Super Con-Nerd

by Oliver Phommavanh

  ‘I’m writing an article about an epic battle of wits between Gerald and Mr Reinrich,’ Irene says.

  Vinh moans. ‘Just like a Journey of Legends game?’

  Irene holds out her palms. ‘Team Gerald or Team Reinrich, which side will win?’

  ‘Go, Team Gerald,’ I say. ‘What are you doing, Vinh?’

  Vinh scratches his head. ‘I might cosplay as Gerald and write about my experience of making his costume.’

  ‘How much cardboard do you need for that?’ I ask.

  ‘Just enough to make a small grand piano,’ he says. ‘And maybe I can make myself a light-brown wig too, just to step into his shoes. What about you, Con-nerd?’

  I take out my English book. ‘Just a normal essay.’

  Irene gasps. ‘Don’t you want to surprise Mrs Cheney?’

  ‘I can shock her if I beat Andrew.’

  Vinh whistles. ‘You can’t beat Andrew at his own game,’ Vinh says. ‘He’s the master of arguments. I bet he argues at the mirror for practice.’

  ‘Can’t argue with that.’ I open my sketchbook. ‘Do you think Mrs Cheney likes comics? I could do one for Gerald.’

  Galway spins his copy of Note Perfect around on the table. ‘If there was one, maybe then I would finish this story.’

  Irene stabs a finger at his book. ‘You never finished it?’

  ‘I don’t need to.’ Galway grins. ‘I just read the parts that I had to and then watched a few revids about the characters.’

  ‘What’s a revid?’ I ask.

  Galway borrows Irene’s laptop. ‘It’s a website that has all these videos where they summarise everything for you.’ He types Note Perfect revid into the browser and clicks on a video about Gerald. The voiceover comes on and spits out all these things about Gerald.

  Irene slams her laptop closed. ‘It’s cheating.’

  ‘It’s a shortcut,’ Galway quips.

  ‘It’s just like when you watch videos about your games,’ Vinh says.

  Irene huffs. ‘That’s different.’

  ‘I’m with Irene,’ I say. ‘My old tutor used to give us summary sheets all the time and it made me feel queasy.’ I look back at Irene and catch Joseph lurking around the shelves behind her. ‘Hey!’ I race up to Joseph and he quickly goes down on the floor. ‘What are you doing?’

  His nose is tickling the carpet. ‘Nothing.’ He slowly rises, wiggling his jelly arms like he’s struggling to do a push-up. ‘I was just looking for a book for my English assignment.’ Joseph takes out a thick green book about palms, and coughs from the dust. ‘Yeah, this is what I need.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘More like the information you need . . . You were spying on us.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, you were.’ Irene shakes her fist at Joseph. ‘Send this message to Andrew.’

  Joseph drops the book and runs off, flapping his arms. He nearly knocks two kids out on the way.

  ‘Wow,’ Irene says. ‘If he’s sending his cronies to spy, maybe Squire is scared of you.’

  ‘Well Joseph was sure scared of you, Irene,’ I say. ‘You remind me of an old friend. She’s a toughie too.’

  ‘Just because I’m short, doesn’t mean I can’t fight back.’ Irene flexes her muscles. ‘And you’re no pushover either.’

  ‘I’m still the underdog here. He’s not a super nerd for nothing,’ I say. ‘But let’s meet at the bench from now on, just in case.’

  I wonder if Andrew really thinks I’m a threat, especially after our art assessment. What else would he do to get the upper hand?

  Back at home, I clear the table after dinner and work on my drawings for my English assignment.

  Mama looks over my shoulder and starts her nagging engines. ‘Drawing cartoons again?’

  I shove Note Perfect into her hands. ‘This is part of my assignment. I’m doing a graphic character study.’ I go back to sketching. ‘I’ll write a few paragraphs and do a comic book for it.’

  ‘And your teacher is okay with this?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  Mama sits down with me. ‘Connor, what about your marks?’

  Now my own engines are revving up. Is that all Mama thinks about? I thought she was over that stuff. Besides, I’ve been worrying about it enough for both of us – even more now that I’m challenging Andrew. I wish I could tell her about it, but it looks like she’ll find out the result when she gets my report card.

  ‘Trust me, Mama, I have a chance to make a mark with this,’ I say.

  Mama stands back and watches me draw. It’s hard to concentrate when there’s a tiger watching your every move. If you want to take the fun out of something, turn it into a tutoring class or a test.

  She comes over and looks at Mr Heinrich’s wrinkled face. ‘He looks like one of my patients at the hospital, a cranky old man.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s how I imagined him when I read the book.’

  Mama sits next to me. ‘You’re becoming more like your father every day.’

  ‘Really?’ I put my pencil down.

  Mama glances over at Dad’s picture above the shrine. ‘You know how he was sick of playing badminton all the time,’ she says. ‘He wanted to do his own thing, study and do something else.’

  I wonder if Dad was a daydreamer like me. ‘Did Dad have a Plan B? A back-up plan, in case he couldn’t play badminton?’

  Mama shakes her head. ‘In his family’s eyes, it was badminton or nothing.’

  ‘See, he didn’t have one, so why should I?’

  ‘This is different,’ Mama says. ‘The higher your marks, the more choices you’ll have in university or college.’

  ‘I already know what I want to do,’ I say.

  Mama swallows a yawn and wanders to her bedroom. ‘There are things you don’t understand yet, Connor.’

  I reckon it’s the other way around. It’s Mama who doesn’t understand me. I thought she did, but I’m seeing more of her tiger side again these days. I finish off my last drawing for the night and move on to my Maths homework. It’s not that hard, once I get the hang of the formulas. I didn’t need to go to tutoring and get that drilled into my head. I don’t mind doing Maths. But just like Dad when he was on the courts, my heart is floating somewhere else.

  Mr Gardner is exactly like every other teacher, marking our assignments overnight. Seriously, do our teachers live in their staffrooms? It doesn’t matter because we’re about to see who is going to win the first part of my challenge with Squire. I’m bouncing in my seat, watching Mr Gardner bring out our pictures.

  ‘I was impressed with one particular artwork,’ he says.

  I’m crossing my fingers and legs, looking like a pretzel.

  ‘Cyndi Phan, come on up,’ Mr Gardner says.

  Cyndi rushes to the front. Mr Gardner holds up her artwork. He’s right, Cyndi’s drawing is stunning. It’s a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. You can almost hear the cicadas coming off the page.

  ‘There were a few other standouts too.’ Mr Gardner reads out a list of names but mine’s not on it. Andrew doesn’t get mentioned either. Everybody goes to grab their paintings. Andrew and I go up at the same time, like we’re cowboys in a shootout. Andrew shoots first and checks his mark. ‘74 percent. What about you?’

  I show him my paper. ‘77 percent.’

  Andrew clutches his stomach like I’ve just shot him. He staggers away from me. I sit down with Irene and Vinh. They both take turns patting me on the back.

  ‘Sweet, you beat Squire,’ Vinh says. ‘You’ve hit the lead.’

  I don’t feel like a winner. I only beat him by three marks and we didn’t even make the top five. When did I get so average in art? High school feels like a game of snakes and ladders, but with lots of snakes that seem to take you back to the beginning. I’d love to know why Mr Gardner doesn’t like my art. Maybe he has a fear of dragons, comics or bright colours.

  I wait until lunchtime to see Mr Gardner at his office. But Andrew beats me to it. I get the
re and hear his booming voice through the door.

  Andrew storms out, sizzling and popping like a sausage left on the barbeque for too long. ‘Trying to get a better mark too?’ he says.

  I lean my head against the wall. ‘I just wanted to get some tips for next time.’

  ‘My father is going to kill me when he sees this.’ Andrew rolls up his paper.

  ‘I thought he didn’t care about Visual Arts.’

  ‘Yeah but he still wants me to come first in everything.’ Andrew tucks the rolled-up paper in his briefcase and walks away. ‘Enjoy the lead while you can, because I’m coming for you.’ His voice echoes down the corridor.

  Mr Gardner sticks his head out. ‘Yes?’

  I turn into a puddle. ‘Hi, Sir, I wanted to ask about my assignment . . .’

  He curls up his finger. ‘Come inside.’

  I follow him to his desk. It’s just like him – grey and tidy. There’s a wooden board with postcards of art galleries from around the world.

  I point at a postcard with the French flag stamped in the corner. ‘Wow, you’ve been to Paris?’

  ‘I’ve seen the original Mona Lisa.’ Mr Gardner smiles and stands in front of his shelf. ‘Now, about your marks, it’s like I told Andrew, they are my final decision.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ I say. ‘I just want to know how to get better for the next assignment.’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘I used to be so good at art back in primary school,’ I say. ‘Now I’m just average.’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ Mr Gardner says.

  ‘I want to be a comic book artist someday,’ I say. ‘I know you’re not into it but . . .’

  ‘Really?’ Mr Gardner takes out a postcard with Totoro, a famous anime character, on it.

  ‘Oh wow, you went to the Ghibli Muesum?’ I ask.

  Mr Gardner smiles. ‘I love all those Studio Ghibli movies. They’ve got great landscapes.’

  I laugh. ‘You love your landscapes.’

  Mr Gardner spreads his arms. ‘If you want to get better, you need to broaden your horizons.’

  ‘So I need more paper to draw longer horizons?’

  Mr Gardner takes back the postcard. ‘Open your mind, Connor, to all kinds and styles of art. They will help you become a better artist.’

  ‘Thanks, Sir.’ I take one last look at his postcard.

  ‘Do something that you’ll be proud of,’ Mr Gardner says. ‘That’s all I look for.’

  I leave the staffroom. Mr Gardner’s not as wacky as my old art teacher, Mr Gale, but he loves art just the same. Plus he’s just as wise. I need to tackle a range of art styles, not only bubbly anime characters. Maybe this is how I’m going to become a super Con-nerd.

  The next day, I’m back at the nerdy rejects bench, working on my Cosmic Smash audition. It’s Issue One of Hyper Hybrids, where I introduce the characters.

  ‘How’s it coming along, man?’ Vinh asks.

  ‘I’ve drawn four pages so far,’ I say. ‘It’s about a training mission where Squinox is trying to sabotage the Hyper Hybrids.’

  ‘Squinox is Andrew, right?’ Galway asks.

  I’m licking my lips. ‘Yep, he’s going to look like a giant rubber duck.’

  ‘And is that me?’ Galway points to a guy with tank guns.

  ‘Yep, I’m trying to copy them from a Panzer tank.’

  ‘Is that Andrew?’ Irene asks.

  ‘That’s a pile of rocks,’ I say.

  ‘No, look up.’ Irene points to the basketball courts. ‘Over there.’

  I stand up on the bench and find Andrew on court, playing with a bunch of boys. I have lemonade legs, feeling fizzy from the waist down. He’s taking this challenge seriously. I put my drawing stuff away. ‘If Squire can spy on me, then we should do the same. Who’s with me?’

  Irene puts her laptop in her bag. ‘I’m game.’

  Vinh rubs his hands. ‘I was a ninja last year.’

  ‘Really?’ Galway asks.

  ‘Well, I cosplayed as one. I still have my costume in my wardrobe.’

  We take our bags and creep up to the basketball courts. Vinh trips over and rolls down like a runaway log to the bottom.

  Irene laughs. ‘Nice move, ninja Vinh.’

  ‘That’s Vinhja to you.’ Vinh brushes off the grass.

  I smile at him. ‘Can I use that name for Hyper Hybrids?’

  ‘Sure, man, just don’t forget me when you’re famous.’

  Stephen used to say that to me all the time last year. I wonder if he’s forgotten about that.

  We walk along courtside, staying behind the senior kids. I wish I could climb onto their shoulders for a better view of Andrew. He’s playing on the court at the far end, away from everybody else.

  Vinh looks around. ‘If only I had an empty cardboard box to hide in.’

  I run over to some trees near the back fence. Andrew’s shooting hoops, with Joseph and Naveed. He’s joined by another two taller kids.

  ‘Whoa, that’s Roshan,’ Vinh says. ‘He’s a star player in the school’s senior basketball team.’

  I crouch down, shaking all over. Super nerds have connections across the school and can ask for favours from anybody.

  Roshan grabs the ball and skates circles around Andrew and his friends. He lays the ball up for a perfect shot. Then he shoots from the three-point line and the ball swooshes through the net.

  ‘I’m doomed,’ I whisper.

  Vinh nudges me. ‘You’re up against Squire, remember?’

  Roshan is taking Andrew through the steps of how to shoot, telling him to fold his knees and flick his wrists.

  Andrew aims the ball at the net and it lands out of court. It reminds me of when I first started.

  Galway grins. ‘He has no idea about basketball.’

  ‘Yeah, you can’t really learn how to play from a video,’ Galway says.

  ‘Still, he’s getting tips from a pro,’ Irene says. ‘I hope he doesn’t level up too much by next Thursday.’

  Joseph points at us. ‘What are you guys doing?’

  ‘Just getting some inspiration,’ I say. We walk towards the court.

  Andrew flexes his shoulders. ‘I’m bigger and taller than you. I have a greater probability of beating you one on one.’

  ‘Lucky this isn’t Maths.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Andrew says. ‘If it was, it would be no contest.’

  Roshan jogs up to us. ‘Are these your friends? Let’s all play a game.’

  Galway rubs his hands. ‘We don’t know how to play.’

  Roshan passes him the ball with pinpoint accuracy. ‘Then it’ll be an even match-up.’

  Andrew squints at us. ‘They were just leaving, isn’t that right?’

  Roshan slaps Andrew’s back. ‘How are you going to make the Year Seven team if you don’t play a game?’ Roshan says.

  Squire, Squire, shorts on fire. I wonder if that’s how Andrew roped Roshan in to coach him.

  Galway throws the ball back to Roshan and we walk off. Vinh’s still in ninja mode, creeping up beside me. ‘Squire’s hopeless,’ he whispers. ‘You’ll beat him for sure.’

  ‘Yah, didn’t you used to play for your school’s side last year?’ Irene says.

  ‘But I haven’t played for ages,’ I say.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be like riding a bike, right?’ Vinh says.

  ‘I’ll find out this afternoon.’ I take one last look at Andrew. His curly hair has flopped down his forehead and his face is drenched in sweat. He’s not that sporty. Just like me. The ball hits the rim this time. He may be a dud at sports but he’s also a lightning fast learner, with determination pumping through his veins. I can’t underestimate this super nerd, not for one second.

  I rock up to Dazza’s place after school. I haven’t been here since the holidays. The back gate is open, so I stroll through. ‘Hey, Dazza.’

  ‘Con-nerd!’ Dazza chucks a football to me. I turn away from him and it bounces off my hip.
r />   Dazza collects the footy. ‘Sorry, Con-nerd, just wanted to test your reflexes.’

  ‘Wrong sport.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s still a ball, right?’ Dazza’s wearing his footy shorts and I spot a million grazes and marks on his legs. He must live and breathe footy these days.

  Dazza grabs his basketball and passes to me. ‘So why didn’t you challenge this Squire guy to chess?’

  ‘He could beat me blindfolded at chess.’ I bounce the ball a few times. ‘Least I have a chance with basketball.’

  I just hope Roshan isn’t coaching Andrew after school as well. Maybe Andrew’s tutoring Roshan with English as payback.

  ‘Show me what you got, Con-nerd!’ Stephen rides up to me on his skateboard and swipes my basketball. ‘Do you like it? My mate Dave picked it out for me on the weekend.’

  ‘Sweet wheels,’ Dazza says.

  I lick my lips. ‘Yeah, they’re like chocolate donuts.’

  Stephen cracks up. ‘You’re forever geeky, man. Let’s shoot some hoops.’

  We take turns bouncing and passing the ball to each other. ‘So, who else is your team?’ Stephen aims for the board.

  ‘Nobody else,’ I say. ‘It’s one on one.’

  Stephen stops mid-step. ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, I figured I’d have a better chance if it was just me and him.’

  ‘One on one is a lot tougher, Con-nerd,’ Stephen says. ‘You were a great team player last year because we set up all the plays.’

  ‘Yeah, now you have to pass, defend and shoot on your own.’ Dazza throws the ball to me and it hits my chest hard. ‘Have a go and shoot.’

  I raise the ball above my head. Dazza elbows me in the shoulders. ‘Too late,’ he says. ‘In one on one, the other guy will be in your face, so if you get a clear shot, take it quick.’

  ‘How big is Squire?’ Stephen asks. ‘Is he buff?’

  ‘Only his head is buff,’ I say. ‘But he is taller than me.’

  ‘It’ll be hard to block him then,’ Stephen says. ‘And get the ball off him too.’ He dribbles the ball from left to right.