Nerd Romance—Getting to Know All(?) About You
“Boys should not be allowed to buy beer, vote in national elections, or procreate. Ever!”
This is yet another chapter in a series I “finished” last year, but my characters kept talking to me. Then Roz Warren convinced me into fill out the series into a book, so now I’m working on that. Most of what I’ve been doing lately has been filling in gaps or adding to existing material, but this chapter felt like it could stand without the reader having just finished the one before.
Short summary of the story to date:
The series covers two academic over-achievers with limited social skills (aka “nerds”) in the last semester of their junior year in high school in the 1970s. They call each other by their initials, so she is “E” and he is “K.” They are engaging in a “practice” relationship, working from an agreed upon list of goals, trying to learn to be more like regular people before they head off to college. Both kids agreed that this is a mutually beneficial partnership, and not in any way a romantic association. School lunch times together are spent reading, in general conversations, or discussing things from the list.
K pulled out his copy of their list as he waited for E to arrive at their lunch table in the cafeteria. I think we are doing a good job at knocking these things off. Although… okay, “Share something about your gender with your partner that might help with future relationships.” Guys are pretty straightforward, so I don’t know what I can share. But I remember something Jen said once, I should ask E… and think of the devil, here she is. “Hey, you! Question for you, on gender differences. So I’ve heard that the meanest thing one girl can say to another is, ‘If you do something or other, I will NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN.’ True?”
E unloaded her lunch bag as she pondered. “Yes. But it doesn’t mean what you think it means. Unless it does.”
And we’re off on a lesson in feminine psychology! “Sorry?”
E unwrapped her sandwich. “So I say to Becky, if you ever tell Billy I like him, I will never speak to you again. But what I’m really saying is, I need you to tell Billy I like him.” She gave him a “see what I’m talking about?” expression as she took a bite.
Yep, this is a look at the female mind. Scary. “And someone would know this because…”
“Boys don’t.” She gestured at K to emphasize her point. “But Becky would go tell Billy I like him, and then run back and tell me what he said, and if he liked me back, and if he was ever going to call me or ask me out. Which she would know to ask. Meanwhile you, a guy, who was eavesdropping, are totally confused, and you ask why we’re still talking to each other, and we just roll our eyes — ” E rolled her eyes for emphasis, and added a head toss for dramatic effect, “ — and walk away.”
“So — “
E held up a finger to stop him. “But! Sometimes we mean if you tell Billy I like him I’ll never speak to you again. And if she did, I wouldn’t.” E put on a scowl, lowered her eyebrows, and glared at K. “EV-ER!” She took another bite of her sandwich and smiled at him while she chewed.
Nope, nothing confusing about all this! “And if you tell a guy this he would know — “
E laughed. “Oh, we’d never tell that to a boy! Who knows what he’d do?” She continued with her sandwich while K digested the information.
“And all of this makes sense to you?”
E snorted. “I don’t make the game, K, I just follow the rules as I learn ‘em.” She consulted her lunch bag. “Trade you Fritos for your Jays chips? My mother is on some crazed corn chip kick.”
She stalked over to their usual lunch table, started to slam her lunch bag down, realized the quality of the bagged food would suffer, and settled for plopping herself down in her chair. She glared at K as he approached.
“Hi — ”
“BOYS ARE IDIOTS! Do you know this?!” Your entire sex is just STUPID!
K seated himself. Somewhat tentatively. “What did I do this time?”
“Not you! Directly! Boys are just… ARGH!” Where do I even start?
“Generally? Or did we do something specifically that demonstrated our fundamental fatuousness?” Feeling somewhat assured that, whatever had happened with E, this time (at least) it was not his fault, K relaxed and started on his lunch. Keeping an eye out for an exit path, if needed.
“So I’m walking down the east stairs, there’s nobody there except me and some guy who I don’t even know and I have never even seen before and as he passes me on the stairs, he says, ‘vagina’! Just… ARGH!” Finding that her mother had, yet again, given her corn chips instead of potato chips, only reinforced her anger.
K swapped chip bags to give her his Jays potato chips. “So basically, this guy just calls you a vagina? For no reason.”
“It’s, no, it was — thank you for the chips — I don’t know if he was calling me that, or he just was saying it out loud. Either way, it’s gross. Why are boys like that?”
“Because we’re awkward around girls and say stupid things? I thought you already knew that.” He sniffed his sandwich, raised the bread to check the contents, appeared to be satisfied and started to eat it. Talking around the bite he’d just taken: “I still say dumb things to you. That’s part of the whole practice relationship thing.”
“Yes, but — okay, not just that, the macho crap. Although you don’t do that.” K suddenly avoided her gaze. “Oh, K, please tell me — ”
“Okay, you know what ‘skitching’ is, right? No? Okay, maybe boys in your junior high called it something else, but it’s basically just grabbing on to the back bumper of a car and hanging on while it pulls you along.” E was just staring at him. “No, seriously, it’s a thing!”
That is stupid in more ways than I can count. “So, what, they wear roller skates?”
“No no, you only do it when the streets are snowy! Or icy, icy is better — the pavement is slick enough to slide on, and the cars are going slower. Oh, and the drivers don’t know you’re skitching on their car, so you also have to stay ducked down so you don’t get caught. Or do it after dark. It’s kind of a point of pride, if you’re a good skitcher. Some guys in my class skitched for blocks. Junior high class, I mean.”
E continued to stare. “So… where to start? Um, what if they hit a clear patch, because of this invention I’ve heard of called ‘salt’ that I understand is catching on? Or if the driver catches them? Or, I don’t know, the bumper comes off?”
K was thinking while he chewed. “Never heard of a bumper coming off. I don’t think. Oh, but one time a guy lost his mitten, it got caught in the bumper, he chased the car but never caught it, had to explain to his mom he lost the mitten. The salt thing, yeah, usually you try to scout out a street beforehand, but sometimes in the dark things go wrong. Pretty much you gotta learn how to tumble. And drivers catch ’em all the time, but mostly they just yell at ’em. Sometimes another car going by will signal or something. It’s part of the thrill of skitching.” K started on the corn chips. He gave his practice girlfriend a grin.
So I think I’ve gotten to know a guy, and he seems perfectly sane, and then he admits to behavior that can only be described as “moronically suicidal.” That, and he apparently likes Fritos. “So I’ve seen your burn scars from your pyromaniac phase. Do you have any, I dunno, scars from compound fractures where you got run over by a truck or something?”
“Oh, I never went skitching myself! That would be nuts!” He popped another corn chip in his mouth. “I was just putting that out as an example for you. Of how crazy stupid guys can be. But other guys go along with it like it’s the most perfectly sane thing in the world.” He ate another corn chip. “Also, Fritos are great if you have dip. Just something to try some time.”
E stared at him with unblinking eyes. “You do not get to offer me advice on any subject whatsoever after demonstrating that boys should not be allowed to buy beer, vote in national elections, or procreate. Ever!” She started cleaning up her lunch debris. “But if you have some dip at home, see if you can bring it in for lunch tomorrow. My mom still has most of a bag left, I’m going to be eating this stuff for the next week, at least.”
Next: discussions of things gone wrong, things going right, and rice krispy treats. With chocolate chips.
And the full series:
Thank you to Sarah, Julie, Susan, Wendy, Karen, Ann, Kathy, Patti, and Meg for female views on dumb things dumb boys did back in dumb junior high. Also to former junior high classmates, all males left unnamed¹, for sharing their skitching exploits.
¹Because grandkids, clients, neighbors, and other people who view them as responsible adults do not need any evidence to the contrary.
