The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth: Popularity, Quirk Theory, and Why Outsiders Thrive After High School

by Alexandra Robbins

  Actor Zac Efron: “I wore goofy hats to school and did musical theater. Most people thought I was a total weirdo.”

  Singer-songwriter Ne-Yo: “I was kind of the outcast weird guy” in school.

  Rapper Drake: “I was an outcast in school.”

  Singer LeeAnn Rimes: “I was a bit of an outcast in school because I was a singer, and I would get picked on. I would literally cry and cry for days.”

  Actress Megan Fox: “I was unpopular when I was in high school. I was a loner. You learn, at an early age, that it’s okay. It’s fine. I could go for days without talking to another human being. I know myself, and I know that there’s more to me than you know, and you don’t need to know.” She has also said, “The things I was made fun of for in school are the things that people now like about me and appreciate about me.”

  Owl City singer Adam Young: “I was an outcast in high school and the people who made fun of me now want to go out to eat.”

  Dixie Chicks (and Court Yard Hounds) Emily Robison and Martie Maguire were “orchdorks.”

  Actress Vanessa Hudgens has said she was an outcast; “I was totally the girl who had no friends. . . . While everyone else was playing, I would sit on the lawn and stare up at the clouds.”

  Actor Chad Michael Murray: “I was kind of an outcast in high school. I had no friends. I was a nerd. . . . Because I didn’t have a lot of money, while everyone else was getting into trends and fashion, I would wear Payless shoes, a pair of jeans, and a white T-shirt every day, which only kind of excluded me further.”

  Actress Sarah Michelle Gellar: “I’ve always been the nerdy, geekish outsider who still remembers how a lot of my classmates used to torture me. Growing up, I always felt different from other kids and they would always tease me about my work in commercials or TV as a way of putting me down.”

  Actress Busy Philipps was “a freak [who would] wear bizarre costumes to school.”

  Artist Andy Warhol, actor James Franco, and actresses Barbra Streisand and Mena Suvari were loners in school: “I just didn’t relate to anybody,” Suvari has said.

  Journalist John Stossel has said he was a dork. Barbara Walters cried throughout high school. Al Roker was a “nerd”; he has said, “I was on the AV squad, and I made stop-action movies with Gumby puppets. I used to record TV shows on audiotape and then splice them together. So I’d splice together Superman with Batman, stuff like that. I was an odd kid.”

  Amy Van Dyken, whose severe asthma and chlorine allergy made swimming difficult, was tormented by her high school swim teammates, who said she was too slow. In 1996 she was the first American woman to win four gold medals at a single Olympic Games; at her press conference she said, “This is a victory for all the nerds out there.” In 2008, Van Dyken was named to the U.S. Olympic Hall of Fame.

  Actresses Nicole Kidman and Heather Locklear were teased because of their looks—Kidman for her height and Locklear for her chest.

  Actor Anthony Hopkins, who was ostracized at school, has said that the way other students treated him led him to his success as a movie star.

  TV and radio host Ryan Seacrest, actress Zooey Deschanel, actor Taylor Lautner, singer Christina Aguilera, and actor Dustin Hoffman have said they were teased or bullied in school. Deschanel, who had a “horrible” seventh grade experience, has said that being teased in school made her more ambitious.

  Winter

  Outcast Profiling and Other Dangers

  Chapter 6

  CHALLENGES

  BLUE, HAWAII | THE GAMER

  Late one night, Blue drove to Jackson’s house to retrieve his fight stick, which Jackson had borrowed but never used. Jackson had been rude to Blue lately. Blue didn’t think he even liked Jackson much anymore, but he relished the chance to be out at night with company.

  For a while, they talked about nothing. Then, in a filmy haze of sleepy confidence, Blue said, “You still never told me why Nate’s an asshole.”

  “What?! No!” Jackson said. “If I tell you, you’ll either not believe me or get mad at me.”

  “Just tell me what you were gonna say.”

  “Okay, well . . . for example, I’ll mention that I’m gonna hang out with you, and Nate says, ‘Oh, you’re hanging out with the homo?’ ”

  Blue didn’t respond. He refrained from reacting beneath the weight of Jackson’s words.

  “Mark? . . . Mark? . . . Blue.”

  Blue’s arm covered his face. Real life was harsher than any video game.

  “Blue . . . Mark.” Jackson took a deep breath. “Don’t worryyy. He still thinks you’re cool and everything. You’re still his friend. . . . Do you hate him now?”

  Blue pondered this. Do I hate him? Do I still like him? If Blue wasn’t sure who Nate was anymore, how could he know how to feel about him? I am so conflicted. I just want someone to be there for me.

  Jackson sighed again, impatient.

  Blue made up his mind. “I’m sad now,” he whispered.

  Jackson looked at Blue. “What? Fine. Do you want a hug or something? Here’s your chance.” Blue was unresponsive. “No? Okay, then don’t ask me ever again.”

  At the end of winter break, Blue tried to turn to Jackson again. Tired of sitting around the house, Blue found him online at 5 A.M. and asked if he wanted to do something. Jackson needed to go to Best Buy, anyway. “Sure,” he said. “Just ask the others.”

  Blue deflated. He called Ty and Stewart, who made excuses.

  Blue gave up and passed time by watching Evangelion, an anime series. Blue had a theory about anime and manga. He believed that “secluded kids who indulge on anime and manga—the otakus—do it because it gives them an opportunity to feel emotions that they may not be able to feel through their own life. That hits very close to home to me, and I think you could apply that to anything: gamers, geeks, nerds, social outcasts. People outside of that culture don’t understand,” Blue said. “It’s just easier to call us losers.”

  That night he called Jackson, who didn’t answer his phone. Blue tried again an hour later. Still no response. Blue went online. He found Jackson playing MW2 with Stewart. Blue messaged Jackson, “When do you want to go?”

  “I’ll let you know,” Jackson said.

  This always happens. Blue slammed his laptop shut. All anybody wants to do is play that stupid game now. When did it become such a homewrecker? He would try to organize outings to the beach, town, or pool hall, but his friends—even Ty—would reply, “I just want to play MW2.” “I’ll go if someone else goes.” Or, Blue’s favorite, “Can you get online? I don’t want to talk on the phone.”

  Ty’s shaky “best-friend”ship essentially meant that he let Blue spend time with him at Ty’s convenience; Ty was often glued to Jackson anyway. Blue said, “They are conformist assholes, no backbone and no direction. They’re just empty shells to me. Why is it that these people are the ones with the most friends?”

  BLUE’S CHALLENGE

  Blue’s unhappiness made this an opportune time to spring his challenge on him. As I told all of the main characters, each of them had a different challenge, but their rules were the same: They could approach their task however they liked, though I was available as a sounding board; and they could not tell anyone at school about the challenge (Noah’s girlfriend was an exception because I sought her advice in devising his assignment).

  Blue deeply wanted to connect with someone who would make him feel comfortable and cared for. He also was desperate to graduate so that he could start a new life on his own terms. I combined these goals by challenging Blue to switch to a “nerd”-like friend group. I hoped that he would fall in with people who appreciated him, and that in connecting with intelligent students who did well in school, he would also find the motivation to complete his assignments and the stability he craved.

  When I told Blue about the challenge, he had trouble coming up with a group that he wanted to be a part of. “Ty is the only person at school I can relate to, the only person who actually listens to me
,” he said.

  “You think he’s the only one you can relate to,” I said. “You don’t know that you don’t relate to anybody else.”

  “Oh yes I do,” Blue insisted. “I’ve hung out with everybody in school at least once.”

  “Once is not enough to give someone a chance.”

  “But there are no ‘groups of Tys.’ I’m not saying that those groups are bad; I actually like a lot of them.”

  “What is it about Ty that you relate to so well? Because he hasn’t shown himself to be a one hundred percent devoted friend whether you relate to him or not.”

  “I know. But, I mean, we understand each other. Like we can make anime references constantly. He actually enjoys doing things with me, like going downtown and stuff. And he lets me teach him things. Really scary things, like when I taught him how to speedboard. That takes a lot of trust.”

  “You’ve been friends with him all year and that didn’t stop you from feeling incredibly lonely at times.”

  “Yeah,” Blue said. “I just don’t know whom I’d branch out to. Even the nerds think I’m crazy.”

  “Crazy like how?” I asked.

  “Well, for one, the most obvious thing is that I’m gay. And just in general, I’m really different from other people. I wouldn’t be able to stand hanging out with a bunch of underachievers. I need people who will help me keep moving up, not bring me down, like Jackson.”

  “Yes,” I said. “That was exactly my thought when I said nerds or ‘smart kids.’ ”

  “Well, then I’d ideally be hanging out with Angelique more, but even that group of people thinks I’m a big weirdo. That’s the smart kids. A majority of them are in AP Gov. They could never see me hanging out with them,” Blue said. “I’m at a point in my life where I’m trying desperately to find my place in the world, you know?”

  “Yes. But how can you find your place if you don’t at least peek at other places?”

  “You’re making it sound like I haven’t tried over nine thousand things. Ever since I was in middle school, I’ve gone from popular jock to anime freak to hardcore skater to overachiever to computer builder and all back again,” Blue said.

  But he was willing to try once more.

  DANIELLE, ILLINOIS | THE LONER

  Danielle was doing homework in the dining room when her mother returned home from parent-teacher conferences. She called Danielle into the den. Danielle sat down on the couch and stretched her long legs onto the ottoman, curious about what her teachers had to say this time.

  Danielle’s mother recapped the meetings. The AP Government teacher reported that Danielle was doing well on homework and tests and that she was a strong writer, but she was so quiet that he couldn’t hear her when she spoke from her seat in the corner. Because class participation counted in both AP Government and Spanish, Danielle’s reticence was dragging her grades down to high Bs, while in her other classes, in which participation didn’t count, she had all As.

  Government was especially difficult because Tabitha was in that class. The day before the conferences, Tabitha had volunteered to be the group discussion leader and did not call on Danielle, who raised her hand a few times. Danielle didn’t feel comfortable interrupting the discussion without being called on, so she waited for the right moment to make a point—but that moment never came. Danielle earned zero points for the day. Her teacher called her a church mouse.

  Danielle’s mother told her that the Spanish teacher provided similar feedback. For the first time, Danielle was pulling a B rather than an A in Spanish, because of class participation. The teacher told Danielle’s mother that while Danielle had never been good about speaking in class, this year she was doing worse. Students frequently paired up to work on projects or discussions, and the teacher had noticed that once Danielle chose to go to the restroom at precisely the moment that students were coupling off. The teacher didn’t think the timing was coincidental.

  The teacher also mentioned to Danielle’s mother that she was scheduling a class trip to South America for the following year. Even though Danielle had expressed interest, the teacher said she was concerned that Danielle might not get much out of the trip if she couldn’t talk to the locals. The teacher was surprised when Danielle’s mother told her that Danielle had no problem speaking to adults in various countries. On a flight home from Ireland a few years before, Danielle had stood in the galley for hours talking to a woman who was too claustrophobic to sit down. When Danielle returned to her seat, she’d chatted for another two hours with a man from Northern Ireland about the problems in his country.

  “Once again, class participation is your biggest issue,” Danielle’s mother said.

  “It shouldn’t be important if I can do the work!” Danielle argued, scowling. She had gotten straight As so far this year.

  “Danielle, I might have agreed with that when you were a freshman, but now that you’re getting close to college, you have to be very comfortable talking in class.”

  “I don’t like the kids at my school,” she said. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to them.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re stupid.”

  “Well, you’re ranked at about the tenth percentile in your class, so apparently some of them are pretty smart,” her mother said.

  “They’re academically smart, but stupid in how they act,” Danielle replied. She slouched further into the sofa. “They’re immature.”

  “If you really feel they’re immature, then you should feel more comfortable with yourself,” her mother said. “Maybe you should even have some sympathy for them.”

  Danielle rolled her eyes.

  “Danielle, I’ve thought a lot about getting counseling for you so you can talk to someone.”

  Danielle grew adamant. “There is no reason to go to a counselor to talk about getting along with people I have absolutely nothing in common with,” she retorted. She tromped back into the dining room to finish her homework.

  DANIELLE’S CHALLENGE

  Designing a challenge for Danielle was easy; hers would be the most straightforward one in this book. At the same time, it was important that all of the challenges focused on improving the students’ circumstances by changing other people’s perceptions of them without directly altering their uniqueness. Danielle’s solitude was an important part of who she was. But she wasn’t content with her tiny social circle, and her diffidence was threatening her grades. I challenged Danielle to make a strong effort to converse with people other than Camille, Paige, Mona, and Nikki, with the goal of finding one new friend to socialize with outside of school.

  While she tried to pretend to be up for it, Danielle was “uncomfortable about the implications that making new friends has,” she said. “If I can avoid talking, that’s what I do. I don’t really need any help in the conversing-with-adults area, but I can’t relate at all to people my age.” Her pushback made me realize that the most straightforward challenge of the book could be the most personally difficult.

  NOAH, PENNSYLVANIA | THE BAND GEEK

  Noah was convinced that if he was going to qualify for the swimming district championships, he had to do it early in the season. To qualify, individual swimmers had to beat preset times at official meets. For Noah, qualifying was more than just a résumé line. Making the cut would validate that he was an athlete, even though he didn’t always feel like one, and prove that he wasn’t “just all about studying and school.”

  At warmups for the second swim meet of the season, Noah tried to psych himself up. He gave a pep talk to a nervous sophomore. “In order to swim like a district swimmer, you have to be a district swimmer,” Noah said. “You have to think and act with confidence.” When the sophomore’s race was called, Noah cheered from the end of the pool. Less than a minute later, the sophomore had qualified.

  As Noah stepped behind the block in lane five for the 50 Meter Freestyle, he realized his preparation for this race had been inadequate. He hadn’t slept enough. He hadn’t train
ed enough. The cut to make districts was 23.60; Noah’s fastest time this year was 24.20. Swimming practices had been unproductive and unenjoyable, nothing like the camaraderie of band rehearsals. A few days earlier, when Noah walked into the locker room where several teammates were getting changed, Frederick called out to him. “Hey, look who it is! Did you fuck Leigh yet? I bet you he”—he gestured to a teammate—“gets ass before Noah.”

  Noah tried to ignore Frederick and put on his suit. Underclassmen were hanging onto Frederick’s words.

  “C’mon, let’s hear it,” Frederick sneered. “How far have you gotten with her? I bet you have a huge dick—you know, being that you’re Chinese and all.”

  The swimmers laughed, except for Jiang. Noah’s face burned. He wanted to tell Frederick to shut up, but he assumed any response would only provoke him. One of the first techniques in dealing with bullies is to ignore them, he reminded himself. If they lose interest, they’ll leave. He silently thanked his parents for planning a trip to California that overlapped with the next team party.

  Noah knew he and Leigh were both seen as good kids, even though they didn’t view themselves that way. He never shared intimate details about their relationship. He didn’t understand why sex was such a popular conversation topic; sex was something for two people to share with each other, not with a bunch of obnoxious, meddling teammates. Noah walked silently to the pool deck.

  At the starting block, Noah inhaled deeply. As he did before every race, he cupped his hands around his nose and mouth, cleared his mind, and flexed his scapulae. He scanned the crowd for Leigh, who was cheering with his parents. He exchanged grins with Jiang in lane three.