Geek Abroad

by Piper Banks

“Anyway,” Charlie said, leaning back in her seat. “Mitch also told me that he’d always fantasized about dating a redhead.”

  Unfortunately, this just reminded me yet again of Dex, who had red hair with copper highlights that shimmered when he was standing out in the sun. I remembered how he’d looked when I saw him a few months ago on the beach, dressed in the wet suit he wore while parasurfing, looking so beautiful. . . .

  Go away, I told the vision, and tried to think of something else. London. Henry. Yes. Think of Henry, the guy who likes me enough to actually e-mail me.

  “But you’re not a redhead,” I said. Charlie’s burgundy-colored hair had come straight from the bottle. In fact, she’d been coloring her hair for so long, I no longer remembered what her original color was. “What color is your hair? Really, I mean. Aren’t you a blond naturally?”

  Charlie scowled at me. “That’s not the point, Miranda,” she said huffily. “The point is, I’m Mitch’s fantasy girl.” Cue the annoying dreamy look again. “Isn’t that just amazing? I never thought I’d ever be someone’s fantasy girl.”

  As irritating as this new lovestruck Charlie was, I knew what she meant. She and I had both gone through life as brains, the sort of oddballs who didn’t fit in with normal kids. We were used to it, used to being seen as geeks. I was the math geek; Charlie was the art geek. It was an image that was hard to shake. So the idea of being seen as something other than as a geek girl—as the pretty girl, the fantasy girl—that was heady stuff.

  “I was thinking of dyeing it more of a true red,” Charlie continued. “You know, like a natural redhead red.”

  “What . . . you mean, because Mitch wants you to?” I asked.

  “No! I mean, he didn’t ask me to. But if he really likes redheads, maybe I should become a redhead,” Charlie said, her voice getting a defensive edge to it.

  “Wow,” I said flatly.

  “What?”

  “I just never thought you were the type to change your appearance for a guy,” I said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I dye my hair all the time,” Charlie said, and now she was starting to sound angry.

  I stared at her. She may color her hair all the time, but when she did, she dyed it pink or purple or green. She never colored it a shade that occurs in nature.

  But still. I didn’t want to argue with Charlie. It was bad enough that she and Finn were fighting. So I just shrugged and said, “I guess.” I tried to steer the conversation to safer ground, like the U.S. policy on the Mideast, or whether people who didn’t recycle their newspapers should face criminal sanctions.

  Chapter 12

  After my last class of the day—Art of the Renaissance—I walked down to Mr. Gordon’s room, where all of our Mu Alpha Theta practices were held.

  The Geek High Mu Alpha Theta team participated in math competitions all around the state. Our school’s team would compete against another school’s team, each player taking a turn to answer a series of increasingly complex math problems. I’d been on the Geek High MATh team for three straight years, and in that time we’d never lost a competition. . . . However, we’d also never won a state championship.

  The problem was that you had to have a team of five to compete, so if you were even one team member short, you had to forfeit the competition. Whenever Geek High had fielded a team of five, we won. But for the past three years, circumstances had conspired against the Geek High team to keep us out of the state finals.

  Three years ago, Duncan Murray, team captain at the time, had to have an emergency appendectomy the night before the championship. Two years ago, Grace Dillonhoffer had her wisdom teeth out. She’d actually had the extraction scheduled for two weeks before finals, assuming she’d recover in time, but there was some sort of complication that resulted in her jaw clamping shut so she couldn’t speak and had to drink milkshakes out of a straw. Then last year Barry Sonnegard had an interview at MIT that conflicted with state finals, and he couldn’t reschedule.

  This history was weighing heavily on my teammates. . . . Although not on me. I didn’t care if we made state finals or not. In fact, I didn’t care if we won any of our competitions. I hadn’t wanted to be on the MATh team in the first place, and now I was just biding my time until the season was over.

  I was the first one to arrive at Mr. Gordon’s room for practice. Only Mr. Gordon himself was there, wiping the dry-erase board clean with a paper towel. Mr. Gordon was our MATh coach, and, along with his wife—my Mod Lit teacher, Mrs. Gordon—he was one of my favorite teachers at Geek High. Mr. Gordon was very tall and very thin, and his head was bald on top with a Friar Tuck fringe around his ears. He was, as usual, wearing his round tortoiseshell glasses, and one of his many argyle sweater vests.

  “Hi, Mr. Gordon,” I said. I plunked my book bag down on a desk, and sat.

  Mr. Gordon turned and smiled when he saw me. “Hello, Miranda. Ready to get cracking on some algebra problems?”

  “Sure,” I said without enthusiasm. Algebra—that meant it would be an easy day. I could solve algebraic equations in my sleep. Which wasn’t a good thing. If I was going to be stuck solving math problems all afternoon, what I really needed were the sort of complicated equations that would take my mind off of Dex, and the fight Charlie and Finn were having.

  Sanjiv came in then, accompanied by Kyle Carpenter, who was shaped like a block and had such a low hairline that he looked like Teen Wolf. Leila Chang—who had a round, pretty face and who wore funky cat’s-eye glasses—came in a moment later, and just behind her was Nicholas Pruitt, the fading remains of his chicken pox scars still visible on his thin, pale face. Nicholas looked at me, grinned, blushed, looked down at his feet, and then hopefully back up at me.

  Uh-oh, I thought.

  With everything that had happened since the Snowflake, I hadn’t thought about Nicholas in weeks, or about our cancelled Snowflake date, or about his unrequited crush on me, except to hope that the time apart would cause his feelings for me to fade.

  Clearly, that hadn’t happened.

  “Hi, Miranda,” Nicholas said, still blushing furiously. He hurried over and quickly sat down at the desk next to mine, before Leila could drop her bag there, as she’d just been about to do.

  Leila stopped, bag still in hand, and looked confusedly down at the suddenly occupied desk.

  “O-kay,” Leila said, sounding amused. She looked from Nicholas to me and smiled. “I guess I’ll just sit here.” She plopped down in the desk behind Nicholas’s.

  “How was your trip, Miranda?” Nicholas asked eagerly. He was sitting on the edge of his chair, and his entire body was leaning toward me.

  “Um, it was fine, thanks,” I said, feeling a bit disconcerted.

  “I got you something,” Nicholas said. He dug into his knapsack and pulled out a small package wrapped in Christmas paper. He handed it to me. “It’s a belated Christmas gift.”

  “You got me a Christmas present?” I asked faintly, the heat rising on my cheeks. Although I didn’t dare look back at her, I could almost feel Leila’s eyes on us. I really hoped she didn’t think there was anything going on between Nicholas and me, and I made a mental note to set her straight after the practice ended.

  I stared down at the red-wrapped present. I didn’t want to accept it. In fact, what I wanted to do was to thrust the package back in Nicholas’s hands and tell him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t have any romantic interest in him whatsoever. But that seemed mean, and I didn’t want to be unkind. Nicholas didn’t deserve that.

  “Yes! Unless . . . wait. Are you Jewish? Because if so, then it’s a Hanukkah gift,” Nicholas said quickly. His forehead wrinkled with concern that he had offended me.

  “I celebrate Christmas,” I said. I drew in a deep breath before I continued. “But, Nicholas . . . I can’t accept this.”

  Nicholas’s face fell, as I handed him back the present. “Why not?” he asked.

  “B-because . . .” I began, stammering, and then stopped.
I could still feel the weight of Leila’s curious gaze on us, as well as the added pressure of Nicholas’s disappointment.

  Gah. I should have seen this coming, and wished desperately that I’d thought through what I should say to him. It would be mean to tell Nicholas the truth: that I would never be able to return the feelings he had for me. So instead I tried to think up a convincing lie, one that would spare his feelings while making it perfectly clear that I wasn’t ever going to be his girlfriend.

  There was only one solution I could think of—I’d have to tell him I had a boyfriend. The only problem was that it was a bald-faced lie. I didn’t have a boyfriend. Nor was there any chance I’d get one any time soon. And if I told him I was dating someone, and it became really obvious I wasn’t, well, that would hurt Nicholas’s feelings, too. . . . Maybe even more so than if I told him straight out that I didn’t like him.

  Unless . . . unless there was a reason why my fictitious boyfriend was never around. Inspiration struck as I suddenly remembered Henry’s laughing blue eyes and his cheeks flushed pink from the cold.

  “Because I have a boyfriend. I, um, started seeing someone while I was in London,” I said quickly.

  Yes, it was a lie. But it wasn’t a total lie. I mean, Henry did exist. And there had been something between us. Sure, we weren’t technically going out . . . but so what? It’s not like Nicholas would ever find that out.

  Although Nicholas’s disappointment was still evident, he straightened up a bit in his chair.

  “You did?” he asked. “Who?”

  “His name is Henry. He’s the son of my mom’s UK editor,” I said.

  “Oh,” Nicholas said. “Oh, well . . . I understand.”

  He was still absorbing this news, but at least he seemed to be taking it pretty well. I thought it must be easier to be rejected in favor of someone, rather than rejected just because you’re you. . . . But then I thought of Laughing Girl, and wasn’t so sure.

  “You have a boyfriend in London, Miranda?” Leila asked, confirming my suspicion that she was eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “Um . . . yeah,” I said.

  Leila frowned. “So, what? You’re going to date him long-distance?”

  “Mm-hmm,” I said, nodding. I realized I was going to have to invent some details to make this more believable. I decided to keep my lie as truthful as possible. “He’s going to try to come visit me here. And I might spend the summer in London.”

  “Wow,” Leila said. “So what happened to that guy you were at the Snowflake with?”

  Argh. Why couldn’t Leila mind her own business? I didn’t want to talk about Dex right now! Especially not with Nicholas hanging on every word.

  “You went to the Snowflake with someone else?” Nicholas asked, looking hurt.

  “No, not really. After you canceled, my stepsister arranged for one of her friends to meet me there,” I explained.

  “Really? I thought you and that guy seemed really close. Really, really close.” Leila smirked. “And I could have sworn you were going out with him. Finn said something about . . .”

  I had to stop this before she went any further. My face was already flaming red.

  “Look, Leila,” I said, turning in my seat to look at her. “I really don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

  I’d spoken more sharply than I meant to. Leila raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Okay, okay,” she said coolly. “Didn’t meant to pry.”

  “Shall we get started?” Mr. Gordon asked, from the front of the classroom. “Sanjiv, why don’t you take over?”

  “Thanks, Mr. Gordon.” Sanjiv, our team captain, was sitting in the front row, and he now turned so that he was facing us. When he swallowed, his very prominent Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “As you all know, our first competition of the year is coming up next weekend against St. Pius. And you know what that means: Austin Strong.”

  I didn’t bother to stifle my sigh of irritation. Austin Strong, the headliner of the St. Pius Mu Alpha Theta team, was nearly as good at math as I was. Nearly . . . but not quite. He hadn’t beaten me yet. Yes, St. Pius had won the state finals for the past three years in a row. . . . But that was only because they had yet to face the Geek High team in a state final championship. We’d beaten them at every single one of the regular-season competitions.

  “Don’t worry about St. Pius,” I said. “They’ve never beaten us before. There’s no reason to think they will now.”

  “I don’t want to get overconfident,” Sanjiv cautioned. “I think we should fit in extra practice sessions. I drew up a new study schedule.” He brandished a stack of papers and handed them to Kyle. “Take one and pass it back.”

  Kyle passed out the schedules. When I got mine, I stared down at it in disbelief.

  “Sanjiv! This is ridiculous. We can’t practice every afternoon,” I exclaimed.

  “He’s got practice scheduled on Saturdays, too,” Leila said. She looked up, her eyes narrowed behind her cat’s-eye glasses. “Come on, Sanjiv. This is total overkill.”

  “I gave you Sundays off,” Sanjiv pointed out.

  “How reasonable of you,” I muttered.

  “When are we supposed to do our homework?” Kyle asked, sounding as disgruntled as I felt. “I have a quiz in history next week, and a paper due in English, and I already have a pile of chem homework.”

  Sanjiv held up his hands, palms facing out, as though to ward us off. “Look, I know it’s a lot of time. But winning takes commitment and sacrifice. If we want to be champions, we have to earn it. This is just as important as schoolwork. The Geek High MATh team hasn’t won the state championship for the past three years.”

  “Yeah, well school is important, too,” Kyle said flatly.

  “I agree. I’m applying to colleges in the fall. I can’t afford to let my GPA slip now,” Leila said.

  “Maybe we could come up with a compromise,” I suggested. “Like dropping the five-hour practice you have scheduled for Saturday. And rather than practicing every day after school, we’ll practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  Sanjiv looked stunned. “But that’s a cut of . . . of . . .” He trailed off, trying to calculate the percentage in his head.

  “Eighty percent,” I said.

  “Showoff,” Kyle muttered.

  “We can’t afford an eighty-percent cut in our practice hours,” Sanjiv argued.

  “Look at it this way,” Leila said. “It’s either cut back the practices . . . or lose the team altogether.”

  “How do you figure that?” Sanjiv asked.

  “Because I’ll have to quit,” Leila said. “I’ve got SAT’s coming up. And college visits.” She waved Sanjiv’s schedule. “I can’t devote this sort of time to Mu Alpha Theta.”

  “Same here,” Kyle said.

  “Seriously, Sanjiv, it’s too much,” I agreed.

  We all looked at Nicholas. He shrugged. “I don’t mind,” he said. “I don’t have anything better to do.”

  “That’s three to two,” Kyle said. “We win.”

  “Okay,” Sanjiv said, defeated. “So we’ll drop Saturdays.”

  “And only two practices after school,” Leila countered.

  “Four,” Sanjiv offered.

  I sighed. “Let’s settle on three. Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.”

  Everyone nodded, although Kyle did so reluctantly. I doubted he’d drop the team, though. He didn’t have many extracurriculars; a MATh state championship trophy could make or break his college applications.

  “Okay,” I said. “That’s decided. Let’s get started on the practice drills for today, or else we’ll never get out of here.”

  Sanjiv looked wounded—he was very sensitive about any perceived threats to his leadership of the team—but the others murmured their assent.

  “Good,” I said, before Sanjiv could protest. “Mr. Gordon, what did you say we were working on today? Algebraic equations?”

  “That’s right,” Mr. Gordon said. “Who’s ready
for the first question?”

  Chapter 13

  After I finished up my latest e-mail to Henry—the subject of which was the Top Three Favorite Movies (Henry’s were Spider-man 2 and the first and third of the Lord of the Rings trilogy; mine were Say Anything, Sixteen Candles, and Pretty in Pink)—I curled were Say Anything, Sixteen Candles, and Pretty in Pink)—I curled up on the low platform bed with Tender Is the Night. I’d liked the book at first, but it had fizzled out in the middle and was now limping to its conclusion. It was taking all of my willpower to keep reading on instead of just skimming through the last few chapters. I sighed and rubbed my eyes to stay awake, deciding that if I got through one more chapter, I’d reward myself by carving out an hour to work on my latest short story. Suddenly, the door swung open with a bang, and Hannah wandered in.

  “Hey,” Hannah said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “What are you doing?”

  I looked up from my book. “I’m teaching myself how to move objects with my mind.”

  Hannah wrinkled her lovely nose. “Really?” she asked.

  “No, not really. I’m reading a book,” I said, waving the paperback at her.

  “Is it any good?” Hannah asked.

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s about this guy who marries a woman who’s mentally ill.”

  “Oh,” Hannah said, quickly losing interest, as she did whenever the topic of academics came up. “What are you wearing tonight?”

  Now it was my turn to be confused. “What? Where?”

  Hannah rolled her eyes heavenward. “My party. Did you forget?”

  I hadn’t forgotten. Even if I’d wanted to—which I did, sort of— it would have been impossible. For the past two weeks, Hannah and Peyton had talked of little else. As far as they were concerned, Hannah’s sweet-sixteen birthday bash would be the social event of the year among the Orange Cove teen set. Peyton had hammered out most of the details while Hannah was visiting her dad and stepmom in Manhattan.

  “You are coming, aren’t you?” Hannah persisted.

  I nodded without enthusiasm. Hannah’s friends were all selfish, materialistic airheads. I wasn’t exactly thrilled at having to spend an evening with them.