Romancing the Nerd - Softcover

Miller, Leah Rae

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1633752259 ISBN 13: 9781633752252

Verlag: Entangled Publishing, LLC, 2016

Inhaltsangabe

Dan Garrett has become exactly what he hates—popular. Until recently, he was just another live-action role-playing nerd on the lowest rung of the social ladder. Cue a massive growth spurt and an uncanny skill at taking three-point shots in basketball and voilà...Mr. Popular. It's definitely weird.

And the biggest drawback? Going from high school zero to basketball hero cost Dan the secret girl of his dorky dreams.

A band geek with an eclectic fashion sense, Zelda Potts's “coolness” stat is about minus forty-two. Dan turning his back on her and the rest of nerd-dom was brutal enough, but when he humiliates her at school, Zelda decides it's time for a little revenge—dork style. Never mind that she used to have a crush on him. Never mind that her plan could backfire big time.

It's time to roll the dice...and hope like freakin' hell she doesn't lose her heart in the process.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Born and raised in northern Louisiana, Leah Rae Miller still lives there on a windy hill with her husband and kids. She loves comic books, lava lamps, fuzzy socks, and Cherry Coke. She spends most of her days reading things she likes and writing things she hopes other people will like. Her YA novel, THE SUMMER I BECAME A NERD, released Summer 2013 from Entangled Teen.

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Romancing the Nerd

By Leah Rae Miller, Stacy Abrams, Heather Howland

Entangled Publishing, LLC

Copyright © 2016 Leah Rae Miller
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-63375-225-2

CHAPTER 1

Dan

I used to despise popular people. At the time, I had all these reasons why I hated them. My reasons were logical and seemed to apply in pretty much every situation. Let me break it down. See, high school can very often feel like going to prison. Not that I've ever been in the slammer, but if every prison movie ever made is to be trusted, then the similarities are obvious. For example, they say that on your first day of being in the pokey, one should find the biggest, meanest guy and kick his ass in order to establish dominance. In high school, one should find the goofiest, most self-conscious kid and embarrass him to the point of mental scarring.

On day one of tenth grade, Cory Granger tripped me in homeroom, causing me to face-plant spectacularly in front of everyone with last names G through K in my class. Whether he realized it or not (I'm betting on not), it was a very strategic move. These were the people I'd be seeing every morning, every day until graduation. It was like he did three years of bullying in one moment. Way to work smarter, not harder, Cory.

They also advise that jailbirds find a group of like-minded criminals so they have someone watching their backs. The same can be said about high school. During week seven of tenth grade, Trent Simmons shoved me so hard into my locker I had a padlock-shaped bruise on my upper arm for days. But my locker neighbor and fellow underappreciated student, Andy, had my back. Sort of. "Leave him alone," Andy had told Trent, redirecting Trent's ire onto himself. We had matching bruises after that.

And like prison, popular people get special treatment by the guards — a.k.a. the faculty. Like how Karen Clark, head cheerleader, just got a "Be nice" from the principal for — with no provocation — calling me a lumpy, pathetic waste of flesh. But I got two weeks of detention for responding with a colorful description of her mother's sexual exploits.

In summation, high school can suck and popular people are assholes. They get away with things a normal student doesn't. They have inflated egos and think they rule the school.

I know. I'm coming off as a little harsh, but I can say these things now because, according to those logical reasons, I should hate myself. It's confusing and it sucks and somebody kill me now, please and thank you. It wasn't like I went out on a mission to become popular. Far from it. The first time I noticed a change was when I started to slim down due to the father/son karate lessons my dad forced me into. Cindy "popular since birth" LeDeaux actually said, I kid you not, she said, "Looking good, Dan," as we passed each other in the hall at school. I nearly choked on my no-time-to-cook-this-morning-Mom breakfast, a Pop-tart peanut butter sandwich. It was all downhill from there.

The next thing I know, Dad wants nothing in the world more than for his son to play a sport. Even though I'd been known to say, "The only sports I play involve a game controller," I love my dad and couldn't let the man down. Hence I am now at basketball practice with cheerleaders ogling me. I'll admit, their giggles and coy pointing do make me stand straighter almost on instinct, but the shame of even caring a little bit what they think is like a batarang to the head. POW!

I've learned to handle it, though. It took a good year or two, but I ... I don't know. Maybe I kind of like it now. Maybe not. Again, I'm a confused, self-loathing little man. Sad times.

I take a shot from the three-point line and it completely bricks, which brings me back to the here and now. My three-point average is something I'm very proud of. My coach and teammates think I should do more work in the zone (under the basket, to be clear) because of my height (stupid mid-junior-year growth spurt), but I feel like the three-pointer takes more skill and practice. And despite my newfound popularity, I still look at life as a very elaborate role-playing game. There are powers and skills to be honed before you enter the end-of-the-level boss fight. Plus, I'm still trying to get used to using these big, goofy feet. When that growth spurt hit, it was like I got a new body, one that was trying to play tricks on me. The simple act of getting out of my desk has become tough because of these stupid long legs. It's embarrassing.

I shoot again. Nothing but net. Level up, bitches.

"All right, guys, wrap it up and hit the showers. Marching band's coming in," Coach Greg yells from the other end of the court. This is my favorite part of practice. Not because it's over but because our captain, who I like to call Douchebag Donovan, has the responsibility of catching the balls we throw to him and putting them on the racks. And I've taken on the personal responsibility of throwing the basketballs at him as hard as possible. Don't worry, the guy deserves it. Besides his always-popped collar and how he says "sitch" instead of "situation," there's the fact that I've never heard him utter a kind word. Even when he's describing which girls he likes, he's a sexist d-bag. I'm no expert on the fairer sex, but I can't see any girl taking being called "doable" as a compliment.

The marching band files into the gym lugging instruments and backpacks and those big hats with the feathers on top and harnesses for said instruments. I feel for them, I really do. The tuba player, a girl named Zelda Potts who used to be a good friend of mine, is bringing up the rear and having a hell of a time trying to manage all her junk and push open the big metal door at the same time. The thing about Zelda is she's very easy to spot in a crowd. She's the quintessential ginger with her bright red hair and freckle-speckled pale skin. And if you can't find her because of her red hair, all you have to do is look for the strangest yet most interesting outfit and she'll be wearing it. We've known each other since grade school, and she's kind of my ideal girl. She's smart, quick-witted, and her eyes are so big and doe-like I could just take a swim in them. But don't tell her I said all that because she hates my guts.

If you can't find her by her outlandish fashion sense, then look for her tuba. Why she ever decided to take up that cumbersome instrument is a mystery, considering her short stature.

The other thing about Zelda is she's so easy to get riled up. Always has been, and it's been even easier since she took offense to that one time I had to bail on her, hence the hating of my guts. Usually the best part of my day is seeing her reaction when I say something I know will get her dander up. Her eyes flash with fury and it's a mighty thing to behold.

I decide to toss Donovan one last basketball missile then go help/annoy Zelda, even though I know she'll probably tell me to GTFO. But then a thing happens. A very bad thing.

I've always had strong opinions on new shoes. I hate them with a passion. They never fit as well as your last pair and they never fail to cause blisters during the breaking-in process. Plus, they're literally walking sources of anxiety because, from the moment you first put them on, you're constantly worried about getting them dirty. And now I have a whole new reason to hate them. Since I know this will be my last chance to really make Donovan's hands sting until the next practice, I put my whole body into this final throw. But I'm wearing new shoes. Their grip on the polished court is ridiculous, and I trip slightly when I chuck the ball. The thing goes way...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Entangled Publishing, LLC
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2016
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1633752259
• ISBN 13: 9781633752252
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 288
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar