Geek Charming by Palmer Robin

Author:Palmer, Robin [Palmer, Robin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin USA, Inc.
Published: 2012-02-12T03:09:15+00:00

As I was standing in front of my walk-in closet trying to put together the perfect home-cooked Indian meal outfit—which, when your closet is as big as mine isn’t all that easy—Asher called.

“Hey, babe,” I said as I flopped down on my bed and almost slid off onto the floor. After reading about some model’s trip to Morocco in Teen Vogue, I had recently redecorated my bedroom in a very colorful Moroccan fashion with a silk tapestry as a bedspread. It was gorgeous, but it was super slippery. I couldn’t even remember the last time Asher had called me on his own rather than returning one of my calls. Maybe all the thinking I had been doing about how Josh was such a better conversationalist had worked in a reverse-psychology way.

“Hey,” Asher replied. “What up?”

Why couldn’t he say “what’s up?” like normal people? More and more, I found myself annoyed by lots of little things about him. For example, the way he didn’t even bother to pop a breath mint after eating Mexican food if he knew we were going to make out. Or how he moved his lips when he was reading. Or how he’d pick at his toenails when we were watching TV at my house and then not wash his hands before we ate sushi. Josh was a geek, but Asher was just gross. That being said, I was still totally in love with him. How could I not be, seeing that he was cute, and popular, and . . . cute, and . . . popular. Obviously, he had a lot of other great qualities as well, but I couldn’t talk to him, look for an outfit, and think of them all at the same time. I sat up and started making an “absolutely not” and a “maybe” pile of outfits. “Nothing. Just, uh, doing my French homework.” Not that he would’ve even cared, but it didn’t seem necessary to let him know I was going to Josh’s for dinner.

“Oh. Then I should probably let you get back to it,” Asher said, sounding relieved.

I walked over to one of my two full-length mirrors and held up a black caftan embroidered with pink stitching before deciding it wouldn’t work for dinner, as Morocco and India were very different countries. (I think.) “It’s okay. I can talk for a few minutes. How are you?”

“Fine. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but it can wait, since you’re busy and all.”

“What is it?” I asked, sitting/sliding back down on my bed and examining my pedicure. I was so lucky I could pull off lilac—on a lot of girls, it made them look like they had been dead for a half hour, but on me it looked just great.

“Nothing. We’ll talk about it some other time. You should get back to French.”

Okay, things were now officially weird. First, calling me on his own rather than returning one of mine, and now turning into the homework police? It was like he had been body-snatched.

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