Page 61 of The Write Stuff

I shifted on my chair. This was getting more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment. “Fine.”

He waited another beat, then nodded. “When I was a teenager, at the last school I went to, I made my mother promise that we would stay for all four years because I couldn’t make new friends again. She agreed.”

I didn’t know this part of the story — Huxley had never talked about this stuff when we were younger — so I just waited him out.

“I was so desperate to be popular back then that I used my mother as a bargaining chip of sorts. I also got free convention tickets for everybody. Those four years were the worst of my life because I was constantly afraid that these people, who I didn’t actually like, were going to find out the truth about me.”

“And what was the truth?” I asked. “Are you about to tell me that you’re a closet geek? Because I don’t believe it.”

“The truth is that I’ve never known who I am. Or, well, I definitely didn’t back then,” he immediately amended. “It was only after I left college that I started to figure it out. I’m still figuring it out, actually. You’re allowed to figure things out at your own pace, too.”

I couldn’t decide where he was going with this. “Thanks. I guess.”

He exhaled heavily. “I’m saying that the guy who only wanted to get close to you because of your mom was an idiot. He has no idea what he missed out on because you’re …”

“A fun geek?” I interjected to fill the suddenly uncomfortable silence.

He rolled his eyes. “You are fun. You’re also a geek. Being a geek isn’t bad, though, and I don’t like that you make jokes at your own expense because you don’t see yourself how I see you.”

My heart rate picked up, and I found myself suddenly having to concentrate to breathe correctly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I heard what you said. That little snide comment about him telling you that you were beautiful and that should have been a red flag. I don’t like that you think things like that about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“Do you not know how beautiful you are?” His gaze was clear as it roamed my face.

“I …” Did he just call me beautiful? My heart was beating so fast now that I thought I might pass out.

“That’s what I thought.” He reached over far enough to pluck my hand from on top of the table. I assumed he was checking my pulse because he was convinced I was going to fall over and die of a heart attack. Instead, he traced my fingers with his.

“The day I found out about you learning Klingon, I had a conversation with my mother,” he volunteered out of nowhere.

I was beyond bewildered at this point. I had no idea if I was coming or going.

“I ranted and raved that I didn’t want to sit with you for the big announcement about the Galactic Empire of Coronado movies,” he continued.

“I remember.” My voice was pathetically small.

“I went to rant to her because I saw you talking to the security guard,” he explained. “I’ve been thinking about that conversation a lot over the last few weeks, and I don’t see it quite the same as I used to.”

I remained rigid in my chair. If he was about to say something really mean, I wanted my chin to be up so I could absorb the blow.

“I always thought I was mad because the Klingon was just so … well, it’s a made-up language, and I’ve never gotten the Star Trek thing,” he said. “I don’t even like science fiction. I couldn’t admit that to anybody — not even to myself — until I was in college.”

I was officially appalled. “How can you not like Star Trek?”

He laughed at my outrage. “We’ll talk about that later. For right now, I need you to hear this.” He swallowed hard. “I wasn’t angry that you spoke Klingon that day. I was angry that you were speaking Klingon to the security guard.”

He seemed to think there was an important distinction buried in there, but I couldn’t figure out what that might be. “Um …”

“I didn’t like that the security guard was paying attention to you,” he pressed. “I was jealous.”

I just sat there like an idiot.

“I was jealous,” he repeated, as if absorbing the information anew. “I didn’t realize it at the time. My mother did, though. Her words from that day have been echoing in my head a lot since I first saw you again.”

“What did she say?” I was both excited and afraid to hear it.