by Piper Banks
1. Brilliant
2. Wanker
3. Goolies
I saw your mum the other day. She said you might come visit over the summer?
Henry
“Are you nervous about tomorrow?” Dad asked, as he passed a container of mu shu chicken to me.
I shrugged and shook my head. “No, not really.”
“What’s tomorrow?” Hannah asked.
“I have a math competition,” I said shortly.
I saw Hannah’s nose wrinkle. I already knew what she thought of academic teams.
“You should come with us, Hannah. Your mom and I are going to go root Miranda on,” Dad said jovially.
Peyton looked up sharply from her uneaten dinner. (Peyton never eats. Never. She just pushes her food around on the plate with her fork. I think this freakish ability to survive without nourishment is just one more sign that Peyton is a minion of Satan. Or at least one of the lesser demons.)
“I’m not going,” Peyton said.
Dad frowned at her. “Why not?”
“Because I have a million things to do tomorrow.” She began to tick off her schedule on her fingers. “I’m having a facial and pedicure in the morning. Then I’m meeting Jill Stansky for lunch. And then I have an appointment with my personal shopper at Saks. Afterwards we’re having dinner with the Wassersteins. I can’t possibly fit in anything else.” She shook her head decisively and tapped her talonlike fingernails on the table.
Frankly, I was glad she wasn’t planning to attend the competition. Even though I didn’t really care about whether or not we won, I still didn’t want the Demon there. She was like a walking, breathing bad-luck talisman.
“That’s okay,” I said and I turned to Hannah. “You don’t have to come, either. It’s not that big a deal.”
“Yes, it is,” my dad said. His voice was calm, but there was a hint of steel in it that hadn’t been there before. I glanced over at him and saw that he was glaring at Peyton. “It’s important to Miranda, and therefore it’s important to me. I want you to come, Peyton.”
Peyton narrowed her eyes and stared right back at my father. “I already told you, I can’t.”
“Dad, really. It’s okay,” I said.
Dad ignored me. “This is what being a family is,” he said. “We support one another.”
“Miranda just said she doesn’t care if I’m there or not,” Peyton said.
“But I said I do care,” Dad retorted.
Hannah and I exchanged nervous looks. Dad and Peyton had been getting into these little tiffs more and more often. I knew I shouldn’t care—after all, wouldn’t my life be improved if Dad and Peyton split up?—but instead, it just reminded me of how awful it was back before Dad and Sadie had gotten a divorce. They’d fought constantly, filling the house with a bristling hostility that made my stomach hurt. I didn’t want to live through that again.
“Dad,” I tried again. “It’s not a big deal. Let it go.”
Peyton raised her thin eyebrows and favored me with a cold smile. “Thank you, Miranda. That’s very adult of you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
My dad stood abruptly and picked up his plate.
“Sit down and finish your dinner, Richard,” Peyton instructed him.
Dad just glared at her. “I’ve lost my appetite,” he said. He bussed his plate to the sink, and then turned and strode out of the kitchen.
Hannah turned to look at me again. Her lovely blue eyes were round with shock. Peyton didn’t say a word, and, except for a slight thinning of her lips, she looked otherwise unfazed, and she went back to pushing her food around on her plate with a fork.
No one said a word for the rest of the meal.
Chapter 15
I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing that Geek High was hosting the first Mu Alpha Theta competition of the year. On the plus side, we didn’t have to travel for three bumpy hours on the school’s one bus, purchased secondhand and painted a blindingly bright white. On the other hand, it meant that our team knew most of the spectators sitting in the small auditorium. And while this might not sound like a negative, it was a problem when your team captain suffered from severe performance anxiety, which always became more acute in the presence of his father.
“I can’t go out there. I just can’t,” Sanjiv said. His skin had turned ashen, and his eyes looked large and rimmed with white behind his glasses. He swallowed convulsively, which caused his Adam’s apple to bob up and down in his long throat.
“You’ll do fine,” I said firmly.
“We’ve never been better prepared,” Leila chipped in.
The team was congregating in Mr. Gordon’s room for what was supposed to be Sanjiv’s pep talk. Instead, Sanjiv was slumped in a chair, his head between his knees, hyperventilating into a brown paper bag. The rest of us stood clustered around him, exchanging uneasy looks.
“Maybe we should ask his dad to leave,” I whispered to Leila.
“I tried that last year. Remember? He just shooed me away so he could set up his camera equipment,” Leila said.
“Camera equipment?” Kyle asked.
“My dad tapes all of the home meets. He wants me to send them to colleges with my applications,” Sanjiv said, sounding as though he might start throwing up at any moment.
“That sounds like a fool-proof plan for making sure you don’t get in anywhere,” Kyle muttered.
I elbowed him in the side. Hard.
“Ow!” Kyle exclaimed. He shot me a dirty look, but thankfully fell silent.
“Sanjiv, come on. It won’t be that bad. Think of it this way—win or lose, it’ll be over in an hour. One hour! You can stand anything for an hour,” I said.
“He couldn’t stand certain forms of torture for that long,” Nicholas said. “Like electrocution. Although I suppose that would depend on the amperage.”
“Have you ever heard of torture by goat’s tongue?” Kyle asked enthusiastically.
“No. What’s that?” Nicholas asked.
“It’s when they soak your feet in saltwater and then let a goat lick the salt off,” Kyle said.
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Leila said.
“Yeah? Well what if I told you that the goat doesn’t stop licking . . . even after it’s licked all your skin off,” Kyle said, grinning malevolently. “It just keeps on licking and licking and licking until it reaches the bone.”
“Ewwww,” Leila and I said in unison.
“Is that for real?” Nicholas asked, looking appalled.
“Look, this isn’t helping,” I said, rolling my eyes in Sanjiv’s direction. He was rocking in his chair and making soft moaning sounds.
“I don’t think he’s going to be up to giving us the pep talk,” Leila said, pointing out the obvious.
“So who’s going to pep us up?” Kyle asked.
“You do it, Miranda,” Leila said.
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because you’re the only one who’s not nervous,” Leila said.
“I’m not nervous,” Kyle said.
“Really?” Leila didn’t look as if she believed him. She shrugged. “Even so, I just don’t see you as the pep-talk type. You’re too negative.”
“Why don’t you do it?” I asked Leila.
She shook her head decisively. “I don’t feel very peppy. I feel like we’re about to go out there and get slaughtered by Austin Strong and the Chinese math prodigy.”
Austin Strong had bragged on his MySpace page that the St. Pius team now included a foreign exchange student from China who was a math whiz.
“How can you say that? We can take these guys. They’re no match for us. I’m going up against Austin, and I’ve never lost. And any one of us can beat the Chinese guy. Math prodigy or not, this is his first Mu Alpha Theta competition, right? I’m sure he’s more nervous than we are. Just stay focused, listen carefully to the questions, and only answer when you’re ready. That’s the key to winning. We don’t need some stupid pep talk
to tell us that.”
“Don’t look now, Miranda,” Leila said, somewhat smugly, “but you just gave your first pep talk.”
I looked at my other teammates: Kyle looked surly, as usual. Nicholas was gazing at me with awed wonder, as though I’d just invented fried cheese sticks. And Sanjiv had finally lifted his head and looked like he might be able to stand without losing his lunch.
Mr. Gordon poked his head in the room. “Okay, team, we’re on!” he said. He gave us a big thumbs-up.
The Mu Alpha Theta competitions work like this: Two teams of five members each sit at tables on either side of a podium. Each team member is given a number; the players in the number one spot sit closest to the moderator, the players in the number two spot sit next to the number one players, and so forth. The moderator stands at the podium, and once the competition has begun, poses a math question to two players at a time. The number one players face off against one another, and then the number two players, and so on. Once the moderator finishes asking the question, the player who hits his buzzer first gets to answer. If he answers correctly, his team wins a certain number of points. If a competitor answers incorrectly, his opponent has a full minute to come up with the answer. The first round of questions is the easiest, so a winning answer earns only five points. During the second round, correct answers win ten points. And during the third and most difficult round, the winning answer scores fifteen points. If the teams are tied at the end of the third round, a tiebreaker round is held to decide the winner. To discourage cheating, the only materials the players may have at the table are pencils and scratch paper.
Sanjiv had dedicated a truly ridiculous amount of time strategizing which Geek High player should be in each spot. Some teams put their strongest player in the number one spot to build confidence for the team. Others liked to have the strongest player go last, hoping to snatch up a last-minute victory. We’d had many more conversations than I would ever have wished to have had on the subject. Many, many, many more conversations.
In the end, Sanjiv decided that I should be paired against Austin Strong. And so, as our team filed into the auditorium, to the applause of the audience, I sat down in seat number four. Leila was number one, Kyle number two, Nicholas number three, and the still pale, still shaky Sanjiv was in the number five spot. I glanced at the St. Pius team sitting across from us. Austin was looking typically smug and self-satisfied. He had thin blond hair, skin so pink it looked like he suffered from a constant case of sunburn, and a shiny, high forehead. He caught my look and smirked back at me.
Ugh, I thought, rolling my eyes and turning away. What a jerk.
I looked out at the audience, seated in Geek High’s small auditorium on red velvet fold-down theater seats. Most of the audience members were parents, like Sanjiv’s dad, who was, as usual, armed with his camcorder. My dad was there, too—he grinned at me and gave me a thumbs-up—but Peyton was not. I saw Finn; he was sitting in the front row next to Tate Metcalf. I didn’t see Charlie, which was odd, since she always came to the home meets. And then suddenly, I saw a flash of red hair near the back of the auditorium. . . . And felt a thrill of horror.
Dex was here!
But before I could dwell on this truly horrifying reality—Dex was going to see me in full math-geek mode! No! No no no no no!—the moderator came on stage. He was a slight man with thick, shaggy dark hair and lips so thin, they looked nonexistent. He took his place behind the podium. The moderator tapped on the microphone to make sure it was working, causing a squawk of feedback that made everyone cringe.
“Good afternoon,” the moderator said. “Thank you for joining us today for this Mu Alpha Theta math competition. My name is Reggie Bauder, and I’m a professor of mathematics at the Orange Cove Community College. It’s my pleasure to be moderating the competition.”
There was a scattering of polite applause, which caused Sanjiv to go rigid in his seat. My heart was beating rapidly too, and I could feel my face flushing the hot red it always turns when I’m embarrassed. This had nothing to do with game nerves, though, and everything to do with Dex’s presence. While the moderator ran over the rules, I willed myself to not stare out at Dex, and tried to focus instead on taking deep, calming breaths. The only thing worse than Dex seeing me in full math-geek mode would be if I flubbed the competition in a fit of nerves and ended up looking like a loser math geek. It was a lose-lose situation.
“Is everyone ready?” Mr. Bauder asked, looking first at the St. Pius team and then over at us. He smiled reassuringly. “The first question, worth five points, is for the competitors in the number one spots. Why don’t you start off by telling us your names?”
“Leila Chang,” Leila said, leaning forward toward her microphone. Her voice sounded a bit higher than normal, and I noticed that she was rubbing her hands together nervously.
“Ashley Dubinay,” the St. Pius girl sitting opposite from Leila said. She had sallow skin, lank dark hair and a nose that twitched like a rabbit’s. Her hand was already hovering just above the buzzer, ready to pounce on it.
“Alright, Leila, Ashley.” Mr. Bauder nodded to each girl in turn. “Here’s your first question: The ratio of Peter’s age to Paul’s age is three to five. Paul is thirty years old. How many years old is Peter?”
Eighteen, I thought automatically.
Leila hit her buzzer first. “Eighteen years old,” she replied.
“That is correct,” Mr. Bauder said, favoring Leila with another smile. The crowd applauded politely. Ashley looked crushed.
“Question number two is for players in the number two chairs. Your names are?”
“Jan Pepper.”
“Kyle Carpenter.”
In a weird coincidence, Jan looked like she could be Kyle’s long-lost twin sister. She had the same squat build, the same low hairline, the same sour expression.
“Here’s the second question: In 2004, Leap Day occurred on a Sunday. On what day of the week will Leap Day fall on in the year 2020?” Professor Bauder asked.
Saturday, I thought. It was one of those questions that sounded harder than it really was. All you had to know is that Leap Day occurs every four years, or every 1,461 days. Which means that the day of the week Leap Day falls on advances five days for every four-year cycle. Easy peasy.
But Kyle and Jan both hesitated. Janice began scribbling on her scratch paper, and Kyle, shooting her a nervous look, followed suit. A moment later, Kyle hit his buzzer.
“Friday,” he said.
“No, I’m sorry, that is incorrect,” Professor Bauder said. “Miss Pepper, you have sixty seconds in which to come up with the correct answer.”
Professor Bauder clicked on a stopwatch to time her, but Jan had already finished her calculations.
“Saturday,” Jan said.
“That is correct. Going into question three, the teams are tied at five points apiece.”
Nicholas won his question against the third St. Pius female player—a thin black girl with hugely oversized glasses that gave her a bug-eyed look—and then it was my turn.
“I’m Austin Strong,” Austin said, when prompted to introduce himself. One of Austin’s more annoying traits is that he talks through his teeth with his jaw clamped shut.
“Miranda Bloom,” I said.
“Here’s your question: What’s the numerical value of pi to the fifteenth decimal point?”
How easy can you get? I thought. Austin and I both hit our buzzers. Happily, my light lit up first.
“3.141592653589793,” I said.
“That is correct,” Professor Bauder said.
Again, the audience applauded. I shot a look at Austin—he was fuming—and then dared a glance out at the crowd. My dad was pumping his arm in victory, and Finn cheered loudly. I couldn’t see Dex’s expression—he was still all the way in the back, his face in shadows—but I saw that he was clapping. Enthusiastically.
Unfortunately, Sanjiv didn’t fare so well with his question. He was facing a boy named Qin Gang, who I
assumed was the Chinese exchange student ringer Austin had been bragging about on his MySpace page. Sanjiv was so nervous, I could hear his teeth chattering. Qin Gang, on the other hand, seemed perfectly calm, his round face almost stony in its lack of emotion. He listened to Professor’s Bauder’s question and then hit his buzzer.
“Seventy-two,” he answered correctly, in heavily accented English.
I glanced over at Sanjiv, who had been wildly trying to write down the question, word for word, and had only just begun his calculations. Now, as Professor Bauder confirmed that Qin Gang was correct, Sanjiv made an odd, strangled sound in his throat.
“Don’t worry,” I whispered encouragingly. “We’re still ahead fifteen to ten.”
But Sanjiv just hung his head and started to breathe so shallowly, I was worried he was hyperventilating.
Things went downhill in the second round. I don’t know if it was Sanjiv’s nervousness spreading through the team, but I was the only one on the Geek High side to answer my question correctly. The good news was that this made Austin Strong look like he’d just eaten a turd. The bad news was that we were now behind, fifty to thirty.
There was a brief break in between the second and third rounds, and I used ours to try and pump everyone’s spirits back up.
“Look, we can still win this,” I said.
“No way,” Kyle said. “We’re sunk.”
“Maybe we should just concede now,” Leila concurred gloomily.
“Concede?” I repeated. “We’re not going to concede! We’re going to win this thing! All we have to do is answer four out of the next five questions correctly, and it’s in the bag.”
Kyle snorted at this, Leila sighed, and Nicholas looked wistfully at the exit, as though he were considering an escape. Only Sanjiv remained silent, his head bowed.
“I should have gotten that last one,” he muttered to himself. “I knew the answer, I really did. But I thought I’d better work it out on paper first to be sure.”
“You see? That’s just it! You knew the answer. . . .You just need more confidence in yourself,” I said bracingly.
