Dating on the Dork Side

Chapter 3-3

I slipped through the people jostling for food and seats before the kickoff. Sometimes I played a game where I worked on guessing the stops and starts of those around me. When I was “in the zone,” I could sneak through a crowd without ever bumping or brushing up against anyone.

I was so busy dodging others and searching for a spot in the stands that I only noticed Clarissa Delacroix when she planted herself in front of me. We stared at each other, her jade eyes flinty under the stadium lights. I had never understood her attitude whenever we landed within three feet of each other. If anyone should have issues, it should be me.

“So,” she said to me now. “Can you get me in?”

“In where?” I asked, not knowing what she meant and feeling like a moron because of it.

“The wiki.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. With the crowd swarming around us and the marching band clattering into the stands, I barely heard her. “The Hotties of Troy. I want to ... I want to see for myself.”

No, I couldn’t. I had suspected this might happen, and so had Elle. We weren’t giving out Jason’s password. That way, not only could we keep tabs on all the guys, but if a girl strayed with anyone on the anti-hit list, we’d be sure to know about it.

I didn’t bother to explain all that. I simply said, “Talk to Elle.”

“Are you taking orders from her now?” Clarissa spat the words. “That’s not the Camy I knew.”

The Camy she knew?

“You don’t know me at all.” I turned from her and immediately bumped into someone. I didn’t care. I was out of the zone now. “But,” I added under my breath, “I know you all too well.”

Talking to Clarissa had soured my mood. I bought a Cherry Coke then spilled half of it on my feet, soaking my Chuck Taylors all the way through to my socks. After I got mustard on my jeans, I considered leaving early.

But I always stayed until the game clock ran out. Until three years ago, I’d been in the same youth football league with these boys. I hadn’t been the first girl to play. I was probably the only one with a career-ending injury, though: a spectacularly blown-out knee. I got the same surgery the pros did and spent most of eighth grade on crutches.

And I never played football again.

Even if most of the players on the field were also on the anti-hit list, that didn’t mean I could abandon those guys. So tonight I did what I always did at Trojan Warrior football games. I settled into the stands and watched the Olympia High School football team, and Gavin “Mad Dog” Madison in particular, play.

Gavin had been a star player since third grade but you couldn’t tell that tonight. He overthrew; he underthrew. Coach Cutter called timeouts and took him to the side for pep talks. I was too far away to hear anything, but I could tell the vibe was less Gee, son, what’s wrong? and more What the hell is your problem?

The only time Gavin resembled his old self was when he ran the ball up the middle, charging through the other team’s linebackers. It was his signature move and the reason behind the nickname Mad Dog. He always pushed through without caring whether he got hurt.

Tonight, it looked like he wanted to get hurt.

At halftime, Coach pulled Gavin and put in Lukas, who threw even worse than Gavin had, proof that a forward pass could actually sulk. We lost with one of those spectacular, cringe-worthy scores that, years from now, fans would still talk about in hushed tones. Through it all, the cheerleaders kept up their relentless stunts and chants, but I’d never seen a more miserable group of peppy girls. They managed to depress the crowd even further.

After the game, I still sat huddled on the frigid aluminum bench, wriggling my numb toes. Once the crowd had cleared, I stepped down from the stands and headed for the field. I walked the fifty-yard line, placing one foot in front of the other in the center of the white line.

I was halfway across when I spotted someone else heading for the center of the field. My feet stopped moving. My heart did too. I stood there, in my sticky shoes, and waited for Gavin.

“I thought I was the only one who did this,” he said when he caught up to me.

I shrugged and he fell into step beside me, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his letter jacket. We walked in silence with only the rumble of the closing concession stand door and our quick breaths to keep us company.

“Thanks for not saying anything about the game,” Gavin said at last.

“What game?” I asked, and he laughed.

When we reached the other side, he said, “Can I give you a ride home?”

Gavin had barely spoken to me since eighth grade and now he was offering to drive me home? As much as I would have liked to settle in beside him, in his car, or anywhere—Elle’s spectacular dumping this afternoon, and the equally spectacular loss tonight, sent warning sirens firing through my brain.

Besides, I didn’t need a ride. I wondered if I could speak without stuttering.

“I’m just going over to Rhino’s,” I said finally. “It isn’t very far.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course you are.”

His words stung me, but I couldn’t say why. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He scratched his head, then looked not at me, but past my shoulder. Maybe at the field and the fifty-yard line behind me. “It means nothing.”

Gavin walked off, following the asphalt path to the parking lot. I stared after him. Halfway there, he stopped, turned around, and stared back. Although I couldn’t see his expression, this time I knew he was looking straight at me.

The light from Rhino’s garage glowed yellow and warm. It cast strange shadows across my jeans, highlighting the mustard stain and my ruined Chuck Taylors. Rhino wouldn’t care if I showed up looking like a mess. Chances were, he wouldn’t notice my clothes at all. But he’d notice me. Even though he was leaning so close to the huge computer screen he could give it a kiss, he turned around and waved when I walked in.

“I love nights like this,” he said. “Cold enough that there aren’t any bugs, but I can still keep my door open.”

Yes, Rhino lived in his family’s garage, with his row of self-built computers lining one wall, and his bed—a single mattress on the floor—up in the loft. It may sound weird, like one of those “orphan beneath the stairway” kind of stories, but it was totally his choice. He’d begged his parents for months before they finally relented.

I’d helped him move, lugged all his books from his bedroom. We’d whitewashed the walls together, spread cement paint across the floor and found carpet squares to cover the oil stain the paint couldn’t hide.

Now, when I came over, his mini-fridge was always stocked with Cherry Coke (my favorite). The garage felt like a second home, and Rhino like a brother.

“We lost,” I told him now.

“Huh?” His eyes darted toward me, then back to the screen. “You lost something?”

“No,” I said slowly. “The football game. We lost.”

“So?”

There was no point in talking to Rhino about the sucky game, the breakup drama at school, or my strange encounter with Gavin on the fifty-yard line. Rhino wouldn’t care, but I didn’t have anyone else to share this stuff with. Sometimes I missed having a best girlfriend.

“Elle dumped Gavin today,” I said, “right before the game.”

“Eh.” To my surprise, Rhino swiveled in his chair, abandoned the screen, and rolled closer. “The world’s a better place if they don’t reproduce.”

I opened my mouth to protest, then shut it.

“Besides.” He rolled over to the mini-fridge. “It’s not like they were really into each other or anything.” He tossed me a Cherry Coke.

I set the drink on a side table and tried to understand what Rhino had just said. “And you know this … how?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m stating something that should be obvious to anyone with an IQ above fifty.”

“Oh,” I said, groping at the knowledge that my IQ must be, at best, forty-nine.

“It was an image thing with them. You know, like a marriage of convenience. Not that they hate each other, but it was just easier that way.” He shrugged. “They could accomplish all the social stuff without any relationship drama.”

Well, we had drama now.

“Mercedes dumped Lukas too, right before the game.”

A spark of curiosity lit his eyes. “Is there some sort of cheerleader conspiracy going on?”

I shrugged. Then I started to expand on the subject. “Actually,” I said, but Elle’s words pinged my conscience so hard that I stopped.

It wasn’t like I told Rhino everything, anyway. For one thing, I’d never confessed my mixed-up feelings about Gavin. Rhino would tell me I was just being a dumb girl. That was something I didn’t want to hear.

“Actually, what?” he prompted when I didn’t say anything more. “You drinking that?” He pointed to the Coke, and I shook my head.

“I guess there was something that happened on f*******:, with Jason and some photo.”

“The beach one? He didn’t actually post it, did he?”

I blinked a few times, taking in this new bit of information. “Wait. You saw it?”

“Jason sent it out to the baseball team. At least he was smart enough not to include the coach. Too bad it was so blurry.”

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared.

“Hey.” Rhino held up his hands as if warding off an attack. “All I’m saying is, the composition of the shot was way off.”

“I’m cold,” I said.

The truth of it struck me as I spoke the words. I folded my arms against my chest and hunkered down on the couch. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the feeling had come over me, but it was before I reached Rhino’s. It was before the game, even.

“I can pull out the space heater,” he said.

I shook my head. “I think I’ll just go home.”

Rhino stood, an unspoken offer to walk with me, but I waved at him to sit. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Cams.” He marched over and placed both hands on my shoulders. “It’s after dark, and we have no idea where The Ab is.”

“I think I’m safe from him.”

“Trust me, no one is. Now, come on.”

So I waited while he buttoned something flannel over the Chicken Butt T-shirt I’d given him for Christmas and then I let Rhino walk me home. When I got there I said goodnight to Dad, climbed the stairs to my room, considered studying for Monday’s calc quiz, then stared at the laptop on my desk instead.

Something kept me from lifting the screen and turning it on. I crawled into bed and opened my math book, but ended up gazing at the ceiling. The word that had appeared on Elle’s page moments after she dumped Gavin played in my head.

bitch

It burned against my eyelids. At last, I couldn’t stand it and got out of bed. I huddled in my robe and pushed the power button. I went straight to the wiki, and then Elle’s page.

The message remained, only now it had one of the longest comment threads I’d seen on the site. I didn’t bother to read any of those. One thing I’d learned about the Internet: For better or worse, it would still be there in the morning. But I needed to check something I’d been wondering about all evening: Who had posted the message?

It was Aiden, not Gavin. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and almost smiled.