How to date a Nerd

Chapter 11

A smile creeps onto my face again as I realize exactly how awesome I am at this stuff. Guys want me. Girls want to be me. Well, fake me. But I can't think like that. Bending down at my locker to swap books, I'm finally released from his grasp. He leans against the other lockers as he waits for me.

"Hey, Camz."

Oh god. Only one person calls me Camz. And now my stomach is in my butt. Lauren shuffles her feet on the other side of me, the locker door separating us. My face probably looks like the inside of a toaster. I can't talk to her in front of Brad. But I don't want to hurt her either.

I suck in a deep breath through my nostrils. "Uh, hi." Crap, my voice is shaking. I need to sound confident. I need to sound, I don't know like I'm not crazy about her.

My eyes flicker to Brad's face who is suppressing a giant laugh. Oh gosh. Breathe, Camila. "I, um, wanted to know if..." Lauren stops. I close my locker and try to paste a mask on. Brad scoots closer, snuggling in the curve of my shoulder.

I feel like such a bitch.

Lauren's eyes zap between me and horny boy. She slides her tongue over her lips before continuing. "I-I wanted to know if you needed a ride home today."

Hunter moves his head from my neck and looks at me, eyebrows raised and mouth hanging open. I can't blow up my cheeks now. I want to. I'm really trying not to. But I'm in major panic mode. He's going to tell everyone I'm talking with my geeky next-door neighbor. He's going to tell them I need a ride from the girl who's an active player at the D&D table.

Then the real gossip will begin. The truth might get out. Oh gosh.

"Look, Lauren," I stumble over the name like I'm not sure if it's right, "this is starting to get really sad." Brad laughs, but it doesn't make me feel better. I'm almost in tears as I go from a fake bitch to real-life bitch. "A piece of advice, get a new hobby. Stalking isn't working, now get out my face loser."

The words are out and the look on Lauren's face is the same one as last night. The one I never wanted to see again. Brad tugs me to first period, not before shoving Lauren into the lockers then jamming his hand in my back pocket before either I or Lauren can say anything else.

I don't look over my shoulder. I can't. Think of all the bitchy words in existence, and they don't even come close to describing me. I'm crying now, but Brad doesn't even notice. His eyes are locked on my boobs. By the time I get to my class, I've wiped my face clean.

"Thanks. I can take it from here," I say as I pull the door open to Ms. Weber's classroom. I can't help but think if Lauren was here, and if I hadn't just stabbed her in the gut, she'd open the door for me, without going all cross-eyed at my exploding bosoms.

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On the walk home, I seriously wish I wasn't so insecure. Lauren's face won't leave my head, and I spent all day either looking for her or avoiding her depending on who I was with. I even drafted up a few text messages. But I did it all in the stalls of the girls' bathroom. Or I made sure no one was looking over my shoulder in the library. How can I say "Whoops! Sorry about that whole stalker thing," when I'm still doing the same shit? So I never sent the messages.

I'm a freaking horrible person, I know.I take off my heels as soon as I hit the sidewalk of my street. The muscles in my feet send up their gratitude and the first real smile I've had today soaks my expression.

I hate rule three.

My house is empty. Sofia's not home from school yet since she gets out later than me. Charter schools. Bleck. I'm glad my parents didn't force me into one. Mom and Dad are working. Always working. There's a note on the counter telling me dinner's made and in the fridge whenever we get hungry. Also a "friendly" reminder that Sofia's butt is grounded, and I have to make sure she stays home.

I slink upstairs, still feeling like banging my face on the walls. I really hate myself today. I mean, I hate myself most days. But today...

Yeah. I suck.

I try to rationalize the stupid reactions I have when I'm at school. Telling myself I only acted that way to Lauren because she can't fall for someone like me, but that's a big-ass lie.

I'm not who I used to be. Not really. Lauren should know that. She's been a witness to it since we started high school. If she keeps bugging me it's her own fault. But she's not bugging me. I asked her to teach me to drive. I played four hours of Lord of the Rings with her. I leaped the distance between our windows so I could stop that voicemail.

And it's me who can't seem to get past my insecurities. The desire to have the attention, to be liked and popular, keeps me from being myself. Popular Camila needs to go to sleep now. I'm tired of her.

I look down at my corset. The stupid thing keeps digging into my sides. I yank the snaps open and chuck it across the room. Finding the most boring bra I own, I pull it on, then cover my top half with my Harry Potter shirt. The comforter on the bed still smells like Lauren, so when I toss it over my head, all the pain I try to escape intensifies.

There aren't words harsh enough to describe how evil I am. I have to make it up to her. Not just because her douche of a father called last night. Because she's my... I gulp. 

Friend. 

Or at least, I want him to be. 

I think.

No.

I know.

I do want her to be my friend again. Not just because I like who I am with her, but because no matter how awful I've been to her, she's always been the opposite to me.