Nerds With A Chance [A Logan Lerman Fanfic]

Chapter 1

“God damnit. Fuck. Shit. Jesus Almighty. Cuss, cuss, Mc’Cussity Cuss,” I swore, my auburn colored hair bouncing wildly around me- barely brushed. I was sprinting, my scruffy hightops smacking against the asphalt; as I struggled to maintain the stack of items piled into my arms.

Pausing, I hastily took in all her surroundings: groaning as a result.

“Fuck, I’m lost,” I finally concluded with an extra grumble.

Muttering under my breath more obscenities, I scooted to the edge of the street in Vancouver, dropping all my stuff to the floor, before whipping out a really fat, old cell phone that was quickly losing its life expectancy.

“Come ooon…” I whined, shaking and bashing the phone’s old pixelated screen, glaring up at the iPhone 4 advert looming up ahead of me in a mock fashion.

Finally (after much struggle) the phone beeped lazily to life flashing a low battery sign up at me.

This earned another moan from me.

Ignoring the phone’s warning I copied a number that was written in black smudgy ink on the back of my hand, onto the phone.

“Mrs.McTea?” I panted into the phone in fast fervour.

“Aah! Zephilia, dear. Where are you?” an upper class British accent replied in a slightly snotty tone. “Oh and do call me Dian won’t you?”

“I’m so darn lost, I dunno… Somewhere on Durian Street.”

“Oh my! You’ve travelled the wrong way completely!”

I sighed laboriously, my shoulders slumping in annoyance. This opportunity was so big, this was more than I could ever dream of. Rick Riordon was one of my favourite children’s author, right away from when I could first read. And there was no way in hell would I even think of missing the first day on the movie sequel to Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief.

I had been in love with the damn fictional character since I turned seven.

“So what do I do Dian?” I asked Dian, the person in charge of me, worriedly.

“Call a taxi dah’ling. I will scoop you up in the front office, okay?” Dian murmured a small, almost unhearable ‘poor little dear’ following her sentence before she terminated the call.

I, wincing, at being called ‘poor’ and ‘little’ and ‘dear’ in the same sentence, held the phone away from my ear and frowned at it in distaste.

Quickly calling a yellow cab, and piling in my items I climbed in and a little while later I arrived in front of a tall, glassy skyscraper.

“Um thanks mister taxi driver,” I said before making a hasty retreat into the building, as I didn’t actually have the money required. Because 5 dollars and a handful of linty bubblegum wouldn’t exactly pay a thing.

“Hey kid! Get back here!” he yelled after me, opening the car door and half stumbling out, “Ya haven’t paid me!”

Quickening the pace, I scurried around the building, my thick, black glasses sliding down my nose from the effort. You know the ones that people punch the lenses out of to ‘look cool’; well mine are actually glasses. I had even especially sharpied the rims in what was deemed ‘prettiful patterns’.

As I ducked into the safety of the well-trimmed bushes by the door, I noticed another cab pull in and a tall guy stalked out, a dark grey hoodie over his head and a pair of earphones sticking out underneath the shadow of his hood.

Intrigued I found myself leaning haphazardly out of the plant, my face sticking out and around the classy modern black plantpot.

Attractive.