Revenge of the Geek Read online

  “Hi!” Dex said.

  Neither one of us spoke for a long moment, and then we both started talking at once.

  “How was practice?” I asked.

  “How was your first day of school?” Dex asked.

  We both stopped and laughed. Willow lifted her head at the sound of Dex’s voice, and her tail thumped a few times.

  “You first,” Dex said, smiling his crooked smile.

  “How was practice today?” I asked.

  In Orange Cove, school started in August. But at Dex’s new boarding school in Maine, classes didn’t begin until September. Dex had gone to school early with the rest of his new lacrosse team for summer training camp.

  “Coach put us through our paces today,” Dex said. “We ran wind sprints until Matt Heneberry puked.”

  “Ugh. Is that even legal? It sounds like torture,” I said.

  “It’s supposed to build character,” Dex said.

  “I have all the character I need, thanks,” I said. I’m allergic to exercise in general, and running in particular.

  “At least it’s a lot cooler up here. It would have been ten times worse in the heat. We’d all have been throwing up,” Dex said.

  “Remember that this winter when you’re snowed in,” I said.

  Dex laughed. “That’s true. There won’t be any surfing in the middle of January for me, that’s for sure.”

  “Have you been able to surf there?” I asked.

  Dex was an amazingly good surfer. He even parasailed, which was surfing while strapped to a parachute.

  Dex shook his head. “No, I didn’t even bring my board. We’re nowhere near the ocean.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said sympathetically.

  “Tell me about it. I really miss it,” Dex said. He hesitated, and although he was still smiling, I thought his eyes looked sad. “And I really miss you.”

  Warm zings shot through me. Dex had always had this effect on me.

  “I miss you, too,” I said softly.

  Dex looked over his shoulder, as though checking to make sure that he was really alone. His roommate, Jake, was also a lacrosse player. Dex seemed to like him well enough, but I didn’t get the sense that they were close. Dex leaned closer to his computer and, keeping his voice low, he said, “Can I tell you something?”

  “Of course. You can tell me anything. Well, almost anything. Just as long as it doesn’t have anything to do with vomit. Just hearing someone else talk about throwing up always makes me want to hurl,” I said. “I also don’t deal well with body piercings, especially in the nose.”

  “No, this isn’t vomit or piercing related,” Dex said.

  “Then shoot.”

  “I think coming here might have been a mistake,” he said.

  I couldn’t help the surge of hopefulness that bubbled up inside me. Maybe Dex would decide to leave boarding school and come back home to Orange Cove! But almost as soon as this thought popped into my mind, I tried to will it away. “I think it’s totally normal to go through an adjustment period. Give it time. I’m sure it will get better,” I said.

  “I guess,” Dex said, looking unconvinced.

  “I thought you said you liked the guys on your team.”

  “I do. They’re pretty cool for the most part.” Dex shrugged the subject away. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else. Tell me about your day. How was being back at school? Is the brainpower still running at warp speed?”

  I’d always been a little uncomfortable talking about the genius factor at Geek High with anyone who didn’t go there. Even Dex. It seemed braggy, as though I were waving my arms in the air and announcing, “Look at me! I’m a genius!” The truth was that next to some of my classmates, I felt completely ordinary.

  “Pretty much the same as always,” I said. Then, remembering Nora, I added, “Although there is a new girl in my class. I felt so bad for her. She seemed really shy and nervous, and Felicity Glen was being horrible to her.”

  “Yeah, it sucks to be the new kid in school,” Dex said.

  “No one’s being horrible to you, are they?” I asked. It was easy to see why Nora would have a tough time—she was so shy and awkward. Dex was just the opposite. He was so outgoing and funny and laid-back, it was impossible to imagine anyone not liking him.

  “Nah. It’s just harder when you don’t really know anyone. I’ve known most of my Orange Cove friends since kindergarten. We know each other’s families; know the same inside jokes. When you’re the new kid, it’s just completely different. You’re always playing catch-up,” Dex explained.

  I hated the thought of Dex feeling like an outsider, and wondered if Nora felt the same way.

  Probably, I thought. I should make more of an effort to befriend her. Even if she was, as Finn said, a bit odd.

  “How’s Bumblebee?” Dex asked. Bumblebee was his nickname for my car. “Have you gotten rid of the smell yet?”

  It was true. My car did smell. It was an unpleasant odor, a mixture of fast-food grease and body odor. It had been there when my dad first gave it to me a few weeks earlier, and I’d hoped that, over time, it would dissipate. But if anything, rather than going away, the stink just got stronger.

  “No. I sprayed down the interior with two bottles of Lysol, but it didn’t make a dent,” I said.

  “Lysol? That’s not going to cut it with a stink like that. You need some sort of industrial-strength smell cleanser,” Dex said. He laughed, and I was glad to see that his smile was now reaching his eyes.

  “Where would I find something like that?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. Is there a toxic-waste cleaning service in Orange Cove? Maybe they could help,” Dex suggested.

  After I got off Skype, I was feeling out of sorts. I missed Dex. And hearing that he was considering leaving school and returning home just made it that much worse. As much as I missed him and wanted him to come back, his scholarship to the Brown Academy really was too good of an opportunity for him to pass up.

  I shut my laptop and headed off to find Hannah. She was in her lilac-painted room, sitting behind a white lacquered desk, typing away on her laptop.

  “Hey. Are you busy?” I asked, hesitating at the door.

  Hannah looked up. “Not really. Do you know anything about computers?”

  “Just the basics. Why, is your laptop broken?” I asked, taking a seat on the edge of her white canopy bed.

  “No, it’s fine. I need to start a Web site,” Hannah said.

  “For what?”

  Hannah frowned at me. “What do you think?”

  I tried to think of what she was up to lately that would require a Web site, and came up blank.

  “Seriously, I have no idea,” I said. “Give me a hint.”

  “My new matchmaking business,” Hannah said.

  “Oh, right,” I said. I’d forgotten about Hannah’s new project. She’d decided to start a matchmaking service for Orange Cove High School students. It all started over the summer when she tried to help Charlie attract Finn’s attention. The fact that it didn’t work out, and that Finn continued to date his bubbleheaded girlfriend, Phoebe McLeod, hadn’t in any way diminished Hannah’s enthusiasm for this new project. She was convinced her destiny was to be a modern-day Cupid. Minus the diaper and bag of arrows.

  “Are you really at the Web site stage?” I asked.

  “This is a business. Marketing is everything,” Hannah said.

  “You’re going to charge people for setting them up?” I asked.

  “Of course! If I don’t, no one will take it seriously,” Hannah said.

  “So, what’re you going to do? Put your clients’ photos up on your Web site with a click here if you’re interested button?” I asked.

  “Please tell me you’re not serious,” Hannah said with a disdainful sniff.

  I shrugged one shoulder. “I have no idea how dating Web sites work. Enlighten me.”

  “First of all, it’s not a dating Web site. Those are for losers,” Ha
nnah said.

  “Very nice,” I said sarcastically.

  “We’re offering a professional matchmaking service that will give our clients individualized attention as we help them find the perfect, high-quality boyfriend or girlfriend,” Hannah said, looking pleased with herself. I had the feeling she’d practiced this spiel. Probably in front of a mirror.

  “High-quality?” I repeated. “You do know you’re talking about people and not handbags, right?”

  “That’s your problem, Miranda. You want to believe that we live in a world where looks and popularity don’t matter,” Hannah said.

  “I just think that there are qualities that should matter more. Like how nice a person is, or whether they have a good sense of humor,” I said.

  “Don’t worry, we’re definitely going to factor in personality,” Hannah assured me. “After all, lots of pretty girls fall for average-looking guys with great personalities. Think of all the ugly rock stars out there who end up with hot wives.” Her forehead furrowed. “It doesn’t really work the other way, though. Good-looking guys will always pick dull, pretty girls over funny, ugly ones. I should probably make a note of that.” Hannah picked up her pencil and jotted down a note in a pink patent leather notebook, muttering as she did so, “Hot guys with hot girls only. Hot girls may date down, but only if he’s got a great personality.” She underlined the word great three times.

  I rolled my eyes. “That is so shallow.”

  “Shallow, but true,” Hannah said, shutting the journal. “How’s Dex? I thought I heard you talking to him.”

  “Yeah, I was. He’s good,” I said. “I guess.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t think he’s very happy at school,” I said.

  “Really? Maybe if he hates it enough, he’ll come home,” Hannah suggested. “That would be cool.”

  “But I want him to do well. And I want him to be happy,” I said.

  Hannah waved an airy hand. “In that case, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’ll make friends and settle in, and then he’ll probably never want to come home.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  Hannah gave me an unusually sympathetic look. “That’s what normally happens, Miranda,” she said kindly. “Most high school couples break up when one or both of them goes off to college. They make new friends and only see their old high school friends on vacations. Dex going off to boarding school is basically the same thing.”

  “So you think he’s going to dump me,” I said as cold dread spread through my stomach.

  Hannah shrugged. “You never know. Maybe he’ll transfer back home before that happens.”

  “But he wanted to play lacrosse at Brown Academy. I think it would make him really unhappy if he doesn’t succeed there,” I said.

  “But you guys would keep dating,” Hannah pointed out.

  “So those are my two options? Getting dumped or staying together, but with Dex feeling like a failure?”

  “Basically,” Hannah said.

  I slumped back on her bed, feeling utterly dejected. Hannah definitely knew what she was talking about when it came to relationships.

  “Look on the bright side,” Hannah said.

  “There’s a bright side?”

  “Absolutely. If you and Dex do break up, I’ll take you on as a client and find a really nice guy to set you up with,” Hannah said brightly.

  “Lucky me,” I said grumpily.

  “I know, right?” Hannah agreed.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, I looked for Nora before lit class, but she arrived just as the bell was ringing, and sat across the room from me. Then, after class was over, she disappeared while I was packing up my laptop. I did notice that Nora had traded her Doc Martens for a pair of flip-flops, the preferred footwear for most Geek High students.

  She’s making an effort to fit in, I thought.

  After lit class, I didn’t see Nora for the rest of the day, not even at lunch. This was unusual for Geek High. It was such a small school, you were constantly running into everyone in the hallways or at lunch.

  But thoughts of Nora were quickly swept away by my increasing nervousness over my first meeting with the staff of The Ampersand. It was scheduled for that afternoon after school. I really wanted to impress the editor in chief, Candace Ruckman. Candace was a senior, and I’d always found her incredibly intimidating. She had blue-black hair that she wore long with straight bangs, had piercing blue eyes, and was coolly self-possessed.

  It felt like butterflies were dive-bombing one another in my stomach as I made my way to The Ampersand office after the final bell rang. I must have been walking extra slowly, because by the time I got there, there were already a dozen staffers milling around. Some were just sitting and chatting together at the two rows of tables set up in the middle of the office, while others were buzzing around busily, making copies or paging through back copies of The Ampersand.

  I took a seat and looked for Candace. She was sitting at a long table set up in the front of the room, looking unflappable. One of the staff writers, Jimmy Torres, was talking to her animatedly, gesticulating with his hands as he made a point. Candace nodded serenely and murmured something in reply, and Jimmy turned and bounded away, a big smile on his face.

  Candace stood and gazed out at us with a pleasant smile. She was wearing a crisply ironed, blue button-down oxford tucked into cuffed khaki shorts. Her lips were the perfect shade of raspberry pink. I wondered whether this was natural, or if she was wearing lipstick. If Hannah were here, she’d know, I thought.

  “Can everyone please take a seat? Then we’ll get started,” Candace said. Even though she barely raised her voice—which was low and husky—she instantly commanded everyone’s attention. Candace waited for a moment while people took their seats at the long tables, and then smiled again. “Welcome to our first Ampersand staff meeting. I’m really excited about the upcoming year. Our theme this year will be”—Candace paused, allowing suspense to build—“the modern student.” She smiled, allowing this announcement to sink in.

  Candace continued. “We want to present our readers with a look at what it’s like to be a high school student today. The challenges we face; the issues that excite us. In our first issue, we’re going to focus on problems facing students. And I hope you’re all excited to get to work, because I’m about to hand out your first assignments.” Candace picked up a lined legal pad off the table.

  I looked up quickly. She’d already made story assignments? I hadn’t yet had a chance to tell Candace I’d like to be considered for the short story. Was I already too late?

  “Many of you have already talked to me about what you’d like to write about, so I tried to take those preferences into account when I made the assignments,” Candace continued.

  Gah! I thought, suddenly seized with panic. People were already lobbying for the plum assignments? How did I not know that was happening?

  “The cover story this month is going to be an in-depth look at SAT preparatory programs. Are they worth the money? Is one program vastly preferable to another? Are the program administrators making irresponsible promises to students who take their courses about what they can expect in test performance? Because of the size and scope of this article, I’m going to assign two writers to it: Peter Rossi and Coleen Duchene,” Candace said.

  There was a smattering of applause. I glanced at Peter and Coleen, who were sitting at a table together, looking flushed and pleased. They’re both seniors, so it makes sense that they get the highest-profile assignment, I thought. The new staff members—which included, besides me, Tabitha Stone, Padma Paswan, Nate Fox, Vida Diaz, and Marc Holland—would probably be given less-important pieces to cut our teeth on.

  Candace cleared her throat. “Our second feature is going to look at the extraordinary steps some parents are taking to get their kids into college, such as hiring consultants to help them with their applications.”

 
; There was a murmuring of interest in the room. It sounded like a juicy piece. “I’ve decided to assign two of our new staff writers—Marc Holland and Padma Paswan—to write it. I have confidence they’ll do a great job,” Candace continued.

  Padma let out a gasp of excitement, and Marc grinned as Nate Fox thumped him on the back. I smiled my congratulations at Padma. I was incredibly envious that she and Marc had gotten such a great assignment, but I was glad to know that Candace wasn’t reserving all of the best assignments for seniors. Maybe I’d get a good piece, too.

  But as Candace continued down her list, giving a short description of each article and then assigning a writer to it, she didn’t mention my name once. I still had a small bubble of hope that maybe, just maybe, I’d be assigned the fiction piece. I hadn’t asked for it specifically, but the year before I had been a finalist for the prestigious Winston Creative Writing Contest. Candace knew this; in fact, it was why I’d been invited to join the staff of The Ampersand.

  “And, finally, I’m pleased to announce that this issue’s short fiction piece will be assigned to”—Candace paused for suspense.

  Say my name; say my name, I begged silently. I could feel my heartbeat rising steadily, and I crossed my fingers in my lap.

  “Tabitha Stone,” Candace said.

  My heart stopped its rapid thumping, and instead felt like it was now plummeting into my stomach. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I hadn’t gotten the fiction piece, it had gone to Tabitha, of all people. Why her? Why not me? Jealousy snaked through me, even as I applauded politely along with the rest of the staff.

  Tabitha inclined her head gracefully, as though she had just been named Queen of the World and we were her groveling subjects. “Thank you for the opportunity. I shall endeavor to do my best,” she said, sounding as pompous and condescending as ever. It took all my self-control not to roll my eyes.