The Queen Geek Social Club

by Laura Preble

  Amber throws her legs over one arm of her chair and leans her head over the other. “Dance? Why do we want to get involved in a dance? It’s just a bunch of hormones in nice clothes sweating to lame DJ hip-hop tracks.”

  “And this is why we get involved.” Becca glances around as if she expects a squad of cheerleader spies to be hiding in the potted plants. “So we can take something routine, like a dance, and show everybody what it could be, with the proper involvement.”

  “Remember, Becca’s goal is world domination,” I say dryly.

  Elisa fishes her ever-present PDA from her jeans pocket. “Right. World domination. Do we have a date set for that yet? And when’s the dance?”

  “The dance is May ninth. The theme is Caribbean Madness.”

  Amber sits upright. “What does that mean?”

  “Everybody dresses up like pirates?” Elisa suggests. “You know, Johnny Depp, Pirates of . . .”

  “Yeah, if Johnny Depp actually showed up, that might make it worth it,” Becca says. “But no, I think what they have in mind is more like the Tiki Room at Disneyland. But we can change all that.”

  “Do you think the cheerleaders and student government drones are going to let you go in there and screw with their social event of the season?” Elisa snorts. “Fat chance. The ASB kids are there solely to exclude the likes of us.”

  “That’s what I said,” I croak, secretly wishing for bubbly beverages and hoping that by pretending to be in this discussion, my stomach will forget about me. “Becca thinks we can make them think it’s their idea.”

  “Think what’s their idea?” Amber asks, exasperated. “What exactly are we talking about?”

  Becca puts two fingers to her lips and blows, creating a high-pitched whistle that threatens to shatter the humming-bird /dragonfly glass overhead. “Hang on! If we start fighting among ourselves, we might as well just give up right now!”

  “Okay,” Amber mutters. I can’t tell if she means Okay, we’ll stop fighting or Okay, let’s give up. I’m not real sure how I feel about it either, to be honest.

  Elisa is scribbling furiously on her Palm Pilot, taking notes of our entire conversation. “So, what you’re asking for is ideas that might fit into the theme of Caribbean Chaos—”

  “Madness,” Becca corrects her.

  “Madness. Ideas that we could contribute to make it more . . . geekish?”

  “Exactly.” Becca perches on the edge of her armchair, eyes shining, and says, “So? Give me some ideas!”

  “What about pirates?” Amber sits up, more into the challenge. “Make it about the pirates of the Caribbean.”

  “Is that geekworthy?” Elisa says, shaking her head. “I mean, doesn’t everybody like Johnny Depp? Not just us. Johnny Depp’s hotness is no respecter of race, creed, or geek factor.”

  “We already did the science fiction thing,” I offer. “So I think we should steer clear of that.”

  “Okay, that’s a non-idea then,” Becca says, kind of snippy. “How ’bout something we can actually do?”

  “Wait, wait . . .” Elisa sits back in her chair, eyes closed, as if she’s waiting for a lightning bolt from above to crack her skull and give her a good idea. “I’ve got it. What’s geekier than hula skirts and coconut bras?”

  “If you want to volunteer to actually wear a coconut bra, go for it,” Amber says, throwing her hands up in disgust. “I, for one, will not be subjecting anyone to my nonexistent boobs encased in the shells of any fruit.”

  “Is a coconut a fruit or a nut?” Elisa asks.

  “Who cares? It still makes a lousy bra.” Amber jumps up and starts pacing between the ferns. “I don’t know. Let’s think about it for a while. Maybe between now and Monday somebody will get a brainstorm.”

  Becca shrugs. “Okay. Well, the second thing we need to talk about is Friday. The video is airing on Panther TV during third period. We need to be ready to handle questions.”

  “We?” Amber asks. “Why would we need to handle questions?”

  “As members of the club,” Becca says. “If anyone asks about what it is after they see the spot.” Amber looks uncomfortable with this concept; I’m guessing she’s never been a member of anything before, and the idea of evangelizing for the geek cause doesn’t appeal to her. To be honest, I’m not sure it appeals to me either. I hate this, but now I wonder: What will Anders think of me being in the club? And then I immediately feel the need to punish myself for feeling that way, because no self-respecting Queen Geek would let a guy shape what she does! It’s all too confusing, generally. Maybe I should just take up knitting.

  Elisa stands and tucks her PDA back into her pocket. “Okay, so our order of business is to think about ways to hijack the dance with some crazy pirate scheme, and then to make the ASB think they came up with the idea, and then to convince other people that we’re not dangerously psychotic so they’ll want to join our club. Do I have that right?”

  “Well, when you say it like that it sounds so weird,” Becca mutters, deflated. “If you guys aren’t into this, then say so. I can’t do it by myself.”

  Are we into it? It’s a good question. The rest of us just sort of sit there for a minute, looking down at the floor. I’m afraid to look at Becca, because I know she’s going to be looking at me to see if I’m standing with her. After what she did for me at my house, with my dad and that dumb Ms. Clarke, how can I do anything but stand up for her? I raise my head, look her in the eye, and say, “I’m with you.”

  Her face lights up, and I feel great again.

  Elisa and Amber look up too, and both of them smile a little less enthusiastically. “I’m into it,” Elisa says, a bit subdued. “I just want to be sure we’re not going to look stupid.”

  “So what if we do?” Becca says. “There are worse things than looking stupid. Sleeping through life is one of them.”

  Amber laughs softly to herself, then extends a hand to Becca. “Right you are, Queen Geek. Let’s do it. Regardless.”

  “All right!” Becca squeals. “Let’s go. I want to show you guys my room. And then we have to talk more about Anders. But it’s more fun to talk about it with a surround-sound stereo and a fridge full of Oreos. So come on.”

  “You have your own fridge?” Elisa squeaks as she follows Becca.

  I take the opportunity as we walk to flip out my phone and quick-key my dad. I don’t figure he’ll answer; after all, he’s probably having dessert with his sweetie. Yuck.

  Much to my surprise, he does pick up his phone on the third ring. “Shelby?” He sounds worried. Good. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course. Are you all right?”

  “Where are you? I’ve been worried.” I hear the faint clang of dishes being scrubbed in the sink, but nothing else. Maybe the date went badly. I can only hope.

  “I’m at Becca’s house. It’s not far away at all, really. I think I’ll—”

  “I can’t believe you just left my house without permission.” His voice sounds kind of dadlike, but not in the good way. More like those belt-cracking Beaver Cleaver dads who call you “young lady” and stuff like that. Not like my dad at all. Guess that comes of dating.

  “I didn’t realize I had to ask permission. Is it okay if I breathe your air when I’m over at your house?”

  “Kristin wanted to get to know you!” He takes a breath, and says quietly, “And I was worried about you.”

  “Well, did it occur to you that maybe I don’t want to get to know her?” I angrily watch Amber’s sandaled feet in front of me as we trudge through hallways and up a richly carpeted stairway. “Listen, I didn’t call to fight with you. I just wanted to tell you where I am. I’m at Becca’s. I’m staying over, and her mom is taking us to school tomorrow. So don’t worry.”

  There is silence. I hear his breathing, which sounds angry, or sad, or both. “Okay. Sorry, honey. I love you.” He hangs up before he can hear my reply, which I hadn’t decided on anyway. Just as well.

  Becca’s room is giga
ntic and gorgeous. It’s all done in sage green and ivory with muted gold trim, and she has a huge, beautiful bed, an entertainment system, two luxurious armchairs, and a soft Chinese rug so thick that you sink into it up to your ankles. She also has a computer station with the latest hardware, and her own bathroom that matches the bedroom.

  “Wow. Can your parents adopt me?” Elisa asks, taking in every detail.

  “I doubt it. They just got divorced.” Becca answers as she sits cross-legged on the bed. “But you can come over whenever you want. Now, let’s get to talking about more personal matters.”

  “Like Anders.” Elisa practically salivates as she says his name.

  “I thought boys weren’t supposed to be our focus.” I curl up in one of the velvet armchairs.

  “Our prime focus, no,” Becca lies down and rubs her foot against the soft comforter that probably cost more than my whole bedroom. “However, let’s not pretend that boys aren’t of some use. I mean, they do serve a purpose.”

  “And what would that be?” Amber asks as she folds herself into a lotus position on the rug.

  “If I need to tell you, then you couldn’t possibly understand.” Becca turns to me again, and I can tell by the look in her eye that she plans to put me on the spot. “Okay. So, let’s discuss Friday night.”

  “What’s happening Friday night?” Elisa asks.

  “We are going on a double date. Me and Tim, Shelby and Anders. To a movie.”

  “Oh, don’t tell me,” Amber groans. “Star Wars?”

  “How did you know?” I ask. If she went out with Anders too, I think I will truly be sick. Not that there’s anything wrong with Amber, but if he’s just shopping for girls who are unusual (all right, weird) and he liked Amber, then that makes me extra weird, because she wasn’t weird enough. And if he thinks I’m that weird, then he will be disappointed, because I’m strange, but not exactly weird. “Did you go out with him?”

  “God, no.” Amber makes a gagging sound. “I hate foreign exchange students. They all smell like fish.”

  “Well, thanks for contributing to worldwide harmony and understanding.” Becca throws a pillow at Amber. “They all smell like fish? What, have you smelled them all personally?”

  Amber ignores this comment. Elisa is pursing her lips and squinting at me in a really devious way, and this makes me nervous. “So even though you dropped a bowling ball on his foot, he still asked you out? I’d be careful. Maybe he’s plotting revenge.”

  “Revenge?” Becca shakes her head. “He just likes her. Wasn’t it obvious? Even to you?”

  “What do you mean, ‘even to me’?” Elisa spits.

  “I mean, at the bowling alley you were so obviously in lust for Anders that I expected you to pull out a club, knock him on the head, and drag him by the hair to your cave.”

  “I don’t live in a cave, just for the record,” Elisa sniffs indignantly. “But he is exceedingly cute. And I don’t think he smells like fish. Of course, Shelby would know better, since she got a lot closer than the rest of us. Shelby?” She turns to me, batting her eyelashes.

  “Shut up.” Girls are the worst when it comes to guys. I mean, if they’re your true, best friends, they want you to get a guy who’s worth something, and they’re not jealous. But if they are second-tier friends, like Elisa and Amber, all bets are off. Second-tier friends see all guys as potential date bait, and if you’re dating them, then they are off the market, at least temporarily. It’s one thing I’ve always hated about girls, ever since we all saw that film in the sixth grade about the sperm with the flowers and the egg in a bridal veil. At that moment, all the girls received this unspoken message: Every egg competes for every sperm, and if you want to receive the flowers, you better be a darn attractive egg with a spotless bridal veil, or you just sit there until you rot or turn into celibate egg salad or something.

  “Well,” Elisa says as she checks her Palm Pilot, “I’d love to stay and chat all day about Anders and your pity date, but we have school tomorrow, and I still have a poem to write for English about compassion. What a waste of time.”

  “Yeah, I should go too.” Amber stretches, catlike, and rises from the rug. “Great house, Becca. Thanks for having us over. See you all on Friday at lunch? So we can talk about our stunning success on Panther TV?”

  “It’s not a pity date—” I mutter, too late.

  “Sure. Lunch.” Becca opens her door and leads Amber and Elisa into the hall. I stay put. “Can you guys find your way out?”

  “Yeah, I left a trail of bread crumbs,” Elisa says as she and Amber wind down the stairway.

  “Okay, okay. Shelby? Be back in a sec.” With the others gone, I really get the chance to examine this room, and to think about what it means. It mostly means that Becca and her family are loaded. I mean, like Paris Hilton loaded. Except that Becca hasn’t been corrupted by the stupidity of wealth, even if she does have nice consumer electronics.

  I start to think about our date Friday, savoring the conversation with Anders like a slow-melting piece of candy. Friday, in fact, will be one of the best days of my life. Our video will be on, everyone will know about the Queen Geeks, and I will almost be able to pretend that my father is not dating a teacher from my school. Almost.

  10

  A DATE IS A CHEWY FRUIT (or The Utter Inconvenience of Boys)

  I stay over at Becca’s on Wednesday. Thea takes me home on Thursday afternoon to get fresh clothes and makeup, and my special shampoo. Euphoria, despite the fact that she’s totally inorganic, seems extremely upset and emotional.

  “I can’t understand what’s happening to our family!” she whines when I am sweeping through the house collecting items to take to Becca’s. “First Mr. Chapelle is gone all the time, now you. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here all by myself!”

  “I suppose you could catch up on your data processing.” Which blouse to wear Friday night? This is a critical decision. The robin’s-egg blue with see-through sleeves? Too suggestive. The black short-sleeve turtleneck? Too nunlike. White cotton? Pure. Hmmm. Maybe something more colorful—

  “Have you heard a thing I’ve said, Shelby Chapelle?” Euphoria’s lights are blinking furiously, and she has rolled up in between me and the mirror in my room.

  “Uh . . . something about how you’re alone?” I hold up another shirt, an olive, burnt-out velvet poncho with copper beading. “What about this for a date? Does it say ‘available but not cheap’?”

  “Well, Miss Shelby, don’t expect me to process your homework for you,” she sniffs. “I will be occupied with other matters.”

  “How was the dinner with Ms. Pantsuit?” I carefully fold the olive poncho and put it into my overnight case.

  “Oh, the teacher?” Euphoria’s tinny laugh fills the room. “I’m sorry you missed it. If you’ll pardon my saying so, your father made an absolute fool of himself with that young woman.”

  “Really?”

  “Absolutely. They ate dinner, and I could sense a high level of tension in the air. Most probably because you left, I suppose.”

  “Oh well.” I dig out some underwear and socks, throw those into the bag, and then toss in my perfume too.

  “They finally finished eating, and she left. That was it.”

  “That was it? That’s fantastic!” I grab Euphoria’s claws and start spinning her around. “She left. She left!”

  “Whoa! My servos are jamming!” She stabilizes and shakes her head a bit. “There. That’s better. Well, I’m glad you’re happy about it. Your father spent the evening crying in the living room.”

  “What?” Suddenly, all the glee I feel at Dad’s dating demise disappears. I feel small, petty, and not very nice. “He was crying?”

  “Well, maybe not crying, but he was definitely moping.” Euphoria clucks as she zips up my bag for me. “The poor woman was very nice, but she told him she didn’t think it was a good idea for them to date if you were so against the idea.”

  “Oh.” I slowly pick
up my bag and walk down the hallway.

  “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

  Isn’t that what I wanted? I thought it was. I didn’t even consider that if Dad bombed out on his date, he might feel bad, or worse, devastated. And it was pretty much my fault. “Where is Dad?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. He’s not working in the lab, and he’s not at the office. His bag is here, though, so I don’t think he’s skipped town.”

  “The car’s gone, though.” I grab my bag and dash out the door, signaling for Becca’s mom to wait one more minute. Thea just smiles serenely and goes back to meditating. “I’ll call him.”

  The cell phone rings twice, then three times. He finally picks up. “Yes?”

  “Daddy? Are you okay?”

  “Of course. Are you okay?” He sounds kind of fuzzy.

  “Well, Euphoria was kind of worried about you. You haven’t checked in. Could you tell us where you are?”

  “I’m in Sri Lanka, I think.” He pauses for a moment, and I hear the sounds of people yelling in a foreign language. “Yes, I’m pretty sure it’s Sri Lanka.”

  “Dad! You can’t just . . . just go to Sri Lanka whenever you want!”

  “Why not?” He chuckles. “Ha! Had you going, huh?”

  “That was a joke? So not funny, Dad. Where are you, really?”

  He sighs heavily, and I can tell that Euphoria wasn’t exaggerating: He is depressed. “I’m just downtown in the international market. I stayed in a hotel last night, just to get a different perspective on things. I figured you’d call when you noticed I was missing. Where have you been, might I ask?”

  “I’ve been at Becca’s. In fact, her mom is waiting for me right now, so I have to go. Are you staying over again tonight?”

  “Ummm . . . yes. Yes, I think so.”

  “Can we talk later? Maybe tomorrow night? I have a date, but maybe after that?”

  “Sure. I’ll look forward to it. See you tomorrow.”

  “I love you Daddy.” I almost choke on the words. “I’m sorry I was such a jerk about your date.”