Arnold Goff knew very well he was a geek, a nerd, a dork, at least in the eyes of those in his high school class. “Look at it this way,” he said to himself on more than one occasion, “if you weren’t so smart you’d be pathetic.” The latest occasion was this afternoon at the Blue Coyote Café, where Arnold was drinking green tea, making use of the free wi-fi, and trying not to be too obvious about listening in on the conversation of the two senior girls at the next table. Nina, whom he’d had a crush on since junior high, was sipping her drink, while Cara was talking on her cell phone. “I’m with Nina. I told Bember and he was all right with it. We’re really sorry. But everything’s okay. Everything’s good.”

None of this made any sense to Arnold. Bember, Arnold knew, was Nina’s boyfriend and a state track finalist in the pole vault. He and Arnold had a run-in once back in grade school. Arnold, a first grader, had the part of Little Jack Horner in the school play. Bember, in fourth grade at the time, teased Arnold in the playground after school. “Show us your plum, Jack. Show us your plum, Jack Goff. Show us,” Bember brayed. “Jack Goff, Jack Goff, Jack Goff,” he chanted.

At the time, Arnold didn’t get it. Maybe none of his classmates did, but everyone laughed. “Is that a prime example of a pathetic nitwit or what?” Arnold said in his mind, whether in reference to himself or Bember he wasn’t sure. And a split second later, he answered the question, “Yeah, I’d trade half my brains for a girlfriend like Nina.” This struck Arnold as so ludicrous that he snorted, his arm shot out, and his cup of hot chocolate toppled. Luckily it didn’t get on his laptop or his ... lap top. Righting the knocked-over cup, which now was empty save for a rim of sludge at the base, Arnold chuckled at his lame wit. The girls, Cara and Nina, had, of course, noticed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Arnold mumbled. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me.”

Nina had a frown on her pretty face. She was looking at him, then, after sweeping some strands of long blond hair away from her eyes, she looked at the puddle of chocolate drink on the floor.

“Sorry, sorry,” Arnold said again, scooting back his chair and standing beside the table. “I’ll get some napkins and mop it.”

“I have some,” Nina said, and a moment later she was kneeling on the tile floor at Arnold’s feet mopping Arnold’s spill.

“You don’t have to do that,” Arnold said. The angle was such that he could not help but stare straight down the front of Nina’s top. He could see much of her breasts, those soft round curves, and when she reached out to get the last stray drops of Arnold’s splatter, he could even see a brownish pink puff of nipple.

He sat down quickly so his hard-on wouldn’t poke Nina in the forehead. Even so, she was staring at the bulge in his jeans. Arnold suddenly wished he’d knocked his drink right where she was looking—one stain to camouflage another. Well, it hadn’t reached that point. Yet.

While Nina was discarding the refuse, Arnold debated whether it behooved him to order another cup. He wasn’t thirsty, but mightn’t it look strange if he didn’t? And if he didn’t have something in front of him, wouldn’t he lose his excuse to be in the Blue Coyote Café? While he was wrestling with this dilemma, Nina had come back from the trash canister. She stood in front of him, her hands resting lightly on her hips. “You’re pretty smart, aren’t you?” she said.

Arnold tried to think of the proper response. Her tone had not been nasty. It was almost as if she’d really wanted to know. And he knew he’d look stupid if he tried to be modest. He’d look stupid if he said he was smart. And he’d look stupid if he equivocated. Nina’s blue eyes stared expectantly into his. “See, we’re trying to work this Sudoku. Do you know what they are?”