The Summer I Became a Nerd - By Leah Rae Miller Page 0,1

competitors had all chosen the same old costumes: witch, robot, the main character of whatever the most recent animated movie was. I could feel it in my very core that I had this thing wrapped up.

Then, Mrs. Birdhill announced me.

“Our next trick-or-treater is Maddie Jean Summers. She’s dressed as”—and here’s where I started to doubt myself because when she said this last part, it sounded like she was reading words she had never heard before—“the leader of the superhero team The Pigments, Spectrum Girl?”

Yep, she ended it like she was asking a question.

I stepped onto the stage, expecting a wave of oohs and ahhs, but what I got was complete silence. I swear I heard a cricket chirp somewhere in the back of the room when I stepped up to the microphone.

“Hi. I spent two weeks working on my costume. I chose Spectrum Girl because she’s the strongest of all the Pigments, and I think she sets a great example for young women today,” I said and took a few giant steps back so I could make a slow turn.

When I made the complete 360, I stopped and looked out at the audience. It was a sea of my peers, everyone I went to school with, everyone I wanted desperately to impress. In the front row was my best friend, who shall remain nameless. She would always rag on me when I mentioned anything comic related, so I had learned not to talk about it.

I remember looking down at her in her cheerleader costume. I’m sure my eyes were pleading with her to break the silence, to help me—even if she didn’t like comics, we were best friends. Surely she’d support me.

Instead, she leaned over to the girl next to her and whispered something in her ear. They both giggled before she-who-shall-not-be-named yelled, “Where did you get your costume idea?”

I stepped up to the microphone, thinking my answer would help. Everyone loves Superman and Batman, how could they not like a costume based on a comic character?

“The Pigments is a comic book I like a lot,” I said.

“A comic book? What a dork!”

I don’t know if everyone agreed with her, but they all laughed with her. Laughed me right off the stage. Thank goodness no one was hanging out by the back exit because it would have been even more embarrassing if someone had caught me bawling my eyes out in a dark corner.

Later, as I tore my excellently crafted cape to shreds and stuffed it into a garbage bag, I vowed no one would ever get the chance to hurt me like that again.

And that’s when my double life began.

#1

Louisiana summers are unforgiving. Or maybe I’m too freaking impatient to tolerate the usual ninety-six-degrees-in-the-shade heat. The final book in The Super Ones comic book series, which I’ve been obsessing over for years, comes out today, and I’m waiting for Randy Henderson from down the street to finish mowing our lawn so I can check the mailbox. Normally, I download my comics and read them on the computer so there’s no physical proof of my secret life, but the author of this particular series has insisted the final book only be available in print.

Hurry up, Randy. Except, I think my impatience has made things worse. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m checking him out. Every few minutes, he sends me a sideways glance from where he sits atop his riding mower and tries his best to do a crooked grin like he’s Robert Pattinson or something. I bet he’s practiced it in the mirror. I hope he doesn’t hit on me tomorrow at school. Eric, my boyfriend, has never actually hurt someone for checking me out. He’s usually too busy being a “dude-bro.” It’s all about football and chicks and “dude-bro, we should totally go mud riding this weekend.” But catching Randy checking me out would be a chance to cause physical harm which, let’s face it, is what football is mostly about. And Eric is good at football.

Finally, Randy rounds the large pecan tree in our front yard, cutting the final patch of grass, and heads down our driveway. As he turns right onto the street to go home, he waves back at me, revealing a thick mass of dark, curly underarm hair. Did you know smiling suppresses the gag reflex? I do, so I smile and wave back.

Once the sound of the lawn mower is barely audible, I jump up and run off the porch. Maybe it’s more