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

by Alexandra Robbins

  As far back as Danielle could remember, even in elementary school, the group had never explicitly excluded anyone else but Danielle. Danielle remained friends with the girls because, she said, “I don’t really have anyone else to be friends with. Also, whenever they aren’t being bitches, they’re really fun to hang out with, so I guess I overlook the mean stuff. And with them, you can’t just quietly stop being friends. Because if you start to pull away, they find a reason to turn against you and it completely blows up in your face.”

  She didn’t know why the group made fun of her, rather than, say, Mona. Maybe, she thought, they did it because they knew that she wouldn’t retaliate. “After all, if they don’t tell me something, what am I supposed to do? They don’t have to tell me if they don’t want to,” she explained. “I just want to find new friends that I can hang out with, at least until the end of high school, who don’t know Paige, Mona, Nikki, or Camille.”

  That night, Danielle received a Facebook message from Camille’s friend Trish: “Want to go to lunch tomorrow?” Danielle was surprised. Trish was outgoing, friendly, and obsessed with Facebook and TV, none of which applied to Danielle. What would we have to talk about? she thought. This could be really awkward. Because she didn’t want to be rude by making up “a creepy excuse,” she hesitantly agreed. This would be the first time Danielle went out with someone she didn’t know well without the company of her usual friends.

  The next day, Danielle drove Trish to McDonald’s. At first, it was strange to be alone with Trish; they had barely spoken without Camille. But she was happy to be hanging out with someone new. Also, knowing that it would piss off her friends that she went to lunch with Trish instead of with them gave her a different sort of satisfaction.

  During the ride, Danielle filled the silence by venting about their math teacher and vocalizing her road rage (“Come on! You can’t move up a couple of feet?!”). Trish brought up a girl they both knew from math class.

  They sat outside at a picnic table, eating ice-cream sundaes near the parking lot. Trish noticed someone in the car next to theirs. “That old man is watching us eat!”

  Danielle craned her neck. “I think that’s an old lady,” she said.

  “That’s so sad! She’s just sitting there alone.”

  “Maybe she’s waiting for someone,” Danielle said.

  “What if some old man stood her up?!” The girls concocted stories until it was time to leave.

  After school, Danielle had her Dairy Queen job interview. She made sure not to say “uh” and attempted to make peppy small talk. Later, she couldn’t stop mentally replaying a particular question for which she hadn’t been prepared. She wasn’t sure if she had heard the manager correctly over the noise of the fan, but she had thought the question was something like, “If a customer complains about her Peanut Buster Parfait, what do you do?”

  “Well,” Danielle said, stalling. “I would probably first talk to my manager, but if that wasn’t an option, I guess I would . . . make them a new one?” The interviewers looked at her with expressions that told Danielle that the question she had heard was not the one they had asked.

  When she got home, she looked up blogs about fast-food interviews that recommended techniques for interviewees—which Danielle hadn’t used. Fifteen kids had applied for five slots, and she was convinced she wouldn’t get the job.

  As Danielle complained to her mother about the interview, the phone rang.

  “Hi Danielle, this is [the manager] from Dairy Queen.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “We were wondering if you would like to work for us.”

  “Oh, wow. Yes, I would. Definitely.”

  “Would you be able to come in this Saturday at three thirty for a training session?”

  “Um, Saturday . . . Yeah, I think I’m free then.”

  “Okay, Danielle, we’ll see you then.”

  “Okay. Thank you so much!”

  Danielle hung up the phone and grinned. She couldn’t believe it. Maybe she wasn’t so bad at interviews after all.

  IN DANIELLE’S CREATIVE WRITING class, each student was assigned a day to bring in snacks. On her day, Danielle came in late. When she walked into the room with a box of cookies, the teacher looked up and said something, but Danielle was too embarrassed about arriving late to pay attention to him.

  That period, Danielle made an effort to be more social. She talked to Max, a sophomore whom classmates saw as loud and somewhat obnoxious. Danielle thought he was funny and smart; he read books on Taoism and got As on Spanish tests without studying. She sat by him for a while as they waited for the computers to boot up. He seemed receptive.

  At the bell, two preppy sophomores, Bree and Kristy, walked out of the room in front of her, glancing at her and laughing. They were also in Danielle’s Spanish class, but she hadn’t talked to them before. Danielle couldn’t make out what they said through their laughter.

  Bree turned around. “You know what we’re talking about, right?”

  “I think so,” Danielle answered. She did not.

  “When you walked in, we didn’t know that you had cookies,” Kristy said. “So when [the teacher] said, ‘Mmm! More deliciousness!’ we thought he was talking about you.” The three of them laughed.

  When Danielle walked into Spanish the next day, Bree and Kristy cracked up. “More deliciousness!” they exclaimed in unison. Danielle thought she might as well talk to the sophomores if it made the class go by that much quicker. But over the next several days, she still couldn’t break through her shyness to initiate conversation.

  BLUE, HAWAII | THE GAMER

  Despite their shared class, Blue’s teammates previously hadn’t hung out together as a group. Now that Blue regularly took them on adventures around town, however, they were gradually leaving their old social circles to form a new one.

  The first time the group convened at Blue’s house, the students were amazed.

  “This room is so nice!”

  “Look how organized!”

  “Look at the cable management!”

  “Oh my God, look at his computer,” Michael said. He fingered the customized headphones that Blue had designed and surveyed the others, which hung neatly in frames on the wall, each pair illuminated by picture lights. “Wow, your headphones are like artwork.”

  The girls peeked into Blue’s walk-in closet and gasped in admiration at clothes and shoes meticulously organized by color and style. When they saw his mechanical models, they called his craftsmanship “impeccable.” They were riveted when Angelique made him demonstrate a speedrun of Portal.

  The smart kids’ reaction to Blue’s room was the polar opposite of that of his old friends. Jackson, Stewart, Ty, and the rest of them incessantly made fun of Blue’s cable management, high-end electronics, and room decor. Blue was astonished that these new friends actually liked him because of his differences. When they weren’t preparing for SCH, they accompanied Blue to beaches or to the playground to stargaze. With this new group, Blue was happier than he had imagined he could be. As his spirits rose, so did his motivation. He didn’t want these students to think he was the equivalent of his low GPA. He tried to follow their lead. When Michael suggested that Blue ask his French teacher for help, he did so, because if a valedictorian could ask for help, then it was okay.

  One night, Michael came over to Blue’s house to work on unit six. Blue suggested they take a walk. They strolled to a nearby playground, where they ran into some of Blue’s skater friends. Blue felt cool in front of Michael as the skaters asked him to teach them his newest tricks on the board.

  As they walked to the playground, talking about skating and cars, Blue gently bumped into Michael, his hands in his pockets, to test whether Michael would flinch. He didn’t. They lay on a bench, hands behind their heads, and stargazed. Blue tried not to shiver in the brisk night air as they talked about family and friends. Ty had been frustrating Blue lately, he told Michael, because he was “an inconsistent friend” whom
Jackson easily influenced, and because he had started to drink and smoke pot.

  Michael listened, then asked, “So how long have you and Ty been going out?”

  Blue turned to him in surprise. “What?! No, no, Ty is just a friend! We just hang out a lot.”

  “Oh,” Michael said. “So . . . are you seeing anyone right now?”

  “Nope. I really wish I was,” Blue said. “It sucks to be me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because in heterosexual relationships you have tons of examples. Rules, even. So you know what to do. But in homosexual relationships, there are no rules. It’s confusing. That and you can never really tell who is and who isn’t, you know?”

  “Yeah, that makes sense.”

  They were silent for several minutes. Then Michael asked, “Would you be able to tell if I was gay or not?”

  This was interesting. “No, I don’t think so,” Blue replied.

  “Well, that’s funny, because . . . I am.”

  Blue was astounded. Wait, what?! he thought. The guys Blue liked were always straight. He never had a chance with his crushes. Blue stared at Michael, who was still gazing up at the stars. He looked proud of himself. He looked sincere.

  “Really?” Blue asked.

  “Mmhmm.”

  Blue lay his head down again. “Huh. Really.” He just came out to me?! After a few minutes, Blue said, “Aww,” and patted Michael’s chest reassuringly.

  “Thank you for that.”

  “Does anyone else know?” Blue asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “So all of that stuff with your girlfriend. What’s that about?”

  “Well, I did like her but I just like guys more, you know? I just don’t have any experience with a guy.”

  “Me, neither,” Blue said.

  More silence. Blue pondered his situation. He was lying next to a crush who had just admitted he was gay and seemed to be interested in Blue. Blue shivered violently, unable to control his nerves. “Fu-fucking cold,” he stammered when Michael looked at him quizzically. “Time to get up.”

  While they talked, Blue realized that since Michael had come out, his voice had been cracking, as if he were holding back tears. Blue looked into his eyes and saw they were watery. “Hey,” he said, nudging Michael. “Don’t be sad! Why are you sad?”

  “I don’t know, I just feel stupid now. Don’t know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh. Well cheer up, man.” Now Blue was sure. I’m gonna have to save his sappy ass, he thought. He took a deep breath, summoned all of his courage, and said, “Don’t tell [the team] that I told you, but I’ve kind of had a crush on you for a while.”

  Michael’s face lit up. “Really?!”

  “Yeah,” Blue said.

  “Can I tell you something? I’ve had a crush on you too.”

  “That’s convenient.” Blue nudged Michael, and in a quiet voice that was so awkward it embarrassed him, said, “We should go out.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said. They smiled at each other.

  “So . . . why exactly do you have a crush on me?” Blue asked.

  “You’re kind of cute? And, I don’t know, I just feel good around you. I think it’s cute how you’re really into comics and anime and games and stuff. You’re a massive geek, basically.”

  “True,” Blue said. “And the part about me being attractive: also true.”

  Michael laughed. “Let’s see, what else. You’re really smart. And different from other people. You always have something new to say, not like all those other dumbshits. You’re always calm and collected, more mature than the rest of us. And you have a real sense of humor. The super-funny kind that everyone likes. Like, not too much where you’re blatant but not too little where you just sound immature. You’re perfect.” Michael paused. “What about you? Why did you like me?”

  “I guess I’ve been comparison shopping lately, trying to find people that don’t bog me down, people that help me up in life. Compared to my old friends, well, you’re just light years ahead of them. And I just . . . I feel happiest when I’m with you.”

  Following more silence, Blue looked at his watch discreetly. Michael’s curfew loomed. Blue sighed audibly, then said, “You know, you probably don’t want to leave until you kiss me, but you aren’t doing anything because you know it would be awkward with my hat on. Am I right?”

  Michael leaned in. They tilted the same way. Blue corrected his angle. The bill of his baseball cap bopped Michael on the forehead.

  “Oh, damn this,” Michael said, and took off Blue’s hat. Blue’s first-ever kiss gave him butterflies. He felt like he was smiling the whole way through.

  When Michael left to go home, Blue decided to conduct a self-test. He hadn’t played MW2 in months, but he knew he was still good at it. Was he too disoriented to play well? “If I really liked him, I’d play shitty,” Blue later explained. “And alas, I played shitty.”

  WHITNEY, NEW YORK | THE POPULAR BITCH

  In Spanish, rather than chatting exclusively with Chelsea, Whitney talked to Shay. Shay was generous and affable; when Whitney was sick, she offered to lend her movies and books. Within days, they were having extended, open conversations. Whitney also decided to be friendly to Irene once she realized she alienated her only because the preps did. She didn’t have anything against her personally.

  Whitney even tried to be nice to Elizabeth, a wannabe who disliked her. In advertising, she struck up a conversation. “Hey, Elizabeth, where are you going to college?” Whitney asked. Elizabeth looked up, startled, and answered.

  “What are you going to major in?” Whitney asked.

  “I want to do sociology or advertising, but my mom wants me to do education,” Elizabeth said.

  “It’s your life, so you should do what you want, not what your mom wants,” Whitney said. “I took a sociology class junior year. I think you’d really like it.”

  As Whitney walked through the halls now, instead of strutting with her nose in the air, she greeted anyone who made eye contact with her. She also made a concerted effort to stop gossiping—or, at least, to cut back.

  At the end of speech class one day, the teacher announced that the class had to go to a speaking event. When the bell rang, stuck behind a group of slow-moving students, Whitney climbed over a desk and headed for the door. When she saw Fern trying to reach her, Whitney turned around and maneuvered against the traffic.

  “Can you let me know when you’re going and maybe give me a ride?” Fern asked, her head down and her voice barely audible.

  Whitney was gratified. For Fern to come up to her in public surely was a sign that she was becoming more approachable, not a traditional prep hallmark. “Yeah, sure!” Whitney said, in a perky voice that annoyed even herself as she used it.

  “Thank you,” Fern whispered.

  During her free period, Whitney was in the mostly empty library with Giselle and Steph, watching Bianca rush to finish a major economics project due the following class period. By now, the prep clique had begun to splinter: Bianca, Madison, Chelsea, and Kendra were the senior preps, while Whitney and Steph had become more independent. Giselle fluctuated between Whitney and the preps.

  Whitney, Steph, and Giselle lounged on the couch, watching as Bianca typed frantically on a computer and bossed Chelsea around. “Chelsea, fix the printer!” she said, and Chelsea rushed to do it. “Chelsea, run and get me a glue stick!”—and Chelsea was off, sprinting to the front desk to find one. Bianca turned to the couch. “Steph, go and get me scissors!”

  Steph snorted. “Uhh, no?” she said.

  Bianca rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I hate you,” she said, passive-aggressive and half-jesting.

  Steph mimicked the tone. “The feeling’s mutual.”

  For the next few minutes, Whitney, Steph, and Giselle told Bianca what they really thought of her, but they did it jokingly so that Bianca couldn’t get angry.

  “Bianca, you suck at life. Your project sucks just like you,” said Steph.
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  “Steph, you are so ugly,” Bianca shot back.

  “Haha, not as ugly as you and that project,” Giselle said.

  “Giselle, I hate you,” Bianca said.

  “Bianca, you think you own the world when you don’t,” Whitney said.

  Bianca didn’t say anything else the rest of the period.

  JOY, CALIFORNIA | THE NEW GIRL

  In PE, some boys were fooling around, refusing to listen to the teacher. Visibly upset, the teacher sat at a table bordering the basketball court, muttering to himself. “These kids are so immature. They don’t respect anyone, they don’t respect me. I don’t know why I waste my time . . .”

  Joy scrawled a note on a piece of notebook paper: “There’ll always be a negative aspect,” she wrote. “Just think positively and know that there’s always a better outcome, and at the end of the day know that you’re valued. Joy.” She climbed down from the bleachers and handed him the note. “Here,” she said, and walked away.

  The teacher read the note and smiled. Joy could see that he cared about the students and generally liked his job. She thought he needed to be reminded that some of his students cared about him.

  Friday was Ariana’s last day at Citygrove. She had decided to drop out of school and move in with her mother, where they would work together at Kmart. In between classes that day, Joy saw her on the sidewalk. “Hey, Ariana, I got you something!”

  “Really?! What?”

  “I got you this monkey.” She handed Ariana a furry blue monkey that she had persuaded her stepfather to buy.

  “Oh my gosh! You’re the first person to ever give me anything!” Ariana said, hugging the monkey. “I love you, I love you, I love you so much!”

  Joy laughed and showed her the stuffed animal’s tag, on which Joy had written her email address and the message, “You can be whatever you want. You can achieve anything in life.”

  “Hey look, if anything, send me an email,” Joy told her. “I want to hear from you, so here’s my email address. Take care of yourself, and listen to what I said.”