by Piper Banks
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
About the Author
Geek Abroad
Normally, calculating sums on command makes me feel like a circus seal balancing a ball on my nose while clapping my flippers and barking for a fish. But for the first time, I felt a rush of pride at my odd, geeky skill. It certainly seemed to impress Henry.
“Thanks,” I said, quickly taking a gulp of my punch to hide my grin, as I contemplated just how attractive an English accent was.
As soon as the thought was loose and rattling around in my brain, guilt surged up within me. Dex had only been my almost-quasi-boyfriend for less than forty-eight hours . . . and already my head was being turned by some random English guy? Admittedly, a very cute random English guy, but still. What kind of an almost-quasi-girlfriend was I turning out to be?
Also by Piper Banks
Geek High
NAL Jam
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First published by NAL Jam, an imprint of New American Library,
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First Printing, May 2008
Copyright © Whitney Gaskell, 2008
All rights reserved
NAL JAM and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Banks, Piper.
Geek abroad / Piper Banks.
p. cm.
Summary: While in London visiting her mother, fifteen-year-old Miranda guiltily enjoys the company of a British
boy while wondering why Dex is out of touch, but she returns home to find her friendships, love life, family,
and math team are all in turmoil.
eISBN : 978-1-4406-3190-0
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For Sam
Chapter 1
I was the only person on board the nonstop flight from Orlando to London who was happy.
True, the flight had been bumpy. And the dinner seriously sucked (cold salmon served on gelatinous potatoes, yuck). And, yes, we’d been circling around London’s Heathrow Airport for more than an hour while we waited for our turn to land. And I was stuck in a center seat, squeezed in between a fat, farting businessman who had fallen asleep on my shoulder (and no amount of shrugging and shifting would dislodge him) and a tired mother with a fussy baby who had been screaming on and off the entire flight.
But I was happy. No, I was more than happy—I was completely and totally blissed out. In the past twenty-four hours, the Geek High Snowflake Gala dance that I had been in charge of planning was a huge hit. I landed a spot as a finalist in the prestigious Winston Creative Writing Contest. And—perhaps most astonishing of all—I found out that Dex McConnell actually liked me! Me, Miranda Bloom, who up until last night had been the dateless wonder of Geek High!
Actually, the dateless part isn’t entirely true. I was supposed to go to the Snowflake with a freshman midget named Nicholas Pruitt, who had a disturbing tendency to stare at me dreamily during our Mu Alpha Theta math competition practice sessions. When Nicholas worked up the courage to ask me to go to the Snowflake with him, I couldn’t bring myself to hurt his feelings by saying no. It only occurred to me later that it might have been kinder in the long run to turn down his invitation. I’d thought we were going together just as friends. . . .Nicholas apparently believed our Snowflake date was the beginning of what was destined to be a great romance. And since he came down with chicken pox at the last minute, forcing him to cancel our date on the day of the dance, I hadn’t yet had a chance to set things straight with Nicholas, to tell him that I don’t like him that way.
But I couldn’t worry about that now. . . . Not when my head was bursting with memories of Dex. My stepsister, Hannah, had told Dex about how my date with Nicholas had fallen through, and that I’d be attending the Snowflake stag. So Dex had shown up at the dance to be my surprise date.
Even better, Dex kissed me! And this was no ordinary kiss. It had to have been one of the all-time most romantic kisses in the history of the world. Top five, at least. But, then, Dex was no ordinary guy. He was the very cute and very funny lacrosse star of Orange Cove High. And—I had thought—totally out of my league. After all, I’m not just a geek, I’m a math geek. I can calculate complex sums in my head, which, let’s face it, doesn’t exactly scream sexy. Then there’s my hair (frizzy), my nose (too big), and my fashion sense (nonexistent).
Despite these glaring defects, Dex actually liked me. In fact, he said he’d liked me for months. Which just goes to show: miracles do happen.
Now, twenty-four hours after kissing Dex, I was en route to London to spend the Christmas holidays with my mother, Sadie. Sadie’s a romance novelist, and was temporarily living in London while she researched and wrote her next book, Victorian Widow. Which was all well and good for her, but it meant that I
had been stuck living with my dad and evil stepmother, Peyton, aka the Demon, until Sadie decided to return home to rescue me. At first, I was furious at Sadie for deserting me, although I had to admit, my anger had been cooling as of late. Now . . .well, now I was too giddy to be angry with anyone.
I sighed happily and closed my eyes, recalling the memory of standing on the back deck of the Yacht Club that overlooked the moonlit water, while Dex leaned toward me, his lips moving closer and closer. . . .
“Waaaaaaaaaah!” screamed the baby, thrashing around in his mother’s arms.
The noise startled me out of my reverie, and my eyes popped open. The mother made hushing noises at the baby, and rocked him as best she could in her cramped seat, and eventually the baby’s wails tapered off to intermittent snorts of displeasure. The sudden quiet meant that when the fat businessman sitting to my left farted yet again, I could hear it loud and clear.
Gross, I thought, fanning the fart fumes away from me with the barf bag the airline had so thoughtfully provided.
I stretched my legs and arched my back, feeling stiff and suddenly eager to be off the plane, away from the farting businessman and the squalling baby. As if she’d been reading my thoughts, the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign suddenly lit up and the flight attendant’s cool English-accented voice blared out from the intercom:
“We’ve received permission to land, and will shortly be making our final descent into London’s Heathrow Airport. Please put your seats and tray tables in their full upright and locked positions. . . .”
A shiver of excitement ran down my back. Soon I’d be in London! The only question was, Where would Sadie and I go first? The Tower of London? Madame Tussauds Wax Museum? The London Eye? I clasped my hands together, so excited I could hardly sit still.
“Excuse me.” I felt a tap on my right arm and turned. It was the frazzled mom. “Would you mind holding my baby for just a minute? I have to run to the bathroom before we land,” she said pleadingly.
“Oh . . . um, sure,” I said. Babies had never been my forte, but the mom looked so exhausted and strung out, I didn’t have the heart to refuse her.
She gratefully handed over the baby, unbuckled her seat belt and dashed off toward the toilets. I held the baby gingerly out from me, my hands hooked under its armpits. We stared at one another for a long moment, until the baby finally grinned, exposing a toothless gummy mouth. Charmed, I grinned back. And just then, as I was smiling away, the baby—in what can only be described as a horror-movie-like moment—opened its mouth and ejected a stream of foul, neon green vomit right down the front of my T-shirt.
Speechless, I stared down at my now dripping shirt and then back up at the baby. He kicked his chubby legs and emitted a loud, satisfied burp. The farting businessman next to me actually had the nerve to pinch his nose and lean away. Granted, the baby vomit was pretty vile smelling—who knew someone so small and cute could produce something so revolting?—but considering the businessman had been befouling the cabin for the past seven hours, I didn’t think he was in any position to complain.
The baby giggled suddenly and stuffed one round hand into his mouth. I sighed and smiled ruefully back. There was no point in holding a grudge. Besides, for once in my life everything was perfect. I wasn’t going to let a little bit—okay, a lot—of baby vomit get me down now.
“Miranda! Yoo hoo! Over here!”
I craned my neck and looked from side to side. . . . And then I saw Sadie. Actually, she would have been hard to miss, considering that she was wearing a dramatic scarlet ankle-length wool cape that made her look like a matronly version of Little Red Riding Hood. Sadie was beaming and waving at me, standing just past Customs and ignoring the grumpy passengers who had to step around her. She’d changed her hair since I’d last seen her. The long blond curls were gone, replaced by a smart, sleek, dark brown bob. Actually, she looked fantastic, like the “after” picture in one of those makeover shows my stepsister and her friends are addicted to.
I rushed to Sadie, pulling my wheeled suitcase behind me, and she caught me up in her arms. She smelled so achingly familiar—a mixture of coffee, mint toothpaste, and Joy perfume—that I almost dissolved into tears. I hadn’t realized until just that moment how much I’d missed her. Sadie pulled me close, and the wool of her cape felt scratchy against my cheek.
“Hi, Sadie,” I said, my voice muffled.
“Hello, darling,” Sadie crooned. “It’s so wonderful to see you!”
“You too,” I said. And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “Nice cape.”
“Do you like it?” Sadie asked, delighted. She pulled back and spun around, so that the cape circled out for a moment. “I thought it was divine.”
“It’s very . . .” I searched for a neutral adjective. “Red,” I finished lamely.
“Exactly!” Sadie beamed. “It’s putting me in the mood for Christmas.” Her expression suddenly shifted into a frown. She held me by my shoulders and looked down at my vomit-covered shirt, her nose wrinkling. “What’s that? It smells like . . .”
“Baby vomit,” I said. “I’m a casualty of modern air travel.”
Sadie hustled me into the nearest bathroom, electing to wait for me outside and away from the smell. Once I’d changed and stuffed the vomit shirt in my suitcase, I rejoined Sadie. She linked her arm through mine, and I had to walk quickly to keep up with her, while dragging my suitcase behind me.
“Christmas in London is going to be magical! Just think of it, darling! It will be so Dickensian!” Sadie enthused.
“Dickensian?” I repeated. “You mean, like Scrooge and Tiny Tim and bah humbug?”
“Well, not the bah humbug,” Sadie said. “I was thinking more along the lines of roast goose and mince pies and waking up to snow on Christmas morning! We’ve never had a white Christmas before.”
That was true enough. We lived in Florida, where it was normally warm enough to wear shorts on Christmas Day. Every year, we wrapped twinkle lights around the palm trees in our front yard.
“Other than being vomited on, how was your flight?” Sadie asked, as we joined the throng of people filing out of the airport through large automatic doors.
I gasped as the frigid air hit me, as though I’d walked smack into an iceberg. It was freezing out. The wind was blowing so coldly, it felt like it was rattling through my bones. As we queued for a cab—even the taxis were cool here, all black and boxy and retro-looking—I unzipped my suitcase and pulled out my coat, and quickly slipped it on.
“Long,” I said to answer Sadie’s question. Suddenly I felt really, really tired. I checked my watch. No wonder: It was two in the morning at home, and I’d been too excited to sleep on the plane. Just thinking of it made me yawn—a long, cold, shaky yawn.
“You must be exhausted,” Sadie said, patting my arm. “We’ll get you home, and you can take a nice nap.”
“But I don’t want to nap,” I said. “I’m only going to be in London for two and a half weeks! If I’m going to see everything I want to see, I have to start today. I just don’t know where to begin.”
But then I yawned again, and this time my eyes watered from the cold, causing my vision to go blurry for a moment. I rubbed my hands together and stamped my feet, trying to warm up, and wished I’d brought a heavier coat with me. Maybe Sadie’s Little Red Riding Hood cape wasn’t so crazy after all.
“There will be plenty of time to do everything,” Sadie promised as we finally reached the front of the line and climbed into one of the big black taxicabs.
“Maybe I’ll just power nap now,” I said, leaning back against the gray leather seat. “Then I’ll be rested up and ready to get started.”
Sadie leaned over and squeezed my hand. “Good idea. I’m just so glad you’re finally here,” she said fondly.
“Me too,” I mumbled, wondering what my first glimpse of London would be as we drove into the city. Would we pass by Big Ben? Or Tower Bridge? Or maybe even Buckingham Palace? But before I could ask Sadie
, who was leaning forward to give the cabbie detailed instructions on where we were going, my eyelids drooped closed. I was asleep before the cab pulled away from the curb.
Chapter 2
I woke up in the dark. I rubbed my eyes and tried to remember where I was. It came back quickly: My flight to London. Falling asleep in the cab. Sadie gently shaking me awake, and then guiding me upstairs to the guest room at the very top of a narrow three-story town house. Falling face-first on a chintz-covered bed, and passing out again almost immediately.
At this realization, I sat up so suddenly, I actually got a head rush. Oh, no! I thought wildly. I fell asleep! From what I could tell from how dark the room was, I’d been asleep all day. . . . Which meant I’d completely wasted my first day in London.
“Oh, no,” I groaned out loud. I had so many things I wanted to do and see while I was in London; I didn’t have time to waste an entire day sleeping.
What time is it? I wondered, instinctively glancing at my watch, before remembering that it was too dark to see anything.
I fumbled with the lamp on the bedside table. Dim light flooded over the room, which was truly astonishing in its ugliness. It looked like a flower shop had exploded all over the small space. There was hideous seventies-era brown and orange floral wallpaper, a faded chintz coverlet covered in pink cabbage roses draped over the bed, and a worn hooked rug featuring circles of daisy chains on the dark wood floor. Lace scarves covered the dresser and nightstand. The room smelled damp and vaguely catlike.
That’s it! It’s a little-old-lady-with-too-many-cats room, I thought. I wondered where the little old lady was now, and guessed that since the house had been available for Sadie to rent, the cat lady had probably moved on to the big floral-wallpapered house in the sky.
I got up out of bed and went out the bedroom door to stand on a narrow landing at the top of the stairs. I could hear muffled voices coming from downstairs. Did Sadie have a guest over? Or was that just the television I was hearing?