No matter how much I wish it was Twilight is not mine. If it was I would be out spending money left and right.

Mackenzie edits this story and Kelley and Lauren pre-read so quickly for me. They are all wonderful.

I am loving the amazing response to this story so far. I never imagined so many people would jump on the Nerdlisle bandwagon with me. Thank you all!

"A Star Wars shirt?" My brother's face is scrunched up as he stares at me. His horror is obvious.

"What's wrong with my shirt?"

"Everything, bro," he says while walking to my closet. "You're practically going on a date with this girl. You absolutely cannot show up wearing a five year old Star Wars t-shirt. It violates every section of the man code?"

I'm momentarily distracted. "What is a man code?"

He sighs while pulling shirts out of my closet. "Nevermind, dude. The point is you are not wearing that on a date."

"It isn't a date," I tell him.

"Yes it is. You're taking this girl to the library. That's the nerd version of a date."

I roll my eyes at his insanity. I'm the one who is going to spend an undetermined amount of time with mystery girl in exactly one hour, and he's the one who's panicking. I never thought I would be the voice of reason in a situation like this. Wait… I never thought I would be in a situation like this period.

That's when it hits me. I'm going to be alone with mystery girl. The room starts to spin, and I feel like I might pass out. She brings the propensity for fainting out in me, apparently.

Edward stops what he's doing and turns to me. "Are you okay, bro? You're not about to throw up, are you?"

I might. It's very possible. I can't breathe.

"Dude, settle down. There's nothing to worry about. Look at it this way, she already said yes. You breezed through the hardest part already."

The hardest part? What was he talking about, the hardest part? I had to go spend a Saturday morning with the girl of my dreams. What if I screwed up bad this time and said the wrong thing? What if she decided after today she didn't want anything to do with me?

"You're going to wear this one," Edward says holding up a black button down.

Is he joking? I only wear that shirt to important things where I'm required to be dressed up.

"And these jeans," he continues. This time he pulls up a pair of dark wash jeans that are artistically faded in some places. He got them for me for my birthday. I think I've only worn them a handful of times. I don't have expensive taste like my brother does, and I definitely don't want to imagine what he paid for them.

And then I ask the obvious question.

"Why are you trying to make me look like you?"

"I'm not, bro. I swear. Look, if there's one thing I know it's chicks, and they dig this look, dude. Just trust me. These clothes will make you feel more confident, too."

I want to point out the many holes in his logic, but I quietly do what he says instead. With Edward it's usually best to just shut the hell up and go along with him.

…

There are only a few cars in the parking lot when I get to the library. Good. Less people to witness me throwing up from nerves. On the other hand more people would be better if this ended up being the day I actually passed out.

I just can't win at this game.

I can't stop tugging at my collar either. I hate my brother for making me dress like this. It may be fine for him, but I'm not comfortable, and these clothes just aren't me. I've never wanted to stand out. I like being part of the background.

I have to admit Edward might be right about mystery girl noticing me more in these clothes, but she's already noticed me. She agreed to meet me here today. And I was wearing a t-shirt with a Dalek on it when she said yes. A Star Wars shirt is a step down on the nerdy scale from that. I'm pretty sure she won't care what I'm writing.

Then again, maybe I'm full of shit like my brother is always saying. Mystery girl's boyfriend is always dressed like something out of a GAP ad.

And guys like him think I'm the pansy. Ha.

I walk in and see her sitting in one of the chairs in front of the elevator. It's like one of those moments in a movie where the guy walks in and sees the girl, and her hair is blowing behind her even though they're indoors and everything is in slow motion.

Yeah, it's like that.

At least in my head it is.

And then comes the epic climax of my awful movie. I'm so busy staring at her that I trip over the thing by the door that makes sure you aren't stealing from the library. Why you would do that I do not know, but whatever floats your banana boat.

I'm sure I'm about to fall flat on my face, but I manage to just stumble and attempt to play it off. I'm sure the librarian laughed.

But mystery girl doesn't laugh at me, even when I push my askew glasses up the bridge of my nose in true nerd fashion. Instead she smiles as she walks toward me. She doesn't have a skirt and heels on today. She's wearing jeans, like me. Unlike mine, these jeans cling to her perfect legs like Saran Wrap.

My shower fantasies will be much more vivid from now on.

Her shirt is one I've seen on her before. A purple one that is open all the way down her chest. It makes me wonder if she's wearing some kind of miracle bra or if her breasts push together like that naturally. I hope for the latter but assume the former.

I'm not as delusional as I was the other day.

She's wearing flip-flops today, and for the first time I realize she's much shorter than I am. The six-year-old in me wants to feel less intimidated by her because I'm big and she's small.

That thinking doesn't work.

At all.

Mystery girl scares the crap out of me.

…

We're on the top floor. There's no one else up here. Not even the rotation librarian.

I'm painfully aware of how alone we are. I can't stop fidgeting. I'm peeling the paint off the underside of the table, and praying it really is paint and not ten-year-old gum that has solidified under there.

She doesn't seem to notice. Either that or she's ignoring me. Either one is better than being annoyed by my nervous fidgeting.

"What other classes are you taking?" she asks. She's so good at this conversation stuff. I wonder if people come by that ability genetically, because if they do I must be missing a DNA strand.

"Umm… I have a couple of core classes. British Lit and Trig. And then I'm taking Surveying and the lab."

"I'm in that, too," she says. "I love that class. I've always been fascinated by watching the guys at my office set up the survey equipment. Now I'm learning how to do it, too."

I'm curious about her work and how she decided she wanted to be an engineer, but I don't think I should ask. We don't really know each other. Maybe I should ask my brother to make me a chart or something so I can know when it is an appropriate time to ask a girl different things about herself.

"So, what should we work on?" she asks. "The assignment that's due next week?"

I nod. "That sounds good. Unless you want to go over what you got wrong on the test."

"Actually that sounds like a better plan." She smiles at me, and I feel like I might be blushing. I hope not. I really don't need her seeing any more evidence of how awkward I am.

She begins to pull a book out of her bag when her phone lights up. It's on silent, but it's impossible to miss the fact someone is calling her. She picks it up and rolls her eyes when she looks at the screen. She motions to me that she'll be right back, and she answers the phone in a whisper. I watch her walk away from the table and into the aisles of books.

My heart drops into my stomach. What if it's her boyfriend? Do people usually roll their eyes when their special someone calls them? I never would. But then again, I would do more than roll my eyes if I ever had to talk to her boyfriend.

She comes back exactly two minutes and forty-two seconds later. I wasn't counting. Not at all. Okay, I was.

She's agitated and obviously frustrated. I want to hug her. Would that be appropriate? I don't know, but whatever has her upset I want to make it go away. She needs to be happy.

She's biting her lip like I've heard girls do when they're nervous. Why would she be nervous? I'm nervous, but I've never done anything like this before. I have no experience with the opposite sex. She does, though. She shouldn't be nervous.

"I, umm… I have to go. I'm really sorry, Carlisle. It's just my boyfriend. He needs my help with something. I'm sorry."

I'm momentarily distracted by the sound of her angelic voice saying my name. I want to drown in the way each syllable rolls off her perfect tongue.

Then I realize she's leaving, and I really think I might cry. I nod sadly and look down while she packs her stuff.

She gets up, and I'm sure she's about to just walk away. Instead I feel the warmth of her hand on my shoulder. She squeezes it lightly, and I look up to see her smiling down at me.

"I'm really sorry," she says again. And then she's gone. Just like that.

I don't know how long I sit there staring at the table.

Why did she keep apologizing for leaving?

Was it me?

Was I the real reason she left, and not because douchebag called her away?

I sigh and get up to leave. So much for my study date with mystery girl.

Have some faith in me, please? All fluff needs just a little bit of hurt.