Free Geekhood by Andy Robb

course I accept. And suddenly I’m like a six-year-old faced with a series of presents to unwrap – do I look at her Timeline or check out her Photos first?
    I go for the Timeline; I need to check out the competition. Sarah’s Profile Picture smiles out at me, making me feel like I’ve been caught reading someone’s diary, but I need to know if there’s a boyfriend on the scene. Nothing in the recent posts, so I root through the older ones, feverishly searching for a whiff of male interest. Nothing; all her friends are from her last school:St Brigidine’s School for Girls. With a sigh of relief, I go back to the top of Sarah’s Timeline and then my palms start to sweat.
    Looking through someone else’s Photo Album is, I imagine, a bit like being a Peeping Tom. As I click on the Photos tag, I feel a thrill of seedy pleasure – what will I find there; how will she look? She’s got four albums on the go: Party, Christmas, Family and…
    IM: You’ve just hit the motherlode!
    …Holiday.
    I shouldn’t, but I do and the Rampant Rattlesnake in my head gives an anticipatory shudder.
    Click.
    IM: Bingo. It’s a swimsuit shot.
    I’m not averse to admitting that I’ve used Mum’s Next catalogue for … how shall I put it … recreational purposes. On the rare occasions that I’ve been tasked to pass sentence on a shirt or some jeans, there are certain sections of that weighty tome that just seem to demand my attention.
    But this is different. Ordinarily, staring at a picture like this would lead to an obvious conclusion. But I can’t think of her in that way, I just can’t. OK, so she’s wearing a T-shirt over her bikini, but the light bouncing off the sand behind her is enough to give you a good idea of what it’s hiding, even if it’s only a silhouette.It makes no difference; all I see is her beauty. It’s like the dark, hormone-powered recesses of my mind have shut down.
    This must be the difference between Love and Lust.
    IM: Steady…
    I go back to my own Timeline. I shouldn’t have looked. Flustered and damning my weakness, I pick up the Gargoyle and mix up some more paint.
    A chat window flashes up on my screen, announcing contact from the Outside World. My heart leaps and my temperature suddenly reaches the equivalent of a solar flare – could it be Sarah? Does she somehow know I’ve looked at a picture of her on the beach in a bikini and T-shirt? How will I explain myself?
    IM: Deny, deny, deny!
    My hot flush of guilt gives way to the cooling sweat of relief; it’s only Dad.
    hi son. how r u?
    IM: God and baby Jesus – he’s given up on capital letters now!
    All good – you?
    good thx. evry1 better now. no more chkn soup! lol!
    IM: ………………. !
    Glad to hear it. How’re you doing?
    good thx. u? how’s school?
    This is interminable; same damned questions every time. Still, got to go through the motions. I wish he would just phone the house, but he won’t because he and Mum aren’t quite on speaking terms yet. And as I still haven’t saved enough money for a new mobile we’re stuck with this for now.
    Yep – still standing.
    lol!
    (Oh God.)
    wont be around wkend. got a visit from Jane’s parents. but need to talk 2 u. you around fri eve?
    IM: The Game! Sarah!
    My brain accesses my Excuse Department and settles on an unusual option: the truth. Albeit missing a vital component.

    Can’t on Friday – got mates coming round for a game.
    what time?
    I groan inwardly; I know where this is going.
    7-ish.
    IM: Nice and vague – might put him off.
    what about ur mum?
    She’ll be out.
    i’ll pop round about 6. it’s important.
    IM: Bollocksbollocksbollocks!
    OK.
    nice 1. c u then. l u. x
    Love you too.
    I sag over my laptop. Just what I need: for the first time, I’ve got a real, live girl coming over to my house andmy dad’s going to be there. I’ll have to work out a way of moving him on as quickly as possible. Just because my parents can’t get on, why should the rest of my life