Page 9 of Talk Nerdy To Me
“So you work at Silk?” Taylor asks.
“Yes,” I answer simply, not elaborating on the fact it’s temporary or that I have an internship with Harley.
I’m not sure why he’s giving me that look—the confused/constipated face. Base gave it to me earlier, but I’m answering their questions.
“O...kay. Nothing to add to that?” he asks unsurely.
“Outside of my circle, people seem to lose interest when I’m detailing information about topics that aren’t interesting enough to be detailed—i.e. this topic isn’t interesting enough to be detailed.”
I’m definitely making it awkward. The more I talk, the worse I’ll make it, so I just stand quietly as everyone shifts around on their feet like they don’t know what to say now.
“Glad Base found a woman, because I’m not sharing,” Taylor says, grabbing two girls by the waist and pulling them with him as he crashes into the pool.
It slightly breaks up the growing tension.
I’m curious about that comment, but I don’t feel comfortable asking too many questions just yet.
Base walks back out, sans guitar case, and he’s carrying a glass of red liquid in his hand.
“Your drink,” he says, smiling down at me as he collapses to the chair across from me.
I take it and cautiously sip it, tasting nothing more than cranberry juice. Good. He decided not to add vodka. My next sip is generous, and he smiles.
“Like it?”
I smile and nod, and he takes a sip of what appears to be a dark soda.
“Cranberry juice and vodka?” Trixie says, turning her nose up. I guess that means it does have vodka, since Base nods.
I put the drink down after the second sip.
“I hate that stuff. I prefer Jack and Coke,” she adds, glancing at his drink.
Base holds his drink up. “Same here, but you can’t have mine.” To me he says, “Very little vodka at all. Not even half a shot.”
I just nod, even though I’m still finished with it.
Trixie rolls her eyes, and then she takes a seat next to Base—very close to Base. There’s no rational reason why that bothers me or why I almost vocalize that it bothers me.
I swallow all the words very hard.
“It’s a big deck,” he says when her arm touches his in the chair as she slides almost right against him.
I swallow more words. It’s completely wrong for me to say anything at all.
“I don’t want to sit alone, and everyone else is in the pool,” she tells him, turning her body in a way that suggests I’m now eavesdropping on their conversation instead of being included.
Several of the partiers climb free from the pool, and they slowly start to make their way toward our table as they laugh and talk about stuff I’m not very well versed with.
I’ll have to read up on music if they decide to include me again. Next time I’ll bring a buffer. My buffers make everything I say sound like part of my charming quirk, and people feel instantly more comfortable around me.
I’ve never been able to do that all by myself.
