
“They have really good prices,” he replied absently, still scoping her collection. “You just have to remember to let them know which books you don’t want.”
He still doesn’t grok what it means to not have money to spare. “That’s a stamp, hon, every month. Even a dime can be a big deal, sometimes. I mean, you work after school, right? So you have extra income to go with your allowance.”
“Nope, no allowance. Not since eighth grade. My sister still gets one, though, because it’s ‘so hard for girls to find a job!’ So I cut lawns in the summer, do deliveries year round.”
It is hard for girls to find jobs, doofus, unless we have big boobs and like getting leered at by restaurant customers. “Deliveries? Deliveries for…?”
“The Book Stall.” He apparently could feel her eyes burning into his back, because he looked over his shoulder with a concerned face. “Did I not mention that?”
See, this is why I don’t own a baseball bat, for moments like this. “Did you not mention to me, your dear book-loving friend, that you work for the only book store in our fair town? No. No, you did not. Nor did you mention your employee discount, which is…?”
“Twenty-five percent?”
She sat down on the floor next to him. “And where are you taking me tomorrow right after school? Think carefully about your answer.” She continued to stare directly into his eyes, slowly moving her face closer as his retreated.
She was sitting on the floor next to the Mystery & Crime shelf, head down, fiddling with her hair, engrossed in a Dick Francis book. He plopped down next to her.
“I’m done,” he announced.
“Uh huh.” She was sort of twirling her hair around a finger, but her short haircut meant that the effect was more like someone making the crazy sign.
“E, you can’t just keep sitting here and reading while I’m out making deliveries. This is a book store, these books are for customers.” And it doesn’t reflect well on me, in my opinion. My friend shouldn’t just be making herself comfortable where I work.
She looked up and gazed at him coldly. “For your information, Mr. P, Mrs. Fowler said I am welcome to make myself comfortable any time I am waiting for you here. I do not take up much aisle space, I get out of people’s way when needed, and I even helped out one patron who was looking for Knockdown. So there!”
This is so unfair. He had gotten yelled at — okay, more like gently chided, but still — when he started hanging out at the bookstore last year. On the other hand, that was what got him the job offer to be the store delivery boy. Still, not fair.
He noticed something on her face. “Crumb.” He touched his own face in the same spot.
“Oh. Thanks.” She brushed her face. “Gone?”
He nodded. “Wait. Was that a cookie crumb?”
“Sure. Mrs. Fowler gave me a cookie.”
He looked horrified. “E, those cookies are for customers!” This keeps getting worse!
“Okay, first off, Mister Everything My Girlfriend Does Today Is Wrong, it was A cookie. One. Second, she offered it, I didn’t take it. Mrs. F likes me. She thinks I’m good for you.”
“How does she even — ”
“And THIRD, it was after I helped Mrs. Williams get some boxes put up. So my presence is, indeed, recognized as a force for good here at The Book Stall. Did you know Mrs. F has contacts? How do you think she looks?”
What? Mrs. Fowler looks… fine. Old. Well, fifties, not OLD old, but she needs reading glasses, and she told Mrs. Williams she refuses to wear them around her neck because her mother used to do that and she refuses to look like her mother. And what does this have to do with cookies? “She looks fine.”
E’s face went into concentration mode. “My mom wants me to get contacts. She says I’m never going to get a guy wearing glasses.”
That’s a cliché, but — waitasec! “What about me?”
She patted his hand. “She knows you don’t count, hon, no offense, but I think she’s looking past a practice boyfriend. But Mrs. F says contacts are a pain to clean, and she can’t wear them more than eight hours or so, and she has astigmatism so one eye is never quite right.” She took off her glasses, cocked her head slightly, and gave him what he knew was a phony smile. “How do you think I look in contacts, K?”
It’s a trap! He smiled back, leaned forward and gave her a fast kiss on the forehead. “You look wonderful, E.”
She grabbed his head and gave him a long kiss on the lips. “Right answer! I’m gonna make you into a wonderful boyfriend for somebody, at the rate we’re going.”
They sat and smiled at each other, then heard the sound of a book cart turning slowly into their aisle. “And — ”
“Moving, yup, right with you!”
This is part of a series of stories set in high school in the 1970s. Next, secrets are easy to keep in high school. As long as they are the ones nobody else knows about:
If you just walked in, you might want to catch up:
