The Bookish Life of Nina Hill: The bookish read you need this summer!

by Abbi Waxman

  Nina had devoted considerable time to reading the last six months of Sports Illustrated and several books about the history of baseball (America’s Pastime), football (America’s Sport), and, just in case, ice hockey (Canada’s Thing). She read Wikipedia entries on as many athletes as she could, and felt—if not actually competitive in this category—at least less likely to have to crawl out of the bar on her belly.

  Tonight’s venue was in Los Feliz, at a bar called Arcade. Nina looked around and saw the whole story: Someone had come across fifty of those tables that used to be so popular, with video game consoles sunk into their surfaces, and had gotten them cheap. Having been carried away in the moment, they then realized they had to do something with them, and opening a bar sounded like a good idea at the time.

  The rest of Book ’Em were already there, seated at a Galaga table that actually worked. Lauren was playing while Carter and Leah heckled from the side.

  “Ladies,” said Nina, as she settled herself down. Leah handed her a glass of wine, which she immediately started drinking. She must be more nervous than she thought.

  “Thanks,” said Carter. “I realize I am a sensitive guy, but I’m not actually a lady.”

  Nina shrugged. “How’s she doing?”

  Leah looked up from the game. “Well, if the fate of the planet were in Lauren’s hands, we’d all be doomed.”

  “Just as well it isn’t, then,” said Lauren, throwing her hands up in frustration as her rocket was utterly destroyed.

  “My turn,” said Carter, reaching down to put in some coins.

  Nina looked casually around the bar. She’d finished her wine already and reached across the table to steal Carter’s half glass.

  “They’re not here yet,” said Leah.

  “Who isn’t?” Nina asked innocently.

  “Don’t pretend. Quizzard. They’re not here yet, but they are on the board. We’re up against them in the second round, assuming we can beat Menace to Sobriety.”

  “Which we presumably can?”

  “No clue; new team.”

  “Where are they?”

  Leah pointed to a group of guys on the other side of the bar. “Ms. Pac-Man table.”

  Nina looked and grinned. “Oh, we’re totally good. That guy used to be in Tequila Mockingbird. He’s half-drunk already; let’s send over a round of shots.”

  “That’s cheating.”

  Nina looked scandalized. “That’s not cheating. That’s being supportive.” Then she looked at the door and Leah whacked her on the arm.

  “Stop obsessing over that guy. It’s going to weaken your attack. Stay focused, Hill. We win this, we advance to the semis.”

  “I’m not obsessing.”

  “Sure.”

  Carter suddenly let out a whoop. “I’m on the leaderboard!” He stood and shimmied around the table, kissing everyone extravagantly, which is of course exactly when Tom walked into the bar. He was with the girl from the movie theater, Lisa. She went off to find a table, and Tom headed to the bar. Not that Nina was keeping track or anything.

  “You can go order your round of sabotage shots now,” said Leah. She looked at Nina. “Go say hi to your little friend.”

  “My little friend? Are you referencing WarGames or Scarface?”

  Leah made a face at her. “Neither. Most people are able to use language without it being a movie or book reference. You’re the one who lives her real life in a fictional universe.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Nina, getting up. She walked across the bar, surreptitiously tugging her dress out of any potential folds it might have settled into. She was a real person; when she sat, she folded. Fortunately, her dark green dress was vintage, and made of sterner stuff than its modern counterparts, so she was able to pull it back into sleekness with no problem. God bless natural fibers and cutting on the bias.

  She squeezed up to the bar, next to Tom. “Uh, hi there.”

  Tom had actually been watching Nina approach in the mirror behind the bar, having spotted her instantly when he came in through the door. He’d watched her straighten her dress and immediately wanted to unstraighten it again. He was clearly losing his mind.

  “Hi,” he said, and smiled at her, glad the lights in the bar were dim so she couldn’t see him blushing. “Ready for battle?”

  She nodded, also secretly blushing. “Hopefully. You?”

  He shrugged. “Hopefully. Lisa, who you met the other night, has allergies, so she’s being whiny. The other two aren’t here yet.”

  “Is she your girlfriend?” Oh. My. GOD. What is wrong with you?

  He paused, and a tiny frown creased his eyebrows. “No, she’s a friend. We’ve known each other since high school.”

  “Oh.” Nina flailed around for a comment. “Cool beans.” At this her brain threw up its metaphorical hands and curled up on its stem like a pissed-off hen. I’m not playing anymore, it said. If the mouth isn’t going to wait for my advice, I’m done.

  Nina ordered a round of shots. Tom feigned horror. “Aren’t you taking a risk, doing shots before the contest? What about your laser focus and impressive recall?”

  She made a face at him. “Are you mocking me? You beat us last time.”

  “That was luck. I’ve seen you play a hundred times, and that was the first time I’ve seen you beaten.” He paused. “Well, apart from the semifinal last year.”

  “Oh, you saw that?”

  He blushed deeper. “Yeah. We got knocked out in the semis, too. By the Spanish In-quiz-ition.” He grinned. “Nobody expected it.”

  She grinned back at him. Monty Python and Harry Potter; Not just a sports nerd after all. Her shots arrived, and she was about to tell him they were for the other team, but suddenly it did seem like cheating. Dammit.

  He shifted his feet, so he was facing her more completely. Her head came up to his shoulder, and she had to tip her head back a little. They were very close; she could smell sawdust and soap. “Enjoy your shots,” he said. “I’m ordering a proprietary blend of caffeine, omega-6 oils, cinnamon, and ginseng. I have it shipped directly to the bars so my team is in tip-top form.”

  “Really?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, not really. It’s a bucket of beer and a bowl of pistachios.”

  “I love pistachios.”

  “Me too.”

  “They’re chock-full of fat-soluble vitamins.”

  Here the conversation faltered, unsurprisingly. The phrase “chock-full” might have been the killer. Nina picked up her tray of shots and pivoted to go.

  “Well, it’s nice to see you again,” she said, lamely.

  He nodded. “I look forward to beating you.” He paused. “That sounded weird.”

  Nina frowned up at him. “Good luck with that. We’re on fire this evening. We’ve been warming up with Galaga and have successfully defended our planet for a solid hour.”

  He laughed. “If you’ve been here for a while and now you’re doing shots, it’s going to be an easy win for my team of highly trained, entirely sober intellectual giants.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Sure.”

  “Twenty dollars?”

  “Dinner.”

  Nina studied his face, but he wasn’t joking. “Dinner it is. If I win, you can take me to Denny’s.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded. “I love Denny’s.”

  “Moons Over My Hammy?”

  “Every time. And if you win?”

  “Chicken and waffles.”

  She laughed. “We’re a classy pair.”

  He nodded. “I wonder what else we have in common apart from lowbrow tastes?” He smiled slowly at her, and she had no comeback at all. She swallowed.

  Suddenly, Howard’s voice filled the bar. “Good evening, brave competitors and cowardly observers. It’s time for tonight’s challenge. In the first round we have Book ’Em, Danno up against Menace to Sobriety, and if last week’s performance is anything to go by, Menace has nothi
ng to worry about.”

  “Gotta go,” said Nina, and hurried back to her table.

  Tom watched her go, noticing the way she curved herself through the crowd, small and deft. Denny’s had never seemed more appealing.

  In most pub trivia leagues, or quiz leagues, or whatever they’re called in your neck of the woods, teams are given written lists of questions and a limited time to complete them. Cheating is strongly discouraged, but of course it happens, especially now that you can search the Internet from your phone. In response to this, the organizers had changed things up for the Quiz Bowl qualifiers. Competing teams sent single members up to battle face-to-face, like on a TV game show. Questions were posed, buzzers were pressed, and points were awarded. If the first one to answer was correct, she got two points. If not, and the other competitor knew the answer, she would get one point.

  Teams were invited to bring their own buzzers, which had led to some very strange noises. Tonight, Leah had been in charge of the buzzer, and she’d brought a vintage train whistle she’d found on eBay. Its action was a little sticky, and questions were raised about her judgment until Lauren revealed she had a miniature can of WD-40 in her purse and the problem was solved. Then questions were raised about why Lauren was carrying aerosolized hydrocarbons in her purse, and then questions were raised about why Nina used that phrase to describe it. The whole discussion took nearly thirty seconds of time, which, fortunately, was how long Howard was taking to describe the rules, so it was fine.

  “Category one: World Geography. Teams, please choose your champions.”

  This one was easy for Book ’Em, because Leah was scarily good at geography. She had been homeschooled by a mom who believed in memorization as a form of relaxation, and she could still recite all the states (with capitals, state birds and flowers, major rivers and landmarks), countries in the world (including all the African ones, even though they changed a lot), books of the Bible, presidents and first ladies (and pets, including Coolidge’s raccoon), and every actor who’d played Doctor Who since the beginning. That last one she’d done on her own.

  “But wait,” said Nina, concerned. “What if history comes up next and we can’t play her then?”

  Leah shrugged. “Play Lauren instead; she’s pretty good at geography.”

  “I’m not,” said Lauren, in a furious whisper. “Last time I got confused and said the longest river in the world was the Mississippi and then spelled it like a five-year-old at the Scholastic Spelling Bee. I even repeated it at the end.”

  “You spelled it correctly.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point. I got the question wrong, and I can never go back to that bar.”

  Nina conceded. “Leah, you go.”

  Howard had recently taken things a notch further in his quest to create a trivia league YouTube channel, and had built a podium. Leah and a guy from Menace approached it.

  “Don’t touch the podium,” Howard hissed. “It’s still wet.”

  “From what?” asked Leah, stopping immediately.

  “From being painted, of course. I added the glitter too soon and it slowed it down.”

  “That’s what she said,” said the guy from Menace, and guffawed.

  Leah rolled her eyes and clutched her whistle.

  Howard looked at his friend, Don, who was live-streaming the contest. “Ready, Don?”

  “Ready when you are, Mr. DeMille.” Don was a jokester who enjoyed old movies, poetry slams, and pretending to be a cinematographer.

  Howard cleared his throat. “Here we go: Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Southern California Quiz Bowl Qualifier. Tonight, competing for glory and a chance to go forward to the next round, Book ’Em, Danno; Menace to Sobriety; You’re a Quizzard, Harry; and Olivia Neutron Bomb. One team will make it through the night; the other three will be buried in ignominy. Our first contest is Book ’Em versus Menace.” He turned to Leah and grinned. “And what’s your name, little lady?”

  Leah raised her eyebrows at him. “My name is Death to Sexism, little man.”

  Howard ignored her and turned to the guy from Menace. “And you, sir?”

  “I’m Al. You can call me Al.”

  Howard faced front and grinned at the phone Don was holding up. “Let the battle commence.” He got serious. “How many stripes are on the United States flag?”

  “Thirteen,” snapped out Leah.

  “Contestants must use their buzzers first. Sorry, Book ’Em. Menace, do you have an answer?”

  “Uh, thirteen?”

  “That’s correct. Two points to Menace.”

  Nina, Carter, and Lauren howled a protest, but Howard held up his hand. “Heckling won’t help you, Book ’Em. You know the rules.”

  Leah looked apologetically over at her team.

  “OK, next question: Montevideo is the capital city of which South American country?”

  The guy from Menace squeezed his rubber chicken, which squawked.

  “Uh . . .”

  Howard waited.

  “Uh . . .”

  “Would you care to make a guess?”

  “Hey,” said Leah, “no fair. If he clucked too soon, it’s my turn.”

  “All right, your turn.”

  “Uruguay.”

  “Correct. Two points to Book ’Em. Next question: What is the official language of Greenland?”

  A brief pause, then Leah slid up her whistle. “Greenlandic.”

  “No way,” said the guy from Menace. “You made that up.” He squeezed his chicken in protest, multiple times.

  “Google it, idiot,” said Leah. “Or ask Howard; he has the answers.”

  “It’s true. She’s right,” said Howard. “For a bonus point, name the other language spoken in Greenland.”

  “Danish,” said Leah.

  Howard stared at her. He had fallen in love with Leah the first time she’d competed in one of his tournaments and had totally aced World Religions, followed by Royal History of England, and then Animals of the Serengeti. He loved her for her mind. And her curves.

  “Is there anything you don’t know?” he asked, forgetting his microphone was on.

  “Yes,” replied Leah. “I don’t know why you aren’t giving me that point.”

  The bar erupted in laughter, and Howard frowned. “No lip, contestants. Bonus point withdrawn.”

  Leah bit her tongue and tried to smile at Howard, but couldn’t make herself do it.

  “Next question: What is the capital city of Canada’s Yukon territory?”

  Squawk!

  “Whitehorse.” The guy from Menace grinned at Leah. “I’m Canadian.”

  She stared at him blankly. “Congratulations.”

  Howard cleared his throat. “Last question of this section: Which sea separates the East African coast and the Saudi Arabian peninsula?”

  Whistle!

  “The Red Sea.” Leah was totally confident on this one and returned to the table in triumph: Book ’Em, six points; Menace, four.

  “After a short break for refreshments, we will return with a little category I like to call . . . Books.” Howard grinned around, but no one was really listening. “And remember, folks, it’s two-for-one shots tonight, so get yourselves to the bar and become inebriated.” Don counted down, 3 . . . 2 . . . 1, on his fingers and then indicated he’d stopped filming. Howard dropped his smile and leaped forward to look at the footage.

  Nina looked at Howard thoughtfully. “It’s his gift for witty repartee that sets Howard apart as a host.”

  “He’s a poet, really,” agreed Leah.

  “Let’s do these shots,” said Carter. “There are sober children in Africa who’d kill for these. We can’t waste them.”

  So they did.

  Nina stood at the podium—not touching it—and faced a different guy from Menace. He was good looking and cocky, and Nina could hardly wait to hand him his hat, metaphorically speaking.

  Don had started filming, and Howard was channeling his quiz show host. “OK, folk
s, time for Books, or Literature as some people like to call it.”

  “Stuck-up people,” said the guy from Menace.

  “Literate people,” replied Nina.

  “No bickering, please. Let’s keep it civilized.” Howard looked reprovingly at them. “ ‘Call me Ishmael’ is the opening line from . . .”

  Nina whistled. “Moby-Dick.”

  Howard nodded, but said, “Please wait for the complete question before answering.”

  “Sorry.”

  He frowned at her. “Who wrote Don Quixote?”

  She whistled. “Cervantes.”

  “Full name?”

  Nina narrowed her eyes at him. Such a dick. “Miguel de Cervantes.”

  “In the children’s books about a twenty-five-foot-tall red dog, what is the name of the dog?”

  Squawk!

  “Clifford!” Handsome was 100 percent confident on this one.

  Howard snapped out, “Bonus question: Why did he grow so much?”

  The guy suddenly looked sappy. “Because Emily loved him.” He paused. “Her love made Clifford grow so big that the Howards had to leave their home.”

  Howard nodded, very serious. “Yes. Yes, it did.”

  Nina was vexed. “That’s from the TV show theme song, not the books.”

  “Are you sure it isn’t in the books?” Howard tutted at her. “No, you aren’t, so keep your opinions to yourself. Next question: Being and Time is an ontological treatise written by which German philosopher?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Wait, we went from Clifford the Big Red Dog to that? Does philosophy even count as Literature?” asked Nina. She was feeling a little punchy. She really shouldn’t drink at these things.

  Howard shrugged. “Well, a) that’s a very philosophical question, and b) the category is books. Nice try, Book ’Em.” He looked at them both. “No?” They shook their heads. “Anyone from either team?” Silence. “Anyone in the bar?” Deeper silence. Howard sighed patronizingly, because of course he had the answer in his hand. “It was Martin Heidegger.”

  “Good to know,” said Nina. “Do you think Emily’s love would have done anything for him?”

  Howard ignored her. “What are the four houses at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?”