The Geek and The Goddess Read online

  After class I say a quick goodbye to Wes, then rush out of the room. At lunch I find a table in the very back and eat by myself while reading a book on my tablet. It's not nearly as fun as eating with Wes but at least nobody is staring at me or stopping by my table to make a rude comment.

  When the day is over, I find Stella and ask if she'll give me a ride home.

  "Don't you want to take the bus so you can hang out with your boyfriend?" she teases.

  "If you can't drive me, it's fine." I walk alongside her to the parking lot.

  "I can drive you but..." She stops walking. "Did something happen? With you and Wes?"

  "No." I continue walking. "I just don't feel like taking the bus."

  She catches up to me. "On second thought, I can't take you. I forgot I have a thing."

  "What thing?"

  "A thing. A curling thing. Sorry, but you'll have to take the bus." We're at her car now and she opens the door and tosses her backpack in. "I'll call you later, okay?"

  "Wait. What's going on here?" I try to open the side door but it's locked. "You're really not driving me?"

  "I told you, I forgot about this thing I have to do. But maybe tomorrow."

  "You're doing this on purpose so I have to take the bus."

  "I really have to go." She gets in the car. "Bye!" She smiles as she shuts her door.

  She totally ditched me, all because she wants me to spend time with Wes. I don't know why she's pushing this. She knows I can't get serious with him. We could never be like her and Sam.

  Walking back to the bus, I see Wes getting on and follow right behind. Should I sit with him? I'm still unsure what to do about this. If I keep being seen with him, he'll be dragged down into my world of social outcasts, which will ruin the rest of his high school years. And I'll have a spotlight on me again, which means more teasing and nicknames and pranks and whatever other cruel things my classmates can come up with.

  Wes sits in the very back and as he takes his seat, he sees me and smiles. "Hey, Luna."

  I stop suddenly and take a seat that's several rows in front of him. I didn't smile or even acknowledge him, which wasn't very nice of me but I'm thinking I should just end this now. It's what's best for him...and me.

  Getting out my phone, I hear a voice next to me. "Something wrong?"

  I turn and see Wes sitting there. My stomach does that little fluttery thing it does whenever he's around. I'm not completely sure but I think it means I like him, and that I'm attracted to him. Looking at him, with that unruly hair and those swirly blue eyes and that lopsided smile that gets sexier each time I see it, I feel even more fluttering in my stomach.

  "Luna?"

  I face forward as the bus moves. "I thought I'd sit by myself today."

  "Any reason why?"

  "I think it's probably best if we um...did our own thing. You're new here and I don't think it's a good idea for you to hang out with the same person all the time. You should get out there and meet new people. Oh, and about the party on Friday, I can't go. But you should still go. It sounds like Colton really wants you to be there and Stella and Sam will be there so you'll at least know a few people."

  I feel him staring at me but keep my eyes forward. "So now you're making decisions for me?"

  "It's for me too." I lower my voice so the people around us won't hear. "Being around you makes me a target. All last year I went pretty much unnoticed, which was better than being picked on. But now, because of you, people are paying attention to me again."

  "So you make decisions based on other people. You really want to live your life that way?"

  "Why do you have to question everything I say?" I look at him, which was a mistake because when I look at him, I can't tell him no. I can't push him away. Because I really do want to be friends with him, or more than that.

  For the first time in a very long time, I've finally found someone I feel comfortable around. Someone I can talk to. Sure he makes my stomach do flip flops but it's not because he makes me nervous. It's because he excites me. He turns me on. He makes my body feel things it hasn't felt before.

  "I question it," he says, "because I don't think what you say is what you really want."

  "Like what?"

  "You're telling me you don't want us to be friends but I don't believe you."

  "Why don't you believe me?"

  He turns toward me. "Tell me what you don't like about me."

  "What I don't like?"

  "Yeah. Name all the things you don't like about me."

  Crap. This is going to be hard. I can't think of anything. I like everything about him.

  "Your shoes," I say, because it's the only thing that popped in my head and because I'm staring at them as I look at the floor.

  "My shoes?" he asks, confused.

  "Yeah. You're wearing high-tops, which I think look strange unless you're an athlete who's supposed to wear high-tops for whatever reason you'd have to wear high-tops. I'm not sure what reason that would be but maybe it has something to do with keeping your ankles in place so you don't break one when running or jumping or doing whatever athletes do."

  I was racing my words and when I stop, he pauses a moment, then says, "So you don't like my shoes. What else?"

  I chew on my lip, wishing I could come up with something. I'm not making a very good case for why we shouldn't be friends. I'd be a horrible lawyer. Scratch that off the list of possible careers, not that it was even an option. There probably aren't many blind lawyers.

  "Well, if that's it," he says, "I think we can overcome that obstacle. Shoes can be changed, although I'm keeping them because I like them and they probably do help support my ankles, not that I need them for that. Anyway, I think you could look past my shoes and we could still be friends."

  "I'll still have the issue of becoming a target again. I don't want to go back to how it was in middle school. I want to be left alone. I don't want people bothering me again."

  "You can't hide from people. If they want to pick on you, they will. But like I said before, if you don't give them the reaction they want, they'll leave you alone."

  "You don't react and people are still picking on you. I hear them talking about you in the hall. Making fun of you."

  "But eventually they'll give up. And if they don't, I don't care. I'm not going to change what I do or who I'm friends with because of a few people who have a problem with me. And neither should you."

  "I can't help it. What they say bothers me. I hate it and I don't want a whole year of it."

  "Meaning what?"

  "Meaning I think you should find other friends."

  "Are you thinking this will benefit me or you?"

  I pause, looking down. "Both."

  He waits a moment, then says, "Guess you're not who I thought you were." He gets up and returns to the back of the bus.

  I'm not who he thought I was? What does that mean?

  The bus stops and I see we're already at my house. I get up, not looking back at Wes. I'm sure he's mad at me now. I'm mad at myself. Why did I tell him to leave me alone? It's not what I want. I didn't even give myself a chance to think about it. I just blurted it out.

  When I get in my house, I go straight to my room and lie on my bed, closing my eyes to let them rest. My eyes shouldn't be this tired. They weren't last year. It has to be that classroom light. It's too bright.

  In a few weeks I have another eye appointment and I'm worried I'm going to get more bad news. It seems like that's all I ever get. And then the doctor tries to make it better by saying how lucky I am to not need glasses. But that doesn't matter if my vision keeps getting narrower or if the light makes my eyes hurt so much I have to keep closing them.

  There's a knock on my door and I sit up. "Come in."

  It's Stella. She swings open the door, then shuts it. "Your mom let me in. She just got home."

  "What are you doing here? I thought you had a thing."

  She sits across from me on the bed. "So what happened with
Wes?"

  "Nothing. We talked a little on the bus and that was it."

  "Why were you trying to avoid him?"

  "I wasn't."

  "Are you freaking out because he likes you?"

  "Why are we talking about Wes? Let's talk about you. How's Sam?"

  "Are you really going to tell this guy to get lost just because you're afraid of how it'll end?"

  "I already know how it'll end which is why I'm not starting something with him."

  "So you're not even going to be friends with him?"

  I lean back on my headboard. "I don't know. I want to be, but I kind of told him we couldn't."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want him suffering like I have. If he's friends with me, his high school years will be hell. Why would I put him through that?"

  "That's not your decision to make."

  "He said the same thing, but he doesn't realize how bad it could be."

  "I've been friends with you forever and I've survived."

  "They picked on you all through middle school because of me. They only left you alone in high school because you started dating Sam. Everyone loves Sam so they had to overlook the fact that you're friends with me."

  "Well, maybe Wes will be your Sam."

  "I doubt it. It's only the second day of class and people are already calling him a nerd."

  "Yeah, but he got invited to Colton's party. That's a big deal."

  "Not really. Colton invites almost everyone. You know how huge his parties are. Practically the whole school shows up."

  "Speaking of that, what are you going to tell Wes about the party?"

  "Nothing. Now that we're no longer friends, I don't need to come up with an excuse."

  "Call him up and tell him you didn't mean it."

  "I don't even have his number."

  She picks up her phone and looks through it, then shows it to me. "That's his number. Put it in your phone and call him."

  "Why do you have his number?"

  "Sam gave it to me. He got it from Wes. They were texting about the party."

  "Wes gave Sam his number but not me?"

  "You didn't ask."

  I pick up my phone. "Actually, I think I do have it. I wrote it down during chem class. I was going to text him so he'd have mine but then I forgot."

  "So now you have a reason to text him. You're partners in class so you have to exchange numbers."

  "I'll text him later."

  "Do it now." She gets off the bed. "Make sure you tell him you were just kidding on the bus. Laugh about it. Act like it's no big deal." She hurries to the door.

  "Wait, you don't have to leave."

  "I can't stay. I told Sam I'd stop by later and I have to do homework first. See you tomorrow!"

  She closes the door behind her. I remain on my bed, staring at the phone. Should I call him? But if I do, what do I say? And how do I say it?

  This is so confusing. It wouldn't be if I only liked him as a friend. The problem is, I like him more than that.

  Chapter Seven

  "Luna." My mom knocks once, then opens the door. She's still in her work clothes; navy pants and a floral-patterned shirt. She's a lot taller than me and has reddish-blond hair and green eyes. It's clear to anyone and everyone I was adopted and yet people still act surprised when we tell them.

  "Hi, Mom." I set my phone down. "How was work?"

  "Another long day. I'm going to take a quick nap before I start dinner."

  "I can do it. Did you leave anything out?"

  "Don't worry about it. You have homework to do."

  "Not much. I have time."

  "I think it's better if you rest. How are your eyes?"

  "My eyes are fine and I don't need to rest. I took a nap when I got home. I'll figure out dinner. You get some sleep."

  She comes over and kisses my head. "I won't be long. I'll keep it to a half hour, max."

  When she's gone, I get up and close the door.

  She's always telling me to rest my eyes, as if doing that will save my vision. She knows it won't but she's desperate to find a solution. But there isn't one. There isn't a cure, and she needs to accept that.

  For the next ten minutes, I stare at my phone, then finally just send Wes a text. Just texting so you have my number. For chem class.

  I hit send, then wait for him to reply. But he doesn't. Maybe he's still mad at me. Or maybe he's decided I was right. That it's best if we're not friends.

  After a few minutes, I get up and go to the kitchen to start dinner. As I open the fridge, I hear a ding on my phone. Checking it, I see it's a text from Wes. Got it. Thanks.

  That's it? I thought he'd say more.

  Maybe I should call him. I need to tell him I didn't mean what I said on the bus. Or I could wait and do it tomorrow during class, but then people might overhear us.

  Chickening out of the call, I decide to text him. Forget what I said on the bus. I didn't mean it.

  I quickly hit send before I change my mind.

  This time he texts back right away. About my shoes? Don't worry about it. I knew you were kidding. These shoes kick ass.

  I laugh. He's always making me laugh.

  I text back. I wasn't talking about the shoes.

  Then tell me what you meant, he texts back.

  He knows what I meant but he wants me to say it. Or text it. But I don't want to text this, so I call him. My heart pounds as it rings.

  "Luna?" he answers.

  "Yeah. Are you busy?"

  "I was in the middle of discussing a multimillion dollar buyout deal but that can wait until later."

  I laugh. "I can call you back if you're busy."

  "It's fine. The longer they wait, the more valuable the deal becomes."

  I'm not really getting the joke so I continue with the reason why I called. "So what I said on the bus...about us not being friends?"

  "Yeah."

  "I didn't mean it."

  "Meaning you're good with us hanging out?"

  "Yeah. But what I said is still true. You're hurting your reputation being with me."

  "I'm not worried about it. So what about Friday? Colton said people start getting there around eight. I could pick you up at eight so we'd be there a little after."

  "I can't go to the party."

  "Why?"

  "I have a...a thing."

  "Why don't you want to go?"

  "I want to. I just can't. I have a thing. An event to go to."

  "There's no event. You're just making excuses because you don't think you'll like whoever's there. But Stella and Sam will be there, and of course, me, so I don't know what the problem is. Your three favorite people will be there."

  I smile at the fact he included himself in my favorite people list. He may not be there yet but he's quickly becoming one of my favorite people.

  "Luna, I hate to cut this short but I've gotta go. See you in class tomorrow?"

  "Yeah. Bye."

  That was odd. Why did he end our call so abruptly? Was someone on the other line? Someone he'd rather talk to than me? Maybe he found someone to go out with. But we're still going to the party together so he couldn't be dating someone.

  No, wait, we're not going to the party. I can't. I tried to get out of it but he wouldn't listen. I'll have to come up with a better excuse.

  The next day at class, Wes is there before me. He's not wearing glasses today and he's not as dressed up. He isn't wearing his usual blazer but instead has on a green t-shirt with a cartoon dragon on it that looks like he's chasing fireballs, trying to eat them.

  I set my stuff down on the table. "No glasses today?"

  "No. I decided to go with contacts. "

  "Do you normally wear contacts or glasses?"

  "Usually contacts, but sometimes I feel like wearing my glasses." He looks at me, staring at my eyes. "No contacts?"

  "No."

  "You're one of those lucky people with perfect vision, huh? I'm jealous."

  Perfect
vision. Yeah, right. If he only knew the truth.

  "Interesting shirt," I say, pointing to it.

  He smiles. "You play?"

  "Play what?"

  "Fireball. It's a game where you try to get the dragon to eat as many fireballs as he can."

  "Never heard of it."

  He gets his phone out and clicks on an icon that has the same picture that's on his shirt. He scoots his stool closer to mine so I can see his phone. "You help the dragon get through the obstacles and find the fireballs, and when he finds them, he has to eat them for you to get points. The more he eats and the faster he eats them, the more points you get."

  He's sitting really close, his arm almost touching mine, making it nearly impossible to focus on what he's saying.

  "You want to try it?" he asks, offering me his phone.

  "Um, no thanks."

  He sets his phone down but doesn't move his stool back over. I feel like I should move mine so we're not sitting so close but I don't want to. I like being this close to him.

  "Shouldn't it be the other way around?" I ask.

  "What are we talking about?"

  "The game. Shouldn't the dragon be blowing fire not eating it?"

  "Yeah, that's why it's funny. He's a defective dragon. He thinks if he eats the fire, he'll eventually be able to blow fire like other dragons."

  "Where do the fireballs come from?"

  "It's thought they come from other dragons but nobody really knows."

  I smile. "Are you making this up?"

  "No. There's a story that goes with the game. It's part of the app. Plus, I know the guy who developed it."

  "The game?"

  "Yeah. He's a friend of mine from back home."

  "How old is he?"

  "Nineteen. We met at a gamer's convention a few years ago."

  "You must really like video games if you went to a convention."

  "You could say that," he says with a grin.

  What does that mean? Is he one of those people who's addicted to video games? Is that why he raced me off the phone last night? So he could continue his game?

  "So what were you reading?" he asks.