Their favorite Nerd

Present Day – Senior Year, Westbrook High The code isn't compiling. For the seventh time straight, the same error blinked back at me, Segmentation fault. Core dumped. “You're muttering again.” I look up, glaring. My only friend, Lia, is leaning against the shelf fighting back a smile. She is holding a bag of chips from which she picks a piece and hand over to me. I shook my head. Lia is the only person at Westbrook who doesn't think I'm a ghost. “I'm not muttering,” I say. “I'm debugging.” “Same thing, nerd.” I push my glasses up my nose. The frames are held together with tape on the left side. I could afford new ones. I choose not to. New glasses won't change what people see when they look at me. A sweater way too big for my frame. Hair that hasn't heard of a stylist since middle school, not even as a rumour. Lips that have never been kissed. Invisible. That's the word for girls like me. We're the background code of high school. Necessary for the system to run. Never acknowledged. Lia drops into the chair across from me. “You coming to the Spring Fling meeting?” “Why would I go to that?” “Free food.” “I have ramen in my dorm.” “No, you meant you have depression in your dorm.” I roll my eyes. “I have a scholarship application due tomorrow. If I don't finish this algorithm…” “You'll still be the smartest person in this building.” Lia leans forward her voice rising. “Casey, you’ve been staring at that screen for four hours. Take a break, breathe. Come on” She's right. My eyes are burning. My neck is stiff. And the error still won't fix itself. I close the laptop. “Fine. Ten minutes.” We walk to the cafeteria. The hallways of Westbrook Academy are all dark wood and old money. My scholarship pays for seventy percent of my tuition. The rest comes from my mom's life insurance policy. My stepfather, Richard, reminds me of that every time I ask for something. “You're really lucky we let you stay in the guest house, Casey. Most girls with your... situation... would be at public school.” My situation meaning: my mom died. My dad left. And I'm the inconvenient reminder that Richard's perfect family with my stepsister Sophia isn't his first try. We push through the cafeteria doors. And that's when I see him. Dylan King. He's leaning against the juice bar like he owns it. Which, technically, his father could buy the whole cafeteria if he wanted to. The Kings are real estate royalty. Dylan is the crown prince. Dark hair. Sharp jaw. Eyes the color of stolen money. He's laughing at something his friend Chase said. His head tilts back. His throat moves. I look away. I always look away. Because Dylan King doesn't see me. I'm the girl who fixes the school's WiFi when it crashes. The girl who built the security system for the headmaster's office when I was fifteen. The girl who wears sweaters with coffee stains and hasn't been touched by a boy in twenty-one years of breathing. Lia nudges me. “Stop staring.” “I wasn’t staring” “You were dissecting. It's weird.” “I don't dissect people.” “You just calculated his facial symmetry ratio. I saw your lips moving.” Damn. She knows me too well. I grab a tray. “I'm getting coffee. Black. No sugar. Like my soul” “Edgy” “Shut up” I'm halfway to the coffee station when it happens. A hand wraps around my wrist. Warm. Large. Calloused fingers that have no business touching the frayed sleeve of my sweater. I freeze. "Casey Rhys" That voice. Low. Smooth. I turn. Dylan King is looking at me. Actually, looking at me. His eyes are even greener up close. There's a small scar on his eyebrow. His lips are slightly chapped. I realize I've been staring for three full seconds without breathing. “You know my name,” I say. Stupid. Obvious. He just said it. “I know a lot of things about you.” He tilts his head. “You built the proxy server that keeps the school's network off the dark web. You wrote a script that auto-rejects phishing emails. And you're the only person in this building who's never asked me for a favor.” My heart is doing something strange. Something arrhythmic. “That's because I don't need favors.” “No.” His thumb brushes my pulse point. “You don't.” He releases my wrist. The ghost of his touch lingers. “I'm having a party Friday,” he says. “My lake house. You should come.” Behind me, I hear Lia choke on her chips. “Why?” The word comes out sharper than I meant. Dylan's smile is slow. Dangerous. “Maybe I just want to get to know you, Rhys.” Nobody calls me Rhys. Only teachers. Only people who can't remember my first name. But when he says it, it sounds like an invitation. “I'll think about it,” I say. Then I walk away. My hands are shaking when I pour my coffee. Lia appears at my elbow, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?” “I don't know.” “Casey. Dylan King just invited you to a party. Dylan King, who has slept with every cheerleader, two math tutors, and allegedly a foreign exchange student from Sweden.” “I know who he is.” “Then you know this doesn't happen.” Lia grabs my arm. “Nerds don't get invited to King's parties. We get pranked at King's parties.” She's right. Every instinct I have is screaming trap. But then I look over my shoulder. Dylan is still watching me. His gaze is heavy. Possessive. Like I'm something he wants to solve. And God help me. I want to be solved. The next morning, there's a note taped to my laptop. “Friday. 8pm. Don't wear glasses. – D” Beneath it, a single line of code. I run it through my terminal. It's a backdoor into his private server. He gave me access to his life. Lia says run. My heart says stay. And for the first time in four years of high school… I choose my heart.