Nerdz For Life

“I do not understand how they call this pizza. It is a disgrace.”

“Favreau,” I say as he eyes my greasy slice with disgust, “quit with the pretentious junk. This is America.”

He sighs. “If only you could taste the pizza in Italy. C'est délicieux.” He closes his eyes in a trance, probably visualizing some little chateaux in Paris where they serve the best pizza. I throw a French fry at him.

“We like our pizzas with extra grease around here, buddy. Don’t hate. Appreciate.” I stick my tongue out at him because I’m a big girl like that.

“I do not appreciate your defilement of delicious Italian foods,” he says with conviction. I take a big bite just to gross him out, and he promptly gags. Muahaha!

Patches suddenly dawns a look of sheer terror. “Dear sweet Buddha.”

I roll my eyes. What a hypocrite. “Oh, c’mon, Patches. Your pizza is like seventy-bajillion times more greasy than mine.”

“No, Ags, look.” He nods his head towards an object behind me. Quickly, I turn around and pick out Phantom standing just outside the lunch room area (that little room where they do the serving stuff, ya know). Then I realize why Patches is so concerned. Phantom is talking to Dakota Chaim with that look of sympathy. You know, the one you give to puppies at the animal shelter or the old lady who fell down on the sidewalk. As soon as I realize what’s happening, he starts walking towards our table.

I whip my head back around and whisper-yell, “Fuck, what are we going to do?!”

“Evasive maneuvers?” Patches suggests.

“It’s too late for that. They already spotted us.” We all start to search for an excuse. “We could pretend there’s no room at the table.” Patches and Favreau glance at the vast expanse of empty seating around us. Did I mention we’re the only people who sit at this table? “It was a suggestion!”

Favreau pokes his fruit cocktail with a fork. “It is too late, Agdistis. You must accept the inevitable.”

“I can’t! I don’t want–”

“Hey, guys, is it alright if Dakota sits with us?”

I turn to see Phantom staring down at us with a look of guilt. He knows this is unacceptable conduct, inviting a Pop to the table without consent. I don’t care if he is considered an ex-Pop now. Once a popular kid, always a popular kid. Dakota is standing next to him, glancing about in embarrassment. He should be. It took two days for him to be demoted to social pariah status. He was at the top of the food chain and now he’s a bottom feeder, but, I remind you, I have no sympathy.

“Of course, it is fine,” Favreau pipes up. I want to shoot him a look, but I’m not that rude. Instead, me and Patches glance at each other. He shrugs and I frown. Damn pansies can’t even turn away the boy who has been the cause for years of mental torment of many a female mind.

“Agdistis?” Phantom queries. Why did the decision suddenly fall on me? Patches wanted the authority all these years. When did it become my job? I can’t help it, though, plus Phantom’s giving me “the look.”

I sigh heavily and mutter, “Fine.”

Phantom sits next to Patches on the other side of the table, and Dakota sits next to me. Damn it all to hell. As if it were bad enough, he smells really good. If there’s one thing that always gets to me, it’s when people smell good. Favreau is still poking at his fruit cocktail and I want to poke the damn fork into his pretty, French face for starting all this consent. Dakota still looks extremely uncomfortable as he glances at me. Maybe it’s because I insulted his injured manhood, but he looks like he wants to rip my eyeballs out or just run away.

Phantom takes a bite of his veggie burger as if it’s perfectly normal for Dakota Chaim to be eating French fries next to me. “Ags, will you come to my concert this weekend?”

“Phantom, you know I’m busy,” I whine. Every weekend it’s the same spiel. Phantom begs me to see him play; I make up an excuse.

“What you have to water your plants again?” he asks sarcastically. Needless to say, I’ve been running out of decent excuses.

“No,” I drawl. “I have to wash the dishes, duh.”

Patches roars with laughter then proceeds to cough. “Damn it, Favreau. You gave me your germs the other day.”

“Je suis désolé,” Favreau apologizes.

“Anyway, Agdistis, you might as well give it up. Phantom’s gonna get you there one day,” Patches chuckles.

“Do you always come up with terrible excuses?”

We all look at Dakota. He contributed to the conversation, and I guess it took us all off guard because no one spoke. Dakota clears his throat and looks at a piece of pear floating in the cocktail juice.

“Um…” Phantom fumbles. “Agdistis is really antisocial.”

“Am not!” I protest.

“Mais vous êtes,” Favreau agrees with Phantom.

“Casse-toi!” I snap.

“Calmez-vous,” Favreau soothes. He doesn’t get mad very easily. Even when I tell him to fuck off (as I just did), he remains perfectly composed. That’s probably why we’re best friends.

I sigh. “I need air.” My legs are wobbly as I stand up from the table and go outside, leaving my lunch where it is. I hear footsteps behind me but don’t stop. It’s still chilly out being towards the end of winter. The breeze is licking at my hair as I sit down on the concrete wall lining the courtyard. I thought Favreau was following me and was surprised to find Dakota sitting next to me. We sit in silence for a minute.

He breathes deeply before speaking. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

I look at him, examining his face. He seems distressed and frustrated. “It wasn’t you.”

“No, it was. I’m just…I’m just trying, and it’s not working.”

“What do you mean?” I watch him search the sky for answers, but none come as he moves his gaze to the ground.

He brushes a hand through his brunette hair thoughtfully before speaking. “It’s hard to start over when everyone’s already against you.” Well, that made me feel like a douche. I’d written Dakota off so fast that I didn’t even bother to think about what kind of mental turmoil I was putting him through.

I sigh heavily. “J'ai été un enfant terrible.”

“What?” he questions. I always forget not everyone speaks French.

“Sorry, I’ve been a terrible person. I swear I didn’t mean to.” I pull my legs up and cross them into a lotus pose.

“You’re fine,” he says warmly, resting a hand on my knee. I smile up at him, wrapping my arms around my body. “I do have one question, though. Do you always speak in French?”

I laugh, watching him grin as well. “Only when I’m frustrated.”

“You’ll have to teach me some French,” he says.

“Maybe, if you’re nice, I will.”

“Hey, I’m a nice person!” We both laugh, and I run a hand through my hair. “So…um…Agdistis?”

I sigh at his attempt. It’s weird for most people to call me that. “Yeah, you can call me Ags if you want to. That’s what Patches does.”

“Does everyone have a nickname?” he queries.

I think for a moment. “I guess so. We really didn’t plan it that way. Mine has a long story attached to it, though.”

“You’ll have to tell me sometime…when you teach me to speak French,” he chuckles, standing up off the wall. I laugh, too, and take his hand when he offers it to me, helping me off me off the wall. We walk back inside to find lunch has ended. I don’t bother to rush myself like everyone else. “Don’t you have class?”

“Nah, I’m on free period,” I respond. Dakota nods at this and watches everyone bustle about. “Don’t you?”

He looks into my eyes and grins cheekily. “Yeah.” Damn it. He’s charming.

I’m beginning to find it difficult to have this hate and disapproval of Dakota. He’s high-fructose corn syrup, and I am an obese kindergartener. His presence is a little addictive. “Go to class, Dakota,” I say, trying to be forceful.

His head shakes in response, and he ruffles my hair before jogging off down the hall as the tardy bell rings. I take a deep breath to clear my head. Since when do I feel this way about anyone?