How to Date a Nerd

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

Copyright © 2013 by Cassie Mae.

HOW TO DATE A NERD by Cassie Mae.

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Books, LLC.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Editor: Erica Rose

Publisher: Swoon Romance YA

Cover designer: Su Kopil

Cover art license: Shutterstock.com

Dedicated to anyone who's had a hard time embracing how awesome they are.

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Chapter One

If I say I’m sick, don’t kiss me!

Rules of keeping up your popular rep: 

Number one, the shorter the skirt, the better.

Number two, natural hair color is a thing of the past.

Number three, high heels are an extension of your foot. To go without them would be like losing a toe.

Number four, guys are disposable, and should never be used more than once or for an extended period of time.

And number five, never
ever
reveal you collect
Star Wars
memorabilia, you know every line to
Lord of the Rings
, and you actually know the birthdates of all the
Harry Potter
cast members.

Yeah. I’m a total closeted nerd.

I'm not cool with pity glares in the hallways, painful jabs, and social scars. No thanks. It's much easier to keep my true nature hidden beneath layers of eyeliner, skimpy outfits, and even I must admit to myself, a rockin’ body. Though the pushup bras tend to do most of the work.

Welcome to high school. Where everyone tries to be someone else.

Well… everyone except Zak.

Here’s the DL on my next-door neighbor. He’s labeled King Dork because he wears nerdy shirts and talks in geek code. His front pocket of the plaid overshirt he wears always has at least three or four Pokémon cards in it. And if it’s not that then it’s a graphing calculator he has to keep shoving down so it doesn’t fall out. There’s a
Star Wars
keychain always clipped to the back of his holey jeans and he sometimes carries a Wii controller in his back pocket.

And I’ve got it bad for the boy.

It’s not just the fact he was the one to introduce me to the awesomeness of the Elvish Language, the hidden mysteries of World of Warcraft, and the magical world that lies beyond Platform 9¾, but really, he pulls off sexy geek so damn well! His dark, like super dark, eyes and his matching hair that flops around his forehead when he’s laughing too hard, combined with his nice height, swoon… he’s like the Peter Parker of my high school.

I may be the only person who finds his nerdiness so hecka irresistible. Everyone else treats him like some dead bug on the sidewalk. I know how it is, and I have no idea how he handles all the verbal abuse.

Middle school Zoe—Geek Zoe, I like to call her—was made fun of and tormented so much she spent most nights crying into her pillow. High school was the break I was totally looking for. A chance to freaking rewrite myself into someone who’s socially acceptable. Summer before school started, I grabbed loads of magazines and watched all those teen movies that so aren’t as awesome as
Star Trek
, but they were for my status education. And apparently, I was doing this popularity thing all wrong. I gotta be like a major bitch to people, and I’ll end up getting the hottest guy in the end.

Took some work, but I think I got it down. I should win an Oscar for how awesome I am at the fake personality.

But freak, it’s been two years since I was de-geek-a-fied, and I still find myself trying to stifle the urge to buy Comic-Con tickets, and try not to act jealous when I see Zak dressing up for the event.

Don’t get me wrong, my life is pretty darn fantastic and a whole heap lot better than the alternative, which is getting my emotional butt kicked around. So the fake persona is definitely worth it. People think I’m awesome, so that makes me feel awesome.

There’s a huge party tonight. Lots of alcohol and boys, but like every party night, I try to show off first to my neighbor, who can see straight into my open window.

I strip down to my underwear so Zak can get a good look and turn up the music on my iPod. If he sneaks a peek, I can always throw my hands up and be like, “Whoops! I’m changing with the window open again, aren’t I? So sorry.” Then make a nice, sexy show of closing the curtains. It looks perfect in my head, even though it’s completely pathetic that I have to resort to
this
. I’m trying way too hard to get his attention, but I don’t care. It’s not like I can flirt with him at school. Social suicide bomb right there.

Stealing glances out my window into his, I flaunt around my room pretending like I’m getting ready for the party. But I can’t get a good view of him, and I don’t want to be more obvious than I already am.

Nothing.

Huh, maybe he’s not…

Yikes! I’ve reached my
Lost
playlist and my heart stumbles over itself as
I quickly turn the music back down until I can get a more trendy song on.

“Hey, I was listening to that,” a voice says from outside my window. I
knew
he was home. Darn boy ignoring a prancing half-naked girl next door. Gosh, I thought I was doing this right. I adjust my bra to make my boobs look extra luscious, and then smoothly appear in his line of sight.

Zak is at his computer, books piled next to him. He rubs his eyes and blinks a couple times before staring back at the screen, brow furrowed. Totally not looking at me or my boobs.

“What exactly were you listening to?” I ask, using my seductive voice guys, well,
most
guys fall over.

Looking at me—about time—he shakes his head at my revealing attire before reaching over to a cord I can’t see. His blinds shut with a rejected
smack!

Youch.

I examine my boobs, but there’s nothing wrong there. Maybe I have a booger or something.

Nope. No booger, no drool, nothing.

Just me.

Great, now I’m all self-conscious. What’s wrong with me? I turn around in circles, trying to examine my butt, but all I can think is I miss my
Star Wars
panties. These lacy ones are okay, Popular Zoe 101, but there’s nothing cooler than having a big Storm Trooper head slapped across my butt cheeks. Well, if I can’t even impress my nerdboy, I’m not going to even attempt a party appearance.

I throw on my pajamas—the big unflattering ones—and slouch on the bed. Stupid geek boy and the hold he has on me. I shouldn’t care what he thinks.

But I do. Because I care what
everybody
thinks.

I sigh and look out the window again. The sun dips below the horizon casting orange and yellow streaks across Zak’s blinds, like something out of
Harry Potter.
Just super full of cool magic beans. I wonder if Zak’s still sitting there at his computer, typing away or plunging his nose into one of his thousands of books.

I shake my head. What does it matter what he’s doing? I. Should. Not. Care.

I hop off the bed, slam my own blinds shut and whip the curtains together. My gaze flicks to the shelves lining the wall. They have been carefully constructed to conceal accusing material, with colorful doors that slide across it, revealing some things, and hiding others. Out of habit, I check over my shoulder before I slide open one of the doors, hiding the lines of lip gloss and compact mirrors and opening the section of the shelf holding several books about the X-Men
.

I quickly grab the desired book and a flashlight and slam the door shut. Some of the lip gloss topples over, but I make no attempt to straighten them. Must get under the covers stat! I curl up in the middle of my bed and throw the comforter over myself.

My sanctuary lies here as I open the book I’ve read thousands of times and purge my mind with paragraphs about Dark Phoenix. Jean Grey is my idol. No one will ever know, but I base most of my wardrobe off her.

I don’t know how long it’s been before my phone buzzes on my nightstand. Yeah, my mind turns off to the rest of the world when I nerd-out. I turn off the flashlight and pull the comforter off my head, keeping the book hidden as I reach over for the cell.

My stomach used to flutter whenever I read Cody’s name on the caller ID but now I feel nothing. I really don’t want to talk to my current boyfriend. He’d call me some absurd pet name and ask where I was. So I let voicemail grab it.

I hear the text jingle a few minutes later as I am carefully placing my book back on its shelf.

Where is ur sxy ass???? U better get here b4 any more chicks hit on me.

Ugh. I think his ego can keep him company for a while. Still, I let him know who’s in charge of this relationship.