Small Nerd Novels & Stories

I'm not even fully 19 yet, and I have a horrible body count. I mean, I can blame my parents for leaving me with that nanny Carol that exposed me to all of this. But that doesn't fix anything. I really wanted to see a girl and see a friend without getting hard for once. And if it went further from there with Clara, then I'd do so with a clean conscience. But the dare was still on my mind. Do I kill two birds with a stone? I'm not sure I have the answer to that question yet. “Whoa, bro," I said in my head. “How are you already planning things with a girl that doesn't even want to be your friend, that's still terrified of the horrible names you called her."

I ask him with confusion, clear in my voice since he is one of the sweetest kids I know. "Yeah, I just have one friend. My classmates call me a nerd because I get good grades. And they don't like me because I don't join them to tease girls and make fun of them in my class." "You wanna know a secret?" I whisper. He nods his head with a smile. "They are jealous of you." I lean down and whisper in his ear. "Why?" He whispers back.

The entire staff was probably hoping he'd been stood up and they could help lick his wounds. "I figured you'd call me out on it. I can't help it. I'm a nerd at heart. Love computers. Video games. Technology fascinates me, how it's always advancing. Every day I can learn something new, so I never get bored." "You were one of those kids who had to stand at the dinner table to eat, weren't you?" I tease.

"And?" "Right, you don't know." She turned to him now, strap on her shoulders. "I'm sure you've done your BDSM assignment so you've heard of Sub space, but there's also Little space. Now, the latter doesn't always involved sex, rarely does, but this is when the person involved age regresses. In other words, he acts younger than his original age. Marcos has Little space though he has to be triggered with keywords, and when I called I might have accidentally told him it was a Playdate, not a date date." And I should believe it was an accident when you have those... What?" Paris asked, eyes moving to the tote bag. "Things,"

Emma Cole, a nerd in high school and untouched all throughout her life at a community college, was abandoned by her birth parents and grew up in foster care homes all around New York. Whenever her name was mentioned, the people who knew her laughed and called her foul names, since she looked like the female version of Steve Urkel and was easy to pick on and belittle. She had no sense of style. All she wore were big dresses that hid her tiny figure underneath and glasses which didn't do her eyes any justice. She owned one bag-- a beat-up leather she received as a gift from a spelling bee contest her freshman year in high school.

I don't know what is simply exaggerated gossip and what is actually the truth, because there is always so much talk around our little town. Either way, I don't feel like I need to meet him. Luckily for me, I will not ever have to. Other than my cousin Andras, and before that my uncle Jack, I don't run in the crowd of alphas. I am a nobody in the pack. I prefer to stay at home in my room and play my video games, watch movies or read my comics. I am a nerd and I own it. My older brother is the cool bad boy one. He likes the attention that he gets from girls.

okay, I'll just shut the hell up now. If you decide to talk to me, I'll have to warn you that I am as weird as they come. I think calling a dog man's best friend is ridiculous, and I would literally kiss whoever invented noodles. I have friends, and I'm not a nerd, so I hope that's not what you've pictured in your head. I like to think of myself as different. Though I've definitely given off that impression that I'm some nerd that stalks girls on the internet. I'm way better to talk to in person, I promise. Though that's not happening(I'm just saying). And I definitely don't talk like a total weirdo either. I'm not even going to read through what I've written, because I'll just tear up the p

I hear a small voice from behind me. I turn just in time to see little Arnold Peterman running down the hall right behind me. Arnold is one of my students, well, former students after today, and is known as the class nerd. I hated the way he was bullied and spoke to his parents often about it, but they aren't necessarily the kind of folks that stop everything and help their children out.

The aroma of earth and forest hits me in the nose and as I look around, I can imagine how he would have been. Tall. Probably slightly lanky because I'd imagine someone who puts their things in such a nerdish way must be a nerd and from what my brother taught me when I dared to like one of his classmates, "Only nerds keep themselves sniveling clean all the time. If you're going to fall in love, don't fall for a nerd..... They don't have any muscles and you'll have ugly children." A smile spreads on my face despite the fact that I'm remembering something my brother told me. Usually whenever he came up to me to tell me anything, it was always followed by one of two things.

I say quietly, holding the strap of my backpack. It's true. I'm not like most girls. I don't wear makeup or high heels. I'm not a cheerleader or Volleyball player. I'm a nerd who kicks a muddy ball around a field all day. "Yeah, you're right." He agrees while staring straight ahead. "What?" I ask, my smile fading and my feelings deflating. "You're better than most girls." He winks back at me. I laugh at him and stop before my classroom door. "This is it." I tell him.