Geek High

by Piper Banks

  “This is the best doughnut I’ve ever had,” he said.

  “Told you,” I said.

  We spent the rest of the morning wandering around, admiring greyhounds and chatting with their owners, and browsing through the greyhound-themed merchandise sold by various vendors. For lunch, we washed down sausage sandwiches with cups of sweet tea, and then went back for a second round of doughnuts. Every half hour or so we’d check back at the auction tent to see if we still had the top bid for the red martingale leash. Every time we were overbid, Dad wrote down a new bid.

  “Willow is going to get that leash if it’s the last thing I do,” he said fervently.

  I hadn’t known my dad could get so competitive over an auction. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t yet discovered eBay.

  Just before the costume parade began, I left Willow with Dad and went into the bathroom to change into my Calvin costume. I pulled on a red-and-black striped shirt, black shorts, and a short, spiky blond wig. I’d thought about wearing roller skates, but then remembered that last year Willow had gotten a little spooked during the parade, and had tried to dash off the stage. I didn’t want to be on wheels should she decide upon a repeat performance.

  “Ta-da,” I said when I came out of the bathroom.

  “Perfect!” Dad said. He tousled my wig hair. “You look just like Calvin.”

  “Now for Willow,” I said. She had a furry tiger headpiece that went on like a hood and snapped under her neck, and furry booties. Willow submitted to being dressed with dignity, and didn’t even fight me when I slid the fake tiger tail over her normal, thin greyhound one.

  “How do we look?” I asked my dad, making Willow turn around with me, so he could see us from all angles.

  “Like champions,” Dad said. “I haven’t seen anyone with a costume that’s half as good.”

  “I don’t know,” I fretted. “There was a Donald and Melania Trump pair that looked pretty good. The wedding dress the greyhound was wearing was amazing. She even had a veil on.”

  “No, your costumes are definitely better,” Dad said encouragingly. “I think this is your year to win.”

  The loudspeaker suddenly let out an ear-shattering squawk of feedback that caused everyone to cringe and cover their ears. “The costume parade and judging is about to begin. If you are entered in the contest, please line up by the fountain,” a disembodied voice announced.

  “That’s us,” I said. “Come on, Willow. I mean, Hobbes.”

  “Good luck,” Dad called after us.

  Willow and I didn’t win the costume contest. We didn’t even place. Unsurprisingly, Donald and Melania—whose doggy wedding dress, I learned, had been designed and hand-sewn at a swanky bridal shop on Palm Beach—took first place. Second place went to an owner and greyhound dressed as salt and pepper shakers, and third to a pair of mermaids.

  “You were robbed. Your costumes were far better than the salt and pepper shakers. And those didn’t even look like mermaids. I thought they were supposed to be fish,” Dad grumbled when I met up with him after the contest.

  “It’s okay,” I said, shrugging. “I probably would have voted for the Donald, too.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I have a consolation prize for you,” Dad said. He pulled out the beautiful red tooled martingale leash from behind his back, and held it out to me.

  “We won the auction?” I asked, delighted.

  Dad nodded. “I had to practically fight a woman for it,” he said. He nodded at a short woman with frizzy blond curls and a white greyhound, who was scowling at my dad across the park. “She tried to sneak in at the last minute and outbid me. But I managed to top her just before the clipboards were picked up,” Dad bragged, looking so pleased with himself that I had to laugh.

  “Thanks, this is great,” I said, slipping the new leash over Willow’s head. It looked perfect.

  I glanced around. People were starting to pack up and load dogs into cars.

  “I guess it’s time to go home,” I said, pulling my itchy Calvin wig off my head.

  “Okay,” Dad said. “Let’s go.”

  As we turned and headed toward his car, my dad looked down at me almost shyly.

  “Thanks for letting me come with you,” he said.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “If you hadn’t driven me down, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “I was glad to,” Dad said. He paused before continuing. “We don’t spend enough time together.”

  I bit my lip. We’d had such a nice day together, it seemed a shame to ruin it with a snide comment about the reason we hadn’t been spending much time together. After all, I wasn’t the one who’d disappeared to marry a cold-blooded demon.

  “It’s my fault,” Dad said, as though reading my mind. “I know that. And I know that you’re still angry with me. But I want to make it up to you.”

  “Thanks,” I said, touched. “That means a lot to me.”

  Dad reached down and took my hand in his, and gave it a squeeze. We hadn’t held hands in years, not since I was a little girl. And for just a brief moment, I remembered how safe it had felt to reach up and slip my small hand in his larger one. I hesitated, and then I squeezed his hand back.

  Chapter 25

  Test time was, as usual at Geek High, crazy busy. Everyone was putting in as many hours of studying as they could, some even pulling all-nighters. I’ve tried all-nighters, but I normally make it until only about three a.m., at which point my brain shuts down and I end up passing out face-first right on my textbook.

  Some of my classes, like astronomy, were only a semester long, which meant we were taking the course final during exam week. Other courses, like mod lit, were yearlong, and so we were prepping for the midterm. Either way, the tests were important, and would count as a major chunk of our grade. Which meant one thing: a total, schoolwide freakout. Sanjiv even canceled our Mu Alpha Theta practice sessions in honor of the exams.

  “I have way too much to do,” he said when he gave us the news that this would be our last practice of the semester. His Adam’s apple was bobbing in his throat, and his left foot was tapping nervously. “I was up all night last night studying for Early American History. But it was worth it. I think I’m going to seriously ace that exam.”

  “Thanks for sharing, dude,” Kyle Carpenter said snidely.

  And for once I agreed with Kyle. Here’s the thing about the Geek High student body: When we get stressed, we do our best to freak each other out. It’s basically just an attempt to transfer our own anxiety onto someone else, and it’s remarkably effective. Here’s how it goes:

  Student One: Did you read that chapter for Latin on the conjugation paradigm? That was tough. I barely got through it.

  Student Two (voice panicky): What? We have to know that for the test?

  Student One: You didn’t know that?

  Student Two: No! Oh, my God, I’m going to fail!

  Student One (looking more cheerful): Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll do fine.

  See? The downside is that even if you do manage to successfully freak someone else out, thus making yourself feel better, that good feeling lasts only until someone else comes along, intent on freaking you out. So I’ve found that the best policy is just to stay away from everyone.

  Studying at school was completely out of the question. First of all, the Geek High library is an open echo chamber of a room. All it takes is for one person to start whispering to a friend behind the stacks, and poof, there goes any hope you might have had of concentrating on your work.

  So Charlie and I studied at Grounded every afternoon after school. This worked pretty well. Or, at least, it did when Finn wasn’t around.

  “Hey, how long do you think I can balance this pencil on the end of my nose?” Finn asked, sliding into the open seat at our table, paper coffee cup in hand. “I bet I can keep it there for a full minute. Anyone want to bet me?”

  He carefully set the pencil down on the end of his beaky nose.

  Ch
arlie looked at him with exasperation. “First of all, we’re studying. Obviously.” She gestured at the open pile of books and notebooks and empty coffee cups she and I had accumulated on the table before us. “And second, since I saw you stick your gum on the pencil, my guess would be that you can keep it on your nose until you decide to peel it off. So, no, I don’t want to bet you.”

  Finn made a face at her and unstuck the pencil, leaving behind a little blob of pink chewing gum on the tip of his nose. He scratched it off with his fingernail.

  “Why are you such a stress case?” Finn asked.

  “Um, hello? Exams?” Charlie said, rolling her eyes at me.

  Finn shrugged. “So?” he said.

  Finn didn’t believe in studying. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he simply didn’t care what sort of grades he got. Although, annoyingly, he always did well. Even without studying.

  “Finn, go away,” Charlie said firmly.

  “Okay, fine. Let me just finish my tasty hot beverage,” Finn said. And then he began to slurp his coffee. Far more loudly then was absolutely necessary.

  Charlie and I exchanged a look. I could tell that she was about to blow.

  “I’m going to close my eyes and count to ten,” Charlie said to me. “And if he’s still sitting there when I’m done, I’m going to kill him.” She shut her eyes. “One…two…three…”

  “Does she really think I’m afraid of her?” Finn asked.

  “Four…five…”

  “Because I’m totally not,” he said.

  “Six…seven…”

  “Not even a little,” he continued. Although I noticed he was starting to edge off his seat.

  “Eight…nine…”

  “Later, chickadees,” Finn said, fleeing. As he hurried out of the coffee shop, he looked back over his shoulder at me, and called out, “Check out geekhigh.com when you get a chance! Very interesting post today.”

  “Ten.” Charlie opened her eyes, and smiled serenely when she saw Finn was gone. “Now. Where were we?”

  “Quasars,” I said. “An astronomic source of electromagnetic energy with a very high redshift, as a result of Hubble’s law.”

  “Hubble’s law, Hubble’s law. What’s that again? Oh, here it is. ‘The redshift in light is proportional to a galaxy’s distance,’” Charlie said, reading from her notes. She looked up at me, a little wild-eyed. “Now, how on earth am I going to remember that?”

  “Ha!” I said.

  Charlie frowned. “What?” she asked.

  “You made a pun. How on earth are you going to remember the quasars,” I said.

  Charlie closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened her eyes again, she fixed me with her evilest of evil eyes. “Miranda. How can you joke at a time like this?”

  Yeesh, I thought, ducking my head to avoid making eye contact. Charlie was scary when she got like this. I’d be glad when exams were over, once and for all. Well, over until next semester, anyway.

  I pulled my laptop closer and surfed over to geekhigh.com. And this is what I read there:

  HOT ITEM

  What math whiz and resident Geek High party planner is being escorted to the Snowflake by a younger man? Will one plus one equal romance? Stay tuned…

  I snapped my laptop shut and stood up.

  “What’s wrong,” Charlie asked, looking up at me distractedly.

  “Nothing,” I said. “I just have to go find Finn. I’m going to find him…and then I’m going to kill him.”

  “Oh,” Charlie said, returning to her astronomy book, and waving distractedly at me. “Good luck with that.”

  Our exams took place during the second week in December. Normal classes were suspended, while the tests were held every morning and afternoon. The week passed by in a blur of coffee, blue books, and stress. All in all, I felt okay about how I did. I was pretty sure I’d done well on my history, astronomy, mod lit, and math exams. I was less confident about my performance on the Latin midterm, and was pretty sure I’d flubbed a question on the differences between the Impressionists and the Postimpressionists on my art appreciation final.

  “At least it’s over,” I said as Charlie and I left the art appreciation exam on Friday afternoon. “Now all I have to do is get through the Snowflake tomorrow, and I’m off to London on Sunday!”

  “I’m so jealous.” Charlie sighed. “I wish I could go with you. There’s a Frida Kahlo exhibit at the Tate Modern that I’d give anything to see.”

  “I wish you could come, too,” I said. I was getting a little nervous about my overseas flight. It was the longest trip I’d ever undertaken, and I was doing it on my own.

  “Hello, girls,” Finn said, appearing behind us. He squeezed himself in between Charlie and me, and draped an arm over each of our shoulders as we walked down the school corridor. “How are my little stress cases doing? Would you like to join me at Grounded for a celebratory latte? On me.”

  “We can’t,” I said.

  “Why not?” Finn asked. “Exams are over! We’re footloose and fancy-free!”

  “No, we’re not. We have our final Snowflake committee meeting right now. Remember?” I said, poking him in the ribs. “You’re coming too.”

  Finn, who’s very ticklish, flinched. “Hey, cut that out. I’d love to stay for the meeting, but unfortunately I have a pressing engagement elsewhere,” he said.

  “Liar. You just said you’re going to Grounded,” Charlie pointed out.

  “Yes, and, while I’m there, I have to update a certain Web site. I haven’t had a chance to post all week, what with the grueling test schedule and all,” Finn said.

  At this, Charlie and I both rolled our eyes. Finn had spent every moment that he didn’t have a test playing the online adventure game he was currently obsessed with. Finn spent so much of his time gaming, I wasn’t sure when he found the time to dream up his own games.

  “You’re coming to the meeting,” Charlie told him flatly.

  “I brought snacks,” I lied, hoping to entice him. You can convince Finn to do just about anything if you promise to feed him.

  Finn perked up at this. “Snacks?” he asked hopefully.

  I rooted around in my knapsack until I found a roll of Butter Rum Life Savers.

  “Here you go,” I said, handing him the roll.

  Finn looked crestfallen. “They’re open,” he complained critically, as he examined the Life Savers. “And there’s fuzz on them.”

  “Just the one on the end,” I said. “Toss that one. The rest should be fine.”

  “That’s okay,” Finn said, popping the first Life Saver into his mouth. “I sort of like the fuzz. It gives the candy an interesting texture.”

  “You,” Charlie said, “are disgusting.”

  “Want one?” Finn asked, holding out the candy to her.

  She swatted it away. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

  “We’re ready,” I announced, once everyone on the Snowflake committee had gathered for our final meeting in Mr. Arburro’s social studies room. “Completely and totally ready.”

  “What about the food?” Morgan asked.

  “Charlie and I are going to the grocery store this afternoon to pick up chips and soda and stuff. Oh, and guess what I found at that candy store at the mall? Black and white M&M’s,” I said proudly. “We’re going to fill a giant punch bowl with them.”

  “Has anyone checked with the band to confirm they’re coming?” Charlie asked.

  “Of course they’re coming,” Morgan protested. “Snake’s my date, after all.”

  The band. This was the one major problem we’d had while planning the Snowflake, and, try as I might, I could not wring one extra dollar out of Headmaster Hughes to hire a real band. A good band. Instead, we had to go with the free band, headed by Morgan’s guitarist boyfriend, Snake. And it was a risk…a big risk.

  I’d met Snake a few weeks earlier, when Morgan, Felicity, Charlie, and I had auditioned his band one afternoon after school. The
audition took place in Snake’s parents’ garage, which was damp and dank and smelled like gasoline. Snake was thin, and sported a pierced eyebrow, a pierced nose, a pierced tongue, and an elaborate tattoo of (what else?) a snake wrapping up around his thin arm. He greeted Morgan with a wet kiss involving a lot of tongue, while the rest of us stood and watched, all completely revolted by the sight.

  Finally they broke apart, Morgan giggling and wiping spittle off her mouth, and Snake’s band, Snake House, played for us. They were…not awful. Which is not to say they were good. Because they weren’t.

  “Can you do more covers?” Felicity suggested, after the band finished a particularly jarring number, which sounded as though each musician were playing a different song.

  “We don’t do covers,” Snake said haughtily. He pushed a handful of greasy black hair out of his eyes. “We’re, like, artists.”

  “That’s right, dude. We’re artists,” Doug, the lead singer, agreed. He balled his hand in a fist and raised it triumphantly in the air.

  Felicity and I shared a worried look. We might not agree on much, but there was one thing she and I had in common: We weren’t at all happy that Snake House was going to be playing at the Snowflake.

  But, since they were the only band who would play for free, Snake House was in. And now, as the committee went over the final details for the dance, I tried to push out of my mind my concerns over just how much Snake House would suck. Maybe, set against the elegant black and white balloons and old Hollywood photographs, and lit by the thousands of twinkle lights we planned to string up around the gym, and the general glamour of everyone getting dressed up, Snake House would rise to the occasion and, for at least one night, they’d sound like Coldplay.

  But, then, maybe that was setting my expectations just a wee bit high.

  “So, we’re all going to meet here tomorrow morning to decorate, right?” I said.

  Finn raised his hand. “No can do,” he said.

  Charlie narrowed her eyes. “And why not?” she asked.

  She sounded more annoyed than I thought she should be. After all, this was Finn. It was a minor miracle he’d shown up for any of the meetings. I’d never expected that he’d actually sacrifice a whole morning to decorate the gym for the dance. But, then, they’d been fighting more than usual lately…actually, ever since Charlie had announced that she was going to the Snowflake with Mitch. I was pretty sure that was the main reason behind the contention, and equally sure that neither of them would admit to it.