Mr. Popular And His Nerdy Sister novel Chapter 9

"Conner?" I squeak as he stares down at me. "Can we talk?"

Without saying a word, he steps aside allowing me to enter into his room. I've never seen his room. Although we haven't really been on speaking terms lately, so it makes sense. His room is painted a light grey with lots of soccer posters hanging up. His room is much larger than mine, but I don't mind considering my room is big enough.

I take a seat in his desk chair as he sits on his bed facing me. I rub my face before I speak.

"Conner, I'm sorry," I whisper barely loud enough for him to hear. "I shouldn't have gone out with Jackson. I caused this whole ordeal and I feel bad." I stare at my hands not wanting to make eye contact. "From what I've heard, soccer is important to you, and," I'm suddenly cut off my Conner speaking.

"Stop, Marley." He stands up and paces the room while rubbing his hands through his hair, a gesture I notice he does when he's nervous. "You're not at fault here," he pauses, "I am. I've been a complete jerk to you. When my 'friends'," he uses his hands to put quotations around friends, "have been rude to you, I've done nothing. Absolutely nothing. And the Jackson thing, yeah, I'm mad about that, but that's a whole different matter." He pauses sitting on his bed once more. "I'm really sorry, Mar. Can we start over? Please?"

I ponder his words. He seems genuine this time. "Will you stop treating me like some disease that if you even dare look at you'll somehow be infected?"

"Yes, Mar. You're my family. Not some disease. And don't mind my friends. They're just fake friends."

"Fake friends?" I question. I guess it makes sense considering he's really popular at school.

"Yeah, that's a whole other matter as well," he sighs. "Forgive me?"

Instead of verbally answering him, I loop my arms around him and squeeze him in a tight hug. I really hope this is the start of mending our relationship.

Releasing him from the hug, I ask, "So, what are we going to do about this video?"

"You're not going to do anything because it's not your fault, but I'm," he pauses to think. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do."

"Let me help you, Con. It's much more of my fault than it is yours. If I hadn't gone out with Jackson this wouldn't have happened, got it? I'm going to help you."

"Right, we'll have to talk about that later. But, fine. You can help."

For the next fifteen minutes, Conner and I devised a plan in order to decrease the problem. He was reluctant of my plan at first, but he finally agreed.

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