Into the Wild Nerd Yonder Read Online Free Page A

thing for the plain, girl-next-door types (who the bad boys always seem to end up with on TV, right?).
    All of this is going through my mind as I sit in Van’s Gremlin, music too loud and smoke from Van’s dangling cigarette clinging to my hair. We pull into the parking lot of Wendy’s, and Van lets the car and stereo run until he finishes his cigarette. When he’s done, he flicks it out the window and shuts off the car. I want to tell him that not only is smoking bad for him and everyone else around him but flicking the butt out the window isn’t exactly good for the environment. I refrain. So instead, there’s at least a minute of dead silence. “Hungry?” he smirks my way, and I turn to pudding, grateful I didn’t declare a smoking ban.
    “Sure,” I answer, still full from my first lunch.
    “It’s my treat,” he says, and I get the tiniest rumble in my stomach that this could be the date I’ve always dreamt about. I mean, he asked, he drove, and he’s buying. The few guys Idated always asked and paid (but never drove because they were my age—usually had the humiliation ride from a parent), but those guys were not anywhere near Van status.
    We get to the counter, and Van orders a four-piece-nugget Kids’ Meal. “It’s a good deal.” He shrugs to the zitty adult behind the counter. “And the lady will have . . .”
    The lady. Hee-hee. I say, “Just a Frosty. I’m not that hungry.”
    “A Frosty,” Van repeats to the man, who gives him his total. Van pulls out his chain wallet and fingers the dollars inside. “Yeah,” he draws the word out and looks at me, “do you think I could borrow a buck from you, Jessie? I’ll pay you back.” I’d give him a hundred dollars just for saying my name. “Wait—two bucks?” he asks as he realizes the extent of his shortage. I have now paid for more than my Frosty, but no biggie. People go dutch all the time.
    We grab a table by a window. I sit down and spoon my Frosty while Van pumps out six tiny paper cups of ketchup. He sets them up on the table in a perfect line. “I love the stuff,” he says. He pulls the toy out of his Kids’ Meal, a bunny bobble-head from some forgettable kids’ movie. He holds it up, jiggles it, and hands it across the table. “For you,” he says. I am mesmerized by the giant bunny head. Van munches his ketchup-dipped fry, and I have to restrain myself from jumping across the table and kissing his full, slightly chapped, ketchup-dappled lips.
    I hold the bunny, shake it, and smile. “Thanks. I’d put itin my car, if I had one.” I’m trying to be cool, when I really know that this bunny is going directly onto my nightstand so I can kiss it (i.e.,
the spirit of Van
) every night before I go to sleep.
    Van inhales his tiny meal, and in an instant the lunch is over. I don’t even have time to finish my unwanted Frosty. “Better get back. Wouldn’t want to be late for my first day of shop,” Van chuckles.
    “Yeah,” is all I manage to say, not wanting to sound too dorkish by concurring with, “I wouldn’t want to be late to precalculus.”
    The ride back is as smoky and loud as the ride there, and we get to the parking lot with two minutes to spare before class.
    I look over at Van as he superinhales his cigarette. “Thanks for lunch,” I say, “and my bunny.” I waggle the bunny at him in a thank-you gesture.
    “No problem,” he breathes, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth. Then he leans toward me, and I ready myself for a dream kiss. His arm brushes my shirt and the tiniest corner of my chest (not that my chest has corners) as he pushes open my door. “Door sometimes sticks.” He smiles, his face way too close to mine for not having any actual lip-connecting intentions.
    “Oh.” I blush. I get out and look at my watch. One minute before the bell. “See you around,” I call over my shoulder as Irun into school like a dweeb who hates to be late for class. I make it to my seat just as the bell