“By maids, you mean girls, right?” I say.
“Yeah.” Panic flashes behind his eyes. “You like girls? Because if not, that’s cool. There’s some beautiful fellas in England too.”
“Yeah, I like girls,” I say, but I don’t even sound convincing to myself.
I mean, I do like girls. I really fucking like girls. Never stop thinking about them in fact.
But I think I also might like guys. Maybe. I don’t know.
My thoughts must read loud and clear over my features.
“I myself am ninety-six per cent straight and four per cent gay,” Eggo says. He’s not even smirking, like it’s not a joke to him. My pulse ticks faster at the base of my throat.
“That’s a lot of words to say that you’re bi,” I say. “Or pan. I’m still not entirely sure I know the difference.” And I’ve done plenty of googling on the two.
“Nah, fuck that. I hate labels. I just do what feels right, you know?”
I can’t help but laugh at how unintentionally ironic he’s being. “You hate labels, but you still use gay and straight?”
He simply smiles at me. “Are you gonna finish your pint?”
“You have it,” I say, pushing it into his hand.
“Hey, when’s your birthday?” he asks.
“Why?”
“So I know when to expect your company in my wonderful home country. My girlfriend, Jody—well, ex-girlfriend—is pregnant. I’m gonna be a dad. You can meet my kid.” He pauses. “Oh my god, that sounds unreal.”
“Wait, you’re gonna be a dad? For real?” How is he only eighteen?
“Yeah. Baby’s due on the first of September. Like . . . in a few months.” His eyes go wide and he scrubs a hand through his hair. I get the distinct feeling that the news, however old it might be, hasn’t truly sunk in yet. “So, when’s your birthday? I can show you all the cool shit England has to offer. Wales too. Not Scotland, though, that’s way too fucking far away.”
“It’s the fourteenth of March. One four oh three. Or if you’re American, three one four, like the number pi.”
Eggo’s thick brows knot together, and he stares at me unblinkingly for what feels close to a full minute.
Oh no, I’ve broken him.
“What the fuck does ‘number pi’ mean?”
“It’s the circumference of a circle divided by its diameter,” I explain.
He scratches his head. Actually scratches it like they do in cartoons. “So, it’s always the same? It’s always three hundred and—”
“No, it’s three point one four. Same as my birthday.”
Eggo necks the rest of my beer. Then he watches me with his head tilted to the side. “Ohhh,okay. I get it,” he says, nodding to himself. “I’ve totally figured you out . . . You’re a nerd.”
I’ve been teased about this before, and it’s usually where people lose interest and make their excuses.
“Guilty, I guess,” I say, holding my breath.
“Space nerd, maths nerd, computer nerd, or dinosaur nerd?” he asks.
I fight a smile. “Are those the only types of nerds? What about gamers? What about comic book nerds?”
“Yes, those are officially the four main nerd groups. All other types of nerds are just nerd subsets. Gamers are filed under computer nerds, and comic books are actually fucking awesome and aren’t even considered a nerd subcategory. That’s how cool they are. Now pick your player.”
