Dear D

The summer break was bad, just as I expected it to be. It was the first summer without her. It’s been almost a year since the accident, but I still can’t bring myself to say or write the M-word. I spent the entire summer glued to my computer screen. Yeah, no sun-kissed skin on this nerd. Instead, I dove even deeper into coding and hacking—nothing illegal, of course, but enough to ensure I was thoroughly prepared for the advanced programming course my school was offering this year.

That was the best thing about my school: they actually had a specialized program for tech-obsessed nerds like me.

My diary—ugh, I hate that word, which is why I just call it D—had been pretty silent over the break. I barely interacted with anyone besides my dad, so there wasn’t much to write about anyway. My therapist was the one who forced me to start keeping it in the first place. He told me not to write “rubbish” (his words, not mine), but to only log real, heavy stuff that felt too difficult to keep bottled up inside. Knowing that school was starting again tomorrow, tonight felt like the right time to open it back up.

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Dear D,

Tomorrow is the first day of school, and I might be the only person on the planet actually looking forward to it. But hey, what can I say? My brain craves the challenge. The only downside to school is the people—or at least, most of them. The ones in my tech class are alright because they actually get me. But the girls? Especially the popular ones? They don’t get me at all. And my crush? He definitely doesn’t get me, and I don’t think that will ever change. I doubt he even knows my name.

Perhaps I’m just destined to be alone forever?

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The next morning, my alarm blares, but I’m already awake. Staying up late and still waking up at the crack of dawn seems to be my specialty these days. Maybe sleep isn’t all that important anyway, right?

I stare at my closet, sifting through my options. My body decided to develop hips and a butt over the summer, meaning I’ve outgrown half my clothes. I settle on a pair of oversized, baggy jeans and a soft beige hoodie—a comfortable shield that hides the changes. I twist my hair into its usual messy bun and toss my glasses into my bag, saving them for when I’m staring at a screen.

I grab a slice of toast and a mug of coffee on my way out, pausing to kiss my dad goodbye on the cheek. I’m still relieved every time I see him up and moving in the morning. After she died, he stopped working entirely for a while, but the last few months have been better. He’s back to working part-time now.

When the school bus pulls up, I climb aboard and head straight for the seat right behind the driver—as far away from everyone else as possible, especially Dylan. Dylan has been my ultimate crush for two whole years. It’s not like I actually talk to him, but I sure love looking at his face. He has short, messy dark blonde hair, warm brown eyes, and a laugh that sounds like music.

“Hey, nerd,” someone sneers as I sit down.

I pretend not to hear it, like I always do. It’s just easier that way. Right after she died, people stopped calling me names and acted like decent human beings for about two weeks. Then things reset, and they went right back to calling me a nerd every chance they got.

When the bus finally stops, I’m one of the first off—because hey, I actually like school. I head straight to my locker, the same one I’ve had since freshman year. Usually, the school reassigns them annually, but after the accident, administration said they wanted to spare me any unnecessary changes. Yeah, thanks for saving me from the immense trauma of moving ten feet down the hallway. I just rolled with it, though.

It actually turned out to be a nice setup, especially since the locker next to mine sat completely empty all of last year. I knew I couldn’t get that lucky twice, but I’m still caught off guard when I unlock it and sense a tall shadow right behind me.

I spin around and freeze. Standing there is a guy I’ve never seen before. He’s tall, with dark brown hair that falls just past his ears, and deep, striking light blue eyes.

I stare at him for a second. “Can I help you?” I ask.

Wait—why did my voice sound so sharp and confident? That’s definitely not my usual style, especially around total strangers.

A slow smile spreads across his face, revealing deep, prominent dimples. He points to the locker right next to mine. “Yeah, I just thought I’d wait for you to finish before grabbing my stuff.”

I blink, wondering why on earth he’s smiling at me like that, before his words register. Heat instantly rushes to my face.

“Oh! Yeah, of course. Sorry,” I mutter, ducking my head. I grab my books in a hurry and rush away down the hall.

First period is history. It’s far from my favorite subject, but my brain somehow retains every single fact anyway, so I always pull an A. Looking around the room, I spot a few new transfer students. There are two new girls, and naturally, Dylan is already staring at them while they giggle and adjust their cute dresses—doing the whole effortless girl thing.

Then I spot the guy from the lockers. I realize I never introduced myself, so I have no idea what his name is. He’s leaning forward, looking at Mrs. Kingsley and actually paying attention. Huh. That’s a first—attractive guys usually don’t listen in class.

“Chloe?” Mrs. Kingsley calls out, asking me a question about some obscure historical event.

Every head in the room turns toward me. My brain helpfully retrieves the right answer on command—thank you, brain—but as soon as I finish speaking, a voice from the back calls out, “Neeeeeerd.”

I keep my eyes fixed on the front, pretending not to notice. But I can tell others did; I can feel the new guy’s gaze burning into the side of my face. Great. I guess it won’t be long before he starts calling me a nerd, too.

The day drags on through math, English, and a humiliating lunch where I nearly dropped my food tray directly at Dylan’s feet. But finally, it’s time for advanced coding.

There are fifteen of us in the room. I spot a few new faces—including the locker guy—along with my best (and let’s be real, only) friends: the twins, Brian and Ryan. Yeah, super creative parenting there. We bonded over programming years ago. They’re nerds too, but somehow they’re the cool kind who never get picked on. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous.

I steal another glance at the new guy. What is he doing in here? Does he actually know how to code, or did he just sign up thinking it would be an easy extra credit?

Our teacher, Mr. Harper, makes us go around the room and introduce ourselves before diving into the syllabus. I can’t help watching the new guy when it’s his turn.

Adam. His name is Adam.

When it’s my turn to speak, I feel his eyes on me again. No big deal, I tell myself. It’s only natural to want to know the name of the person who occupies the locker next to yours.

Later that night...

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Dear D,

Today was... interesting. I only got called a nerd about five times, down from my usual ten. So that’s progress, I guess? The girls are still too loud, the guys are still idiots, and my crush is still ridiculously handsome. But the empty locker next to mine isn’t empty anymore.

I can’t quite figure out the new guy yet. He’s hard to read. He has these deep dimples when he smiles, he’s in my advanced coding class, and he actually pays attention to the teachers? I might be imagining that last part, though—or maybe he’s just faking it. Good-looking guys don’t actually listen in class. Everyone knows that.

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