Geek Chic
Page 1
Margie Palatini
GEEK
Chic
My thanks to Venus, Alexis,
Ashley, and Jaclyn for mucho inspiration;
to Janine for her organizational skills;
to Katherine for her support; and to
my husband for his unending patience.
— M.P.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Chie ZoCabuLary
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
One
or whatever
Since I ’m eleven — well, almost eleven — I’m thinking this really isn’t Chapter One of like my whole entire life. (After all, I am almost eleven.)
This is probably more like Chapter Forty-seven or maybe even Fifty-one (just so you know). me: zoey zinevich
So,
this is what I’m thinking …
My b-friend, Venus, helped me with the lettering.
(She’s also extremely excellent in cursive. Wait until you see page 8.)
Before you give yourself a total ha-ha snicker-fest, yes, I know, fairy godmothers are in that group with Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Wish Upon a Star, etc., etc., etc. ‖
When you’re eleven, you have entered the age of SERIOUS DOUBLE DIGITS, which means you are now:
a too old
or
(b) too cool to believe in that stuff anymore.
“You still believe in WHO?”
“WHAT?”
WARNING: followed by uncontrollable laughter by certain people who are (a) or (b) or both. Proceed at your own risk.
However, I’m thinking, me being an “almost” (as in technically ten) cancels out the (a) part (see above), and the (b) part (ditto on the above) is what I’m not—which is why I’m still allowed to think (c) fairy godmother.
This is a truly excellent thing, because I am not giving up Santa Claus—EVER—and being halfway to eleven is when you really absolutely need a fairy godmother the most. I’m going to require major fairy dust intervention in the hair department alone. There are just so many days a person can wear a hat, if you know what I mean.
Here’s the spill (Venus-speak for “explanation”):
Sixth grade is only 198 days away. That’s not a lot of time to learn about all the stuff you need to learn about. (And believe me, there’s a lot of stuff to learn about that you NEVER even thought you needed to learn about.) Especially if you don’t want to spend your whole life at
Table Ten.
Remember the hourglass and Dorothy? (Agree. You can never be too old for The Wizard of Oz.) Well, I’m down to those last grains myself. The clock is tick-tocking.
Venus says her sister says that if you’re not cool by sixth grade, you are not going to live happily ever after in sixth grade. The Cool Police are taking notes. (whoever they are, they’re using a lot of paper on me already.)
Being almost eleven is getting all very complicated. It’s even way more complicated than one of Mrs. Helferich’s word problems:
Person One walked from Town A to Town C. It took 1 hour and 25 minutes to walk from Town A to Town B. It took another 25 minutes
to walk from Town B to Town C. Person One arrived in Town C to meet Person Two at 2:45 p.m.
What time did he leave Town A?
I am definitely going to need outside help.
Especially in the previously mentioned hair and all-important accessorization categories.
I’ve fallen way behind in accessories.
It must have happened back in third grade when I wanted to be Amelia Earhart. The only accessory she had was a helmet. That was very useful for Amelia. Me too. The thing is, being almost eleven …you really can’t wear a helmet to school anymore. Unless you ride a bicycle.
The backpack I made out of duct tape is pretty incredibly awesome, though. I’m just not sure The Bashleys (Brittany-with-two-Ts and Ashley, who are both accessory experts and “boing” on the coolability meter at Harry S. Truman) think a duct-tape backpack is a fashion accessory. Even if orange and purple is a truly outrageous color combination and duct tape is truly the most major astronaut accessory ever.
That’s why I’m thinking about getting my own fairy godmother. Instant makeovers are FG specialities, and they know all about accessorization and “chic” too. (The Bashleys use that word all the time.)
According to my Merriam-Webster Pocket Edition, “chic” can be used as a noun or an adjective. Either way, it means “cool.” So I’ve been researching fairy godmothers, and here’s my Lightbulb Momento:
Cinderella
(Told you Venus is excellent in cursive.)
Do you know how many girls want to be a princess? Or act like a princess? Or look like a princess? Or want to find out that they are— but never knew they were— a long-lost princess?
One word: Google.
It’s not just my little sister, Maddie, who is way pinked out at four and already wearing a tiara. I’ve found pictures of some pretty old people wearing those things on their heads.
I’m actually more of a green person, but I’m sure a fairy god mother can work with green. She can do chic in any color. More bippity and less boppity or … something like that.
Even with a good wand wave, I still might be a little tiara challenged. (The hair situation.)
Passing on those glass slippers too. I can’t really fit in those tiny thingies anyway. My toes? Those shoes? These Chuck Taylor feet?
It’s a long story about my big toe. Very ugly.
The toe and the story … maybe Chapter Ten. Remind me.
But, here’s the really important what’s what:
In the connect-the-dots world of frogs, princesses, and all kinds of fairies— you can include dragons, ogres, and wizards if you want because they are very popular too … especially in movies — a fairy godmother is only one dot away from Cinderella Dot Dot Dot, aha! who actually became a princess, which is very la-di-da, which means chic, which = cool.
The point beinG, as Mrs. Helferich likes to say when she talks about connecting dots, if it’s okay to want to be a princess (and like I said, I’ve seen some scary pictures of old princesses), then it has to be okay to believe in a fairy godmother.
Especially if you’re only almost eleven.
So…
I’M GoinG for it
(even if, technically, I am in double digits).
Presenting
“The Zoey Zone”
in
ZINE VISION
A Zoey Zinevich In Your Dreams Production
Very 21st Century
Cue the Music!
(FYI — it’s usually a harp.)
Music gets louder
(adding a trumpet).
The light is BLINDING!
A teeny white light suddenly appears!
Right in Mrs. Helferich’s class.
(Excellent special effects, right?)
What does it all mean?
“HUH?”
(The boys are clueless.)
I am still an almost-eleven believer!
I know! It is of course an incredible …
Even The Bashleys have no idea what’s going on. “Huh???” x 2!
FAIRY GODMOTHER MORPH!
She sees me. “Uh-oh. You need some fairy dust and fast!”
Zooming in on sparkles.
“WAIT!”
(Close-up of Venus.)
(Told you.)
“Some bippity here.
A little boppity there and …”
“Don’t forget her feet!”
“Even I can’t do anything about her feet.”
“Anywho, let’s get to it!
This girl needs a switcheroo by sixth grade!”
(I feel tingles. Not down to my toes, but close.)
AND THEN
Whoa!
“Used as an adjective AND a noun!
With accessories!”
“Who knew she could be so la-di-da?”
“And chic! Definitely chic!”
“Very you-know-what.”
Two
Samuel Morse-ing
…— — — …
(Just in case my FG is more 19th century.)
How to describe the Lunchroom at
Harry S. Truman School …?
First, it is also the All-Purpose Room.
What that means is, when you’re there and not eating, it still smells like what you were eating. Or worse, it smells like what you were doing.
It’s the Gym too.
(I know. Who came up with that idea?)
Imagine how it smells in a place when you’re stuck smelling the memory of everything and everybody that’s ever been in that place.
It can all be very challenging nose- and stomach-wise. Merriam-Webster (pocket or regular edition) doesn’t have enough adjectives to describe the aromas. I’ve checked. Pictures would definitely not be allowed either.
Especially of Alex Shemtob.
WAIT. (Too harsh.)
Alex is … okay. Sort of. Maybe.
I guess I do kind of like him. A little.
WAIT! Backspace myself.
ONLY in the M-W dictionary definition.
(Not, you know, in the other way. Please, I’m still officially only ten.)
However … Alex does know his history. He knows almost — and again I say almost—as much about the presidents as I do.
Did I say “almost”? Because I want to make it known that I might be a presidential historian someday like that lady from Massachusetts who writes all the books my dad has on his bookshelves, and right now there’s no contest that I know more about George to George and beyond than Alex Shemtob.
(Just want to clear that up.)
So, as history goes, Alex is in column A. He’s quite the excellent one at solving word problems too. He’s like the best mathlete at Harry S. next to Venus, who really knows her Sudoku.
And one more thing: He has primo pencils. He uses HBs, which are the best for filling in circles on multiple-choice tests.
But, good pencils aside, Alex needs a little SOS (Samuel Morse and the scouring pads) in … eating.
Venus describes it as “inhaling.”
The thing is, Alex mostly exhales what he inhales.
Not pretty—or safe—especially if you’re sitting across from him and not wearing an art smock.
But that’s not the worst part that happens on this particular day 186 days before sixth grade.
Oh, not so hardly …
Bring a box of tissues — or some of that pink stuff for your stomach.
you’re going need it.
The Lunchroom Life
of
Zoey Zinevich
Featuring Venus Romero as her best friend
ACT 1: Scene 1
11:38 a.m.
Hot-Lunch Lunch Line
Venus and Zoey are last in the Hot-Lunch Lunch Line because they have stayed after library class to help Mrs. Temlock-Fields in the Media Center. Besides knowing Dewey and decimal, Mrs. T-F also knows Italian, which she is teaching to V and Z.
Today they learn “bene,” which means “good.”
But … nothing is bene today.
Most of all lunch.
All the turkey sandwiches with or without mayo (no tomato) are gone.
V and Z grab their trays and slide along to the FIRST STOP on the Hot-Lunch Lunch Line: Mrs. Salerno, the hairnet lady with a mustache (yes, mustache).
She stares. Then grumbles.
(She is a very good grumbler.)
MRS. SALERNO:
Meat loaf or slumgullion*?
(*no known definition or description available at this time)
ZOEY:
Meat loaf.
MRS. SALERNO:
Gravy?
Zoey nods.
The spoon known simply as Super Salerno disappears into the murky good word choice ditto on w.c. goop. It comes back up (reemerges).
The gravy is thick, lumpy, and gray, which is a good thing. It covers the meat loaf, which is grayer.
Venus chooses the slumgullion.
(She really lives on the edge.)
Venus takes an apple.
Zoey takes an orange.
a healthy fruit, and her favorite color
The two give their names to Mrs. Petrovic, who is the official LUNCH
LIST NAME CHECKER
Mrs. Petrovic checks the lunch list so nobody steals food.
I know. Who would possibly want to steal gray meat loaf and slumgullion (whatever that is)?
ACT 1: Scene 2
11:42 a.m.
V and Z are checked in and out. They exit the Hot-Lunch Lunch Line.
And then …
realize the
HORROR OF IT ALL?
The ONLY seats left in the whole entire Lunchroom slash All-Purpose Room slash Gym are at the tables of Alex Shemtob or … The Bashleys!
ACT 2: Scene 1
11:44 a.m.
Lunchroom/All-Purpose Room/Gym
Venus and Zoey stare down at their trays.
Mystery gravy?
Slumgullion?
… Alex Shemtob?
Their stomachs can’t survive a Harry S. Hot Lunch and Alex.
V and Z have no choice.
They park their fannies at …
The Table Bashley.
A hush falls over the Lunchroom.
Even Alex Shemtob stops inhaling.
And exhaling. Nobody sits down at The Table Bashley with The Bashleys except Friends of The Bashleys.
Venus and Zoey are not Friends of The Bashleys.
They are not even Friends of the Friends of The Bashleys.
But—make no mistake about it—everyone wants to be a Friend of The Bashleys (see Chapter One).
Everyone at The Table Bashley stares. Then WHISPERS.
Whispering is NOT good.
NOT GOOD in capital letters when the WHISPERING is between
The Bashleys of The Table Bashley.
Venus and Zoey don’t know what to do:
(a) Stare back
(b) Whisper between themselves
(c) Eat
It is not an easy multiple-choice.
The meat loaf and slumgullion are getting cold, which is—absolutely NOT GOOD.
And then … GASP!
THE BASHLEYS SPEAK!
Which is very incredible because they never speak to V or Z Ever. Well, maybe to say, “Move. You’re in my way.”
ACT 3: Scene 1
The Table Bashley
ASHLEY:
So … is it true that you both are doing a “secret” science report?
BRITTANY:
Sounds very “secret” … but, you can tell us, right, Ashley? We have no secrets at our table.
total spill
ZOEY AND VENUS:
It’s on bullfrogs!
ASHLEY TO BRITTANY:
Fascinating!
Ashley and Brittany look at each other. They smile (Note: a very sneaky smile, so sneaky that V & Z don’t even recognize it’s sneaky, which is pretty sneaky).
Venus and Zoey smile back.
Backstory: They have been catching bullfrogs from the pond in Venus’s backyard since they were four (supervised, of course, and wearing life jackets).
They have caught, captured, and released three salamanders, a gazillion snails, dragonfly larvae (which are a little icky), two sunfish, six tadpole
s, and seventeen frogs. Except for one frog the girls named Harrison, who is now Venus’s pet because he is a champion slimer.
(His slime is more like spit than snot.)
They are working on a detailed, VERY secret journal with drawings.
Could it be that The Bashleys think Zoey and Venus are on the …
CUSP OF COOLNESS?
primo word choice
ZOEY:
(very excited)
Bullfrogs are awesome amphibians!
Trust me. They totally are.
VENUS:
Want to come over to my house and catch one with Zoey and me? They’re hibernating in the mud right now, but we can let you know when things start hopping.
(excited and punny)
The Bashleys look as if they have just swallowed Hot-Lunch mystery meat and a side order of slumgullion while sitting across from Alex Shemtob (and it’s not because they didn’t get the joke).
ASHLEY:
Frog catching? In the mud?
Eeeuuuuwwww!
BRITTANY:
Frog Crush! Frog Crushers!
Double eeeeeuuuww!
Sudden reality check for V and Z. Catching bullfrogs is probably not in any way totally or even semitotally cool or awesome to Ashley and slash or Brittany.
But—it is too late!
Venus and Zoey sink below plankton on The Bashley HST food chain.
The Bashleys,
Friends of The Bashleys,
Not the Friends of The Bashleys:
Eeeeeeeeuuuuuuuwwwwww!
ACT 3: Scene 2
11:48 p.m.
Venus and Zoey are banished to
Table Ten.
As V and Z make their way down the aisle of the Lunchroom slash AllPurpose Room slash Gym with trays of slumgullion and gray meat loaf, they hear the not-so-soft WHISPERS from The Table Bashley.