The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love (10 page)

At the end, she hands me one of the photos as a keepsake. Devin's chiseled features are front and center, right next to Roxy's beaming face. All you see of me is my right eye shooting daggers in Devin's direction. Wonderful.

I've now cycled through exactly three intense emotions. First, devastation at everything that has gone so spectacularly wrong. Then, anger at everything that has gone so spectacularly wrong, with an irrational level of venom directed toward Stud Crumpet. And finally, after an appropriate amount of stewing, that anger seems to have generated something a lot more useful: determination.

There are loads of things happening over the next couple of days at NYCC, including—as luck would have it—this amazing John Hughes panel that I've managed to keep a secret from Roxy, having begged her not to look at Saturday's schedule so that I could make it a surprise. I know she'll flip over it. Maybe today was a bust, but that doesn't mean this whole weekend has to be. Maybe I can still find the perfect moment to tell her after all. I mean, it took even Althena a few tries to understand
what exactly there was between Charlie and her—twenty-three issues, to be exact.

Before we leave Javits to take the 5:35 p.m. train home, Roxana makes plans to meet up with Devin tomorrow. I try to ignore that this is happening by texting with Casey. He's staying until closing tonight, but we're going in again together tomorrow morning.

The day has turned sunny and warm for mid-October, so none of us even put on our jackets as we walk toward Penn Station. Felicia's phone buzzes and I catch her smiling as she looks at it.

“You guys, that was
so
much fun!” she says as she walks between Roxana and me, quickly texting something back. “I had no idea. Best people-watching I've had all year, and most everyone in there was, like, oozing so much energy. Now I can see why you look forward to it.”

I grin at her, but Roxana can't help teasing her a little. “Don't sound so shocked that we look forward to something actually
fun
.”

“That's not what I meant! I just thought I'd feel left out with all the insider stuff. You know,” Felicia explains.

“Ah, but that's the beauty of NYCC,” I butt in. “No one is left out. Everyone gets to be a freak in their own special way.”

But this sentiment starts to wear off as we get closer to Seventh Avenue and I notice we're getting more strange stares. Felicia finally realizes that she forgot to take off her Wonder Woman costume and hastily puts on her jacket over it.

I don't like being stared at either, so I tell them I plan to change in
the Penn Station bathroom, before we get on the train.

“Us too,” Roxana agrees.

But getting to the station and down the escalators is a crowded, jostled affair. And once we finally do get down to the LIRR level, we can see that the line for the only set of bathrooms is out the door and down a hallway. Oh, geez. Today is definitely a day of getting thwarted by lines.

Roxy looks at her watch. “We can't miss this train. My parents . . .”

“We won't,” I assure her. “We'll just have to brave looking like this for now.”

We look up at the big board, find our platform for the 5:35 train to Huntington, and make our way down to it. The platform is packed with middle-aged office workers and the three of us stick out like sore thumbs, but there's no help for it.

The stares make me uncomfortable, and I assume at least Roxy feels the same way. But when I look over at her, she's staring into space. She's taken her wig off and is rubbing the back of her short hair with her hand. I wonder what she's thinking so hard about, and my stomach plummets when I realize I probably already know the answer: Devin.

The train comes and we get pushed and bumped into as we follow the herd. Somehow, Roxana ends up a few people behind Felicia and me. I see two seats together and rush to claim them with Felicia on my heels, but I keep standing until Roxana gets on too. I motion for her to come take the seat next to Felicia.

But she shakes her head and points to a lone seat on the other end of
the car. I watch her as she settles down in it. She smiles and waves at me and then takes out her sketchbook and pencil.

I slowly sink into my seat. “Sorry,” I say to Felicia. “I tried to get her to come over here. . . .”

Felicia smiles at me. “No worries, Graham. Will it be so bad to sit next to me for an hour?”

“Oh, no. Of course not. That—that's not what I meant,” I stammer. “I just thought you'd prefer to sit next to her. . . .” I trail off.

She raises her eyebrows at me but doesn't say anything else. Her phone buzzes again and she fiddles with it for a few minutes. By the time the train has started to move, she's turned it to silent and put it away. She clears her throat.

“So you and the girl from speed dating . . . ,” she begins.

“The girl?” I'm genuinely confused for a second before I remember Amelia talking to me outside the Zinc panel. “Oh, right. Amelia.” I nod at Felicia's bag, where she's just put her phone. “Is that who the texts are from? Someone you met at speed dating?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking down at her bag pensively. “They were nice.”

“They? How many have texted you already?”

She shrugs. “A couple . . .”

Of course. I shake my head with a small grin. “Just a couple?” I tease.

“Maybe a few . . .”

I laugh. “That's 'cause the con still goes on for a few hours. I'm sure you'll hear from the rest soon.”

“Okay, right,” she says dismissively. “But about
you
and the girl you met. You think there might be a spark there?” She gives me a friendly, conspiratorial elbow in the side.

“Oh, no,” I say immediately. “Not that she wasn't nice or anything . . .”

She stares at me, as if waiting for me to finish that sentence, but I don't. So after a moment, she takes it upon herself to finish it for me. “I get it.” She sounds like she's choosing her words carefully. “She's no Roxana.”

I start, and I can't tell if it's because of a bump in the train track, or because of the shock to my system. Probably the latter. “So you
do
know . . . ,” I finally whisper to her. “Wait, is it super obvious?”

“Not
super
obvious,” Felicia says kindly.

My mind reels. “Do you think Roxana knows?” I blurt out, and instantly realize I have no idea what I want the answer to be. If she does know, then I guess I won't need to plan a grand reveal for tomorrow after all. But then again, if she does know and has shown me no hint that she does . . . she clearly doesn't return my feelings. Like, at all.

Felicia shakes her head and quickly gives me at least one small reprieve. “Honestly, I don't think so. She's not cool enough to act so nonchalant around you if she did know.”

“Of course she's cool,” I say a tad defensively.

Felicia smiles at me. “That's not the definition I meant. I meant playing it cool. She wouldn't be able to know something like that and not get visibly nervous, you know? She's too sensitive.”

“Oh,” I respond. I should ask her if she thinks Roxana feels the same
way about me. Or if she ever could. I should ask, but . . . I just can't. Sweat springs out on the bridge of my nose, right where my glasses hit. I feel moisture on my palms as I clench and unclench my fists. God, if I can't even ask this question of Roxana's friend, who's created this perfect opening for me, how the hell am I ever going to confess anything to Roxana herself? I look down at the train floor in frustration, focusing my attention on a sad, crumpled, almost-empty paper cup of lemon Italian ice.

“You know, in some ways, you guys make a lot of sense,” Felicia finally says, answering my unasked question anyway. I tear my eyes away from the cup and see that she's eyeing me thoughtfully, carefully.

There is a long pause.

“But . . . ,” I croak out.

“I don't know, Graham. I truly don't know if there is a but.” She smiles kindly at me again and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Felicia doesn't know the answer, which means . . . there's still hope. Because if the answer was definitely no, wouldn't Roxana's girl best friend know? And wouldn't she put me out of my misery?

“You've never, like, talked about it? About me?” I say quietly, finally feeling brave enough to ask.

“Not in that way,” Felicia responds. “But to be honest, there are some things Roxana plays very close to the vest. And romance is definitely a top one. I've never really been able to get her to tell me much about any guy she's been crushing on. Not that I haven't tried!”

I smile a little in the direction of the Italian ice cup. Maybe things aren't so bleak after all.

Felicia tactfully changes the subject then, talking about how fun she thought the costume contest was. “Some of those outfits were just amazing,” she says. “And by the way, I never knew Casey was so funny.”

“Casey?” I ask. “Zucker?” He can be funny, but usually only the .01 percent of the population who understand all his references would find him so.

Felicia nods. “Yeah. We were in the same speed dating group and I asked him who his favorite teacher at school was. And he said Mr. Reuben, followed closely by ROSIE, who is the only one who empirically knows many answers and cannot be duped by personal charm or asshattery.” Felicia giggles.

I laugh too. ROSIE is the artificial intelligence computer that the Robotics Club has been working on and improving for several years now. And unlike some of the teachers at school, ROSIE definitely suffers no fools, and has no soft spot for jocks or class clowns. An awkward academic's dream.

A few stops before ours, the seat across from us finally opens up and Felicia gets Roxana's attention and motions for her to come over. When she does, Roxana shows us the sketch she's been working on. A paranoid part of my mind has automatically assumed it'll be a dreamy rendition of Devin, but it's actually a few panels of Rewinder serving out detention in Master Pernicky's specially created box, which doesn't
allow her to mess with time. I see Roxana has put in my line of dialogue in a thought bubble.

“I can only
rewind
time, not fast-forward it. So why would I want to keep reliving detention? Idiots!” Rewinder says as she stares scornfully at the punishment box.

I smile. The illustration looks even better and more whimsical than what I pictured in my head . . . as always. Now I just need Roxana to complete
our
story, to take my words and make them come to life like we were starring in our own panels.

At the train station in Huntington, we all quickly head to the bathroom to change out of our costumes. After all, the Afsaris just might get a tad suspicious if they saw their daughter come home from play rehearsal dressed as an alien-by-way-of-replicant. I give Roxy a once-over to make sure she got all her makeup off before we head outside to meet Felicia's brother, Emile, who's waiting for us in his Toyota Prius.

“Did you have a good time?” he asks, and we all tell him yes before thanking him for the ride.

He drops both me and Roxana off at my house and we say good-bye to Felicia, who thanks us again for the fun day. “I kind of wish I was going tomorrow, too,” she calls out before she and Emile drive off.

Roxana laughs as we watch them go. “She really was shocked she had such a good time, wasn't she?”

I laugh too. “She probably had no idea nerd stuff could be so fun,” I admit.

Roxana looks toward the end of the block, where she'll have to go to make it look like she got off the late bus. She takes in a deep breath.

“Just play it cool,” I advise. “Don't talk about anything. It's just a normal day.” As if I'm the world's foremost expert in lying, which I most certainly am not. But Roxana definitely isn't either, and lying to her parents is probably somewhere near the top of her “Things Roxana Hates” list. Today has definitely been a sacrifice on her part—especially since the Zinc panel didn't even happen.

She blows out more deep breaths and nods as I continue to say encouraging words, like she's a boxer and I'm her coach. She even feigns a little jog as she revs herself up to go home.

“Text me when you're in the clear,” I say, finishing my speech. She salutes me and then heads off to the corner, giving me one final glance and wave before she turns it.

I have about twenty minutes to myself when I get home before Dad comes in—he must have been on the train right after me. Since Casey isn't around, I'm skipping out on our standing weekly Magic tournament, too. Which I guess means I'll be hanging out with the fam tonight.

A few minutes later, Lauren comes in, and I smell Mexican takeout this time. I make my way to the dining room around the same time that Drew and Callie come out of the woodwork with the smell of food.

“Hey!” My dad beams at me. “How was it?”

“Really fun,” I say, and hand over the Peter Mayhew photo.

“Awesome,” Dad says as he looks at it. “My collection is almost
complete.” He's been collecting
Star Wars
autographs from the original trilogy for a long time, even getting people like Alec Guinness before he died.

“I still can't believe Graham gets to go to Nerd Central instead of school,” Callie loudly complains.

“Um, you've missed school for pep rally preparation,” I point out.

“That's
different.
That's an actual extracurricular activity?” Sometimes Callie ends perfectly normal sentences with a question mark, and I've never quite been able to put my finger on why.

At any rate, I get a small jolt of happiness that one good thing came out of the Zinc fiasco today: I don't have to figure out how to set her up with Casey. 'Cause, let me just say, Callie McCullough would not find Casey's feelings about ROSIE to be the slightest bit hilarious.