Good Nerd Hunting

by Kaila Glass

  Quen waved and sped off up the street. Blake lifted his bike onto his shoulder, carried it up the stone steps, and set it down on the porch, throwing his helmet into the basket. He headed to the kitchen, hoping to put away the leftovers of his smoothie. Phoenix, who was sitting at the breakfast nook drinking from a mug and helping himself to a plate of cookies, looked up when Blake walked in. Phoenix beckoned, and Blake scooted into the booth across from him. Rascal jumped next to Blake and rested his paws on the table. Phoenix pushed the plate towards him.

  “Go ahead. They’re chocolate chip.”

  Rascal’s ears lowered before he jumped from the table and trotted out of the kitchen.

  “Where’d you meet your new friend?” Phoenix asked before taking a bite of his cookie.

  “What?”

  Phoenix pointed to the window beside them. It overlooked Appleby, right at the spot where he and Quen had parted ways.

  “Oh…” Blake didn’t meet his brother’s gaze.

  “What? You don’t like him?”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “He was… nice.”

  Phoenix stared.

  “Too nice,” Blake elaborated.

  “You do realize we’re not in Rosewood anymore, right?”

  “I know, but…”

  “Give him a chance. He’s given you one from the looks of it.” Phoenix took a sip from his mug.

  “He’s a friend of Finn’s, and he wants me to meet his friends tomorrow,” Blake admitted.

  “You should go. I seriously doubt Finn would plot against you. You’re like the brother he’ll never have.”

  “But he told them about Nerd Hunting Season.” Blake withdrew his slingshot. “They know what I’ve done with this. Why would anyone wanna be friends with someone like me?”

  “Maybe they think you’re cool,” Phoenix offered. “Ever think of that?”

  Blake’s face grew hot.

  Me, cool? he thought.

  “Go tomorrow,” Phoenix instructed. “Do yourself a favor and make some friends.”

  “Okay.” Blake stood and went upstairs to his room where he laid on his bed with Rascal.

  “You think it’s a trap?”

  Rascal said nothing.

  “I think you and Phoenix are right.”

  Rascal barked.

  “Okay, I’ll go. But I’m bringing my slingshot just in case. And you can come along for backup.”

  Rascal licked his owner’s face. “What should we call it?” Blake asked his pet as he scratched him behind the ears. “Operation: Make Friends? Operation: Trust Finn…? What about Operation: Don’t Be an Outcast?” Blake moved his head away when Rascal barked straight into his ear. “Then it’s settled. Time to make some friends.”

  8

  Operation: Don't Be an Outcast

  The following morning, Blake awoke before Phoenix knocked on his door. He’d showered and dressed by the time his brother announced this morning’s breakfast.

  “It’s omelets today,” he said in the open doorway.

  The brothers hurried down to the kitchen to find their father at the breakfast nook and their mother at the stove.

  “Mom, can I have Monterey Jack and sausage in my omelet, please?” Blake asked as he poured himself a glass of apple juice.

  “Of course, love,” his mother answered, sprinkling shredded cheese in the skillet.

  Phoenix poured himself a glass of OJ. “I want bacon and cheddar in mine. Please,” he added when his mother looked back, eyebrows raised.

  The brothers sat together at the nook with their father, who cut himself a piece of omelet and downed it with a gulp of orange juice. “Not much more to unpack now,” he said to his sons.

  Blake slumped back in his seat. “Thank God! We have way too much stuff.”

  “I think it’s better to have too much than too little,” laughed his mother, two steaming plates of food in her hands. She set them down in front of her sons. “You can always give away the excess.”

  “Fair enough,” Blake said with a shrug. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Mama’s boy,” Phoenix scoffed under his breath.

  Blake pinched his brother on the arm. Phoenix shoved his brother’s face back with his burly hand.

  “Hey! No fighting at the table,” said their father.

  “You’re one to talk,” Phoenix snorted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing.”

  The four of them ate in silence. Blake was the only one who looked up from his plate. His eyes darted from one family member to the next. The silence was killing him. If he didn’t break it now, he’d burst.

  “I made a friend yesterday,” he blurted out. They all looked up.

  “Really?” his father asked.

  “I met him at a smoothie shop while I was out. He goes to Seven Hills, too, and he lives right up the street.”

  His father’s face broke into a smile. “That’s great, son.”

  His mother planted a kiss on his forehead.

  “Mama’s boy,” Phoenix mouthed.

  “It’s my turn to clean,” his father said when their plates had cleared.

  “I’ll go start on the portraits in the living room,” Phoenix said, standing.

  “I need to go feed Cleo,” his mother murmured.

  “Can I help?” Blake asked. His mother froze. “I’ve never fed Cleo before. I’m just curious.”

  “Of course, love.”

  Blake followed his mother to the nursery; the walls were painted lilac with baby-themed pictures. A toy box sat near a short bookshelf of baby books and children’s stories. By the window was his sister’s crib, where she lied on her back, poking her button nose with her big toe.

  Blake leaned over the railing and their eyes met. She gave a toothless smile and squealed with delight, waving her tiny fists and kicking her feet. Blake smiled back. “Hello, Cleo,” he cooed. He held out a finger and the baby clung to it. “You’ve got killer grip. You wanna arm wrestle when you get bigger?”

  Their mother chuckled, leaning into the crib to grab the gurgling baby. She handed the warm bottle to Blake, Cleo in her arms. “Go on.”

  Blake gave the bottle to Cleo, holding it as she drank. “She’s so tiny.”

  “Yeah.” A dark cloud rolled over his mother’s face.

  “Mom? You okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, recovering. “Why don’t you let me take it from here? You should help Phoenix until it’s time for you to leave.”

  “Okay.” He handed the bottle back to his mother but hesitated at the door. He shook off the odd feeling that held him to the room and left.

  Downstairs, he and Phoenix hung the family portraits on the wall along the staircase and in the kitchen. Then, they placed their old school pictures on the mantle in the living room. Blake held a framed picture of himself. It was taken before the founding of Nerd Hunting Season, when he was just nine. He looked shy and sat awkwardly in his seat, unsure of what to do with his body. For years, he held the same sheepish expression in his school photos, knowing that Sammy Franklin and his goons would stamp out any of the remaining happiness they could find.

  Why does Mom keep these? he wondered as he placed the picture on the edge of the mantle, hoping that it would fall and break one day.

  Blake reached into a box and retrieved a framed picture of his brother at the same age. Because their genes were so strong, he and Blake looked almost identical. Phoenix’s hair was short back then, and he always grinned at the camera, because he was tough and fought anyone who disturbed his calm. At least, that’s the story that his school photos told up until he turned fourteen. After he’d started high school, he didn’t even bother to look at the camera and instead looked off to the side. Fourteen was also the age at which he started growing his hair out. Each year, it became longer and shaggier, until it reached his shoulders. No matter how many times their mother complained about him ruining his school picture
s, he never gave an acceptable excuse. “It’s my last year in Rosewood. I wanna to go out in style,” was the excuse he used this year, his sophomore year, when he brought home a picture of himself flipping off the cameraman. Blake applauded his brother for his excellent timing.

  When the time came, he kissed his mother at the door and grabbed his bike from the porch, Rascal at his heels.

  “Don’t get into any trouble,” his mother called after him.

  “And keep that dog in check,” added his brother.

  Blake waved and peddled up the street, Rascal in the basket. Quen was walking down his porch steps, his road bike on his shoulder, when Blake reached his house at Perry.

  “Blake, you made it!”

  The pair biked out of the neighborhood and into a street clogged with honking cars. They weaved through the traffic, entered a new neighborhood, its streets quiet and bare, and stopped in front of an elaborate wrought iron gate. Quen pressed the buzzer.

  “Cardoso Residence,” answered a voice from the speaker.

  “It’s Quen. I’m here.”

  With that, the gate swung open. The boys peddled up the smooth pavement of the driveway that led up to a large, handsome house. The driveway split in two, a magnificent fountain at the fork. They parked at the base of the stairs; a wooden gate opened farther down the path and a boy with a head of dark curls appeared, pushing a bike.

  “You must be Blake,” he said, looking Blake up and down with his piercing grey eyes.

  “That’s me,” Blake answered.

  “I’m Julio Cardoso,” the boy said, thumping his chest.

  Blake stared, puzzled. Julio was white, and his accent was American without a doubt, so why was his name Latino? And how did he get to be so short? Blake was the shortest in his family, but Julio still managed to be a few inches shorter than him.

  He sounded a lot taller on the intercom, Blake thought. Talk about anticlimactic.

  “Hey!” said Julio.

  Oh shit, thought Blake. Did he just read my thoughts?!

  Julio pointed to the dog in Blake’s basket. “What’s his name?”

  “Him? Oh, that’s Rascal.”

  Julio walked up to Blake’s bike and leaned in, meeting Rascal at eye level. Rascal, his paws on the rim of the basket, wagged his tail as he met Julio’s gaze.

  “What?” Blake asked after a moment’s silence.

  “There’s something… off about your dog,” Julio answered, keeping his gaze with Rascal.

  “He’s really smart, if that’s what you mean,” said Blake with a shrug.

  “Seems more like an evil genius than anything. I better stay on your good side, right Rascal?”

  Rascal barked his agreement.

  “Hey, we better get going, or we’ll be late,” said Quen.

  “Right,” Julio agreed, straightening up. “Lead the way.”

  The three of them mounted their bikes and rolled down the long driveway. Julio pushed another button on the inside of the gate, causing it to swing forward, and they followed Quen down the street into another wealthy neighborhood. Blake watched as the houses became larger and more impressive with every block. The trio halted before another gate, this time leading into a gated community. The sign in front, a stone structure surrounded by manicured bushes and vibrant flowers, read Leighton Courts in an elegant font. Quen entered a code on the number pad and the gates swung forward, welcoming the boys into what Blake assumed was a community of luxury apartments.

  “Now we just have to find her,” Quen said, just as a black Rolls Royse rolled past and turned out of the gate.

  “Which building does your friend live in?” Blake asked.

  “She lives in a big house in the back,” Quen answered, “but it’s pointless checking there: she’s never home.”

  “Did you try calling?” Julio asked.

  “Yeah, but she didn’t answer.”

  “We don’t have time to play hide and seek!” Julio complained.

  “Let’s check the gym,” Quen suggested. “She might be training.”

  When the three boys arrived at the gym, they found women jogging on treadmills and men weight training with barbells, but saw no sign of their friend, whom Quen and Julio called Izzy. Quen tried calling her again, but to no avail. Without many options left, they resolved to biking around Leighton Courts in the hopes of finding her. After several minutes of failed searching, they parked their bikes at the community park.

  “Why don’t we just leave without her?” Julio suggested, pinching the skin between his eyebrows.

  “You know we can’t,” Quen said. “It’s against the rules.”

  “Fuck the rules! She obviously doesn’t wanna be found.”

  “We never leave without Izzy.”

  “Maybe we should start…”

  While Quen and Julio argued, Rascal leapt from his basket and shook his body from nose to tail. Blake heard a rustle of leaves. He froze, his eyes scanning the park for the source of the sound. His new friends were still bickering, and Rascal had busied himself with sniffing the woodchips that floored the playground. There was no one else around—at least, not in plain sight.

  He reached into his back pocket and withdrew his slingshot, loading it with a smooth marble.

  You’re gonna look so stupid when you realize it’s just an animal, his Inner Critic teased.

  No, it’s not. There’s someone here, Blake countered.

  You’re hallucinating. It was probably just the wind.

  There is no wind, stupid! Now shut up so I don’t miss my shot.

  Blake held his breath and waited. There was another rustle of leaves and his eyes shot in the direction of the sound: the tree closest to the monkey bars. He walked forward for a better shot, the woodchips crunching under his feet.

  Odd, he thought, pulling back the rubber. Since when do nerd hunters hide in trees? Isn’t that my thing?

  Does it really matter? his Inner Critic complained. Just take the damn shot already! You want a bully-free school year, right?

  Right!

  He fired. There was a yelp of pain and someone fell from the tree, landing with a thud on the grass below. Blake smiled, though it faded as he approached his victim. Down at his feet, writhing in pain was a… a girl? But there were no female nerd hunters…

  Of course not, said his Inner Critic. This is Mirallegra, remember? You’re not in Rosewood anymore, so Nerd Hunting Season is officially over.

  Then why didn’t you say anything?! I just shot a girl out of a tree! What if she broke her arm?

  Well don’t blame me. I’m only as smart as you give me credit for.

  Blake dropped his slingshot, and Quen and Julio appeared at his side.

  “Izzy! Are you okay?” Quen asked, alarmed.

  Julio clapped Blake on the shoulder. “Nice one, Blake. You found Izzy!”

  Izzy rolled onto her back and, to Blake’s surprise, roared with laughter. She was black, with a long mane of dark hair concealed under a backwards baseball cap. “Nice shot!” she told Blake, rubbing her cheek.

  Blake stared. She had the strangest pair of eyes he’d ever seen: they were golden and bright with excitement, as if King Midas had poked her in each eye. “Your eyes are beautiful,” he said without thinking.

  Izzy blushed. “Oh, thanks.” She snatched up Blake’s abandoned slingshot. “You must be Blake McCracken. Finn was right—you’re a god on this thing.”

  Blake stowed his slingshot in his back pocket and took Izzy’s hand, helping her to her feet. “Thanks.”

  Izzy pointed to herself with her thumb and wore a wicked grin. “My name’s Izzy Xeno. Congrats on being the first person to find me in a game of hide-and-seek-Izzy!”

  “That’s not her name,” Julio scoffed. “It’s Beauregard. Isobel Beauregard.”

  Izzy’s smile melted into a grimace. “I am not a Beauregard.”

  “That’s not what your birth certificate says,” Julio teased.

  Izzy ran at Julio and swung her fis
t at his face. Julio grabbed it before she could break his nose and pushed her back. He smirked, and so did she. They raised their fists, but Quen ran between them, his arms out-stretched.

  “Cease fire! We’re late, remember?”

  Though reluctantly, they lowered their fists.

  This girl is nothin’ to fuck with, Blake thought. Didn’t she just fall out of a damn tree?!

  You’d better stay on her good side if you wanna keep your face the way it is, his Inner Critic advised.

  Blake nodded.

  He, Julio, and Quen mounted their bikes. Blake whistled, and Rascal came running from around a tree and hopped into the basket.

  “Where’s your bike?” Quen asked Izzy.

  “At home.”

  Julio pinched his forehead, sighing. “Christ, go ride with Quen, then!”

  “Nah, I’m gonna ride with Blake today.” Without another word—or Blake’s permission—she climbed onto his rear rack, wrapped her arms around his middle, and rested her head on his shoulder. Blake’s face burned—he’d never been this close to a girl before—but didn’t protest. He figured he owed her for his violent win at hide-and-seek-Izzy.

  Quen led them out of Leighton Courts. Within minutes, they were weaving in and out of traffic again. Every time Blake hit a bump in the road, Izzy tightened her grip. Blake felt like a furnace the way his face grew hotter. They came to a halt outside of a towering hotel that seemed to kiss the sky. They dismounted and locked up their bikes to the bike racks out front. Blake looked around, puzzled. There were plenty of shops and restaurants bordering the hotel but no residences. Had they arrived?

  “This is Hotel Blair, our last stop,” said Quen. “And don’t worry: it’s pet friendly. Just be sure to keep Rascal on a leash.”

  Blake nodded and leashed his pet before following the other three through the revolving door. The lobby had marble flooring and tall white walls. It was filled with important-looking men and women clad in corporate attire. Quen, Julio, Izzy and Blake walked down a hallway full of elevators. Quen called one and when it arrived, they scrambled inside, followed by a handful of businessmen and -women. Every few moments the car would stop and people exited. Soon, only the five of them remained. They traveled so high up that Blake’s ears popped. Izzy hummed along to the elevator music while Julio shot impatient glances at the time displayed on his smartphone. Quen smiled at Blake when the car came to its final stop. “This is our floor.”