Geek Abroad

by Piper Banks

  There was an awkward silence. Both Finn and Charlie looked fixedly in different directions.

  I sighed. “Come on, guys. I know you haven’t been getting along lately, but we’ve always spent our birthdays together. It’s a tradition.”

  Still nothing. I decided it was time to pull out the big guns: guilt.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but things haven’t been going all that well for me lately. This is the one thing I’ve had to look forward to,” I said.

  It worked. Finn shifted in his seat, but then in a soft voice said, “I’ll be there.” And Charlie nodded and quickly said, “Me, too. Wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Yea!” I cheered, feeling slightly better. Even if I’d once and for all tanked any chance I might ever have had with Dex, and even if the Geek High Mu Alpha Theta team had lost to that pompous jerk Austin Strong, and even if I had to live with the Demon, who had just that morning thrown my writing journal into the garbage (luckily, I’d discovered it in time and was able to retrieve it out from under the used coffee grinds) . . . at least I was going to spend my birthday with my two best friends.

  The door to the classroom swung open and Mr. Douglass came lumbering in. He was holding a stack of papers in his hand, and as we fell silent, he held them up and announced, “Pop quiz on the Oceanic crust. Anyone who fails will be staying after school tomorrow to clean out the snake cages.”

  The class groaned, and Finn gave a visible shudder.

  “I think we should consider bagging the rest of the season,” Kyle Carpenter announced at our Mu Alpha Theta practice after school.

  “Quitting?” I repeated, astonished. “Why would we do that?”

  “Well, what’s the point? The team already has a losing record. That means there’s no chance we’ll make state finals, and if we don’t make—and win—state finals, then being on this team isn’t going to look all that great on our college apps,” Kyle said. “It’ll just be another ordinary extracurricular. I read that it’s better to have a volunteer credential than that. If we disband the team now, I’ll have time to volunteer at the retirement home.”

  “You want to volunteer with senior citizens?” Leila asked, her voice round with surprise.

  Kyle shrugged. “No. But I’ve heard that the Ivies look favorably on volunteer experience with old people and kids. And old people who spend all of their time either sleeping or drooling will be less annoying than dealing with a bunch of screaming brats who crap in their pants.”

  “Lovely,” Leila said, looking disgusted with him.

  “You’re such a humanitarian, Kyle,” I said.

  I glanced around at the others to see what they thought of the idea Kyle had floated about disbanding our MATh team. Leila and Sanjiv didn’t look convinced . . . but they also weren’t arguing that we had to keep going. Nicholas just stared down at his practice notebook, refusing to meet my eyes. I’d said hello to him when I first came in, hoping we could just gloss over the unpleasantness of our run-in at the competition. Apparently, he wasn’t in a forgiving mood.

  In any event, I had bigger problems to worry about. Like Kyle’s announcement that we should disband the team. Part of me was able to instantly recognize this for the opportunity it was: If the team disbanded, it would mean that I would be totally off the hook. My agreement with Headmaster Hughes had been that I would compete on the MATh team. . . . But if the team wasn’t there, my obligation would end.

  But another part of my brain—a louder, more stubborn side— was outraged at how my teammates were ready to throw in the towel.

  “We can’t quit!” I said, before I’d even thought it through. “I can’t believe any of you would even consider the idea!”

  “Well . . . maybe Kyle’s right. There’s no point in fighting for a lost cause,” Leila said uncertainly.

  “A lost cause? We lost one competition! Big deal! What if the Founding Fathers had given up after the Boston Massacre?” I blazed.

  “I don’t know if that’s really the best analogy,” Leila whispered. She shot a worried look at Sanjiv, who had managed to slump even lower in his chair.

  “Okay, forget the massacre part,” I said quickly. “The point is, we can do this. We have a competition Saturday, and one the weekend after that. We can still make state finals. Sure, we’ll have to win all of our matches between now and then, but we can do that,” I said. “We just have to work harder! Practice more, and work on our drills. We can totally win!”

  “And if we don’t?” Kyle asked.

  “Then we go down fighting,” I said.

  I could sense a shift in the air. Leila was nodding, and Nicholas had finally looked up, an expression of determination set on his thin face. Even Kyle looked like he might be won over.

  But it was Sanjiv who finally spoke for the group.

  “Yeah,” he said, squaring his thin shoulders and straightening his glasses. “Yeah. We can do this. Come on, guys. Let’s get to work.”

  “I really didn’t think that through,” I muttered to myself an hour later, as I left the practice clutching the new schedule Sanjiv had passed out. He’d scheduled practices every day this week and next. But I couldn’t very well argue with him over it, not after my speech about how we couldn’t give up. What had I been thinking? Now I was stuck in math hell. I wondered if I could at least get some material for a short story out of it.

  “Miranda, I’m glad I found you,” Mrs. Gordon said, stopping me in the hall.

  “Hey, Mrs. Gordon.”

  “I received your registration materials for the Winston writing competition,” Mrs. Gordon said brightly. “Come with me. I left them on my desk.”

  I followed Mrs. Gordon into her classroom, where she handed me a manila envelope.

  “Here you go. You’d better give this to your parents, so they can make travel arrangements for you. Someone will have to go with you, obviously, as a chaperone,” Mrs. Gordon said.

  “You’re not going?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, I can’t. My parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary is that weekend. We’re having a big party for them.”

  “I understand,” I said. “Which weekend is it?”

  “April twenty-first,” she said. “The schedule of events is enclosed. If you want to attend the party on Friday night, you’ll have to miss school that day to travel. I’m sure the headmaster won’t mind.” Mrs. Gordon smiled. “Especially if you win a new trophy for our trophy case.”

  “Erm, right,” I said, and felt a nervous flip-flop in my stomach. It was real. . . . I was going. My short story was going to be judged by three of the most prestigious English literature professors in the country. They would tell me once and for all if I had the talent to be a writer. . . . Or not.

  Chapter 17

  One of my favorite movies of all time is Sixteen Candles. In the movie, Molly Ringwald wakes up on the morning of her sixteenth birthday to discover that her entire family has forgotten it’s her birthday. It’s hilarious and subversive, mostly because it’s something you think would never really happen.

  At least, I used to think it would never really happen. Not to me.

  In past years, when I was living with Sadie, she made a huge deal over my birthday. I’d wake up to find Sadie in the kitchen, making me something decadent for breakfast, like chocolate chip pancakes or Belgian waffles slathered with sugared sliced strawberries and mounds of whipped cream. She’d take the day off from work and let me skip school, and we’d spend the day doing something amazing together. One year, we went down to Miami and had lunch in South Beach. Another year, we went to Disney World for the day. And then I always met Finn and Charlie for pizza and bowling.

  I knew that expecting the Sadie treatment now that I was living with Dad and Peyton would be a sure way to end up disappointed. So I tried to expect nothing. Well. Not nothing. Surely there would be presents and cards and cake, if not a full-blown day of celebration.

  As it turned out, I would have been bett
er off sticking with nothing. Because that’s exactly what I got.

  The morning of my sixteenth birthday, a Saturday, I woke up in a good mood. I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and then padded down the hall into the cold marble foyer, turned left, and headed toward the kitchen. Everyone was already up. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and eating cereal. Hannah was perched on the counter, long, bare legs dangling in front of her, sipping coffee and talking to Peyton, who was slicing up a melon.

  “Good morning, everyone,” I said brightly.

  “Good morning, honey,” Dad said. He glanced up and smiled warmly at me before returning to his breakfast and newspaper.

  “Hey,” Hannah said. “Guess what?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I’m getting my car today!” Hannah said.

  Peyton had bought Hannah a car for her birthday: a silver Lexus SUV with a buttery tan leather interior and a high-tech stereo system that had to be custom ordered, causing a delay in the delivery date. Peyton had spent an afternoon screaming at the Lexus salesman over the phone—she’d wanted the car parked in the driveway with a big red bow on it, for Hannah to wake up to on her birthday. Finally, the salesman drove over a loaner car to use as a placeholder. I got the feeling that they didn’t normally do this, but, then, Peyton rarely failed to get her way.

  “Cool,” I said. I have to admit, a part of me wondered if I’d be getting a car today, too. I didn’t yet have my driver’s license, but, then, neither did Hannah. She just had a learner’s permit.

  “I can’t wait,” Hannah said, swinging her legs happily. “Mom, you’re going to take me, right?”

  Peyton nodded. “We’ll go after my tennis match,” she said.

  “Cool,” Hannah said. “That’ll give me time to shower and get ready.”

  As beautiful as Hannah is, it’s not uncommon for her to spend two hours grooming herself to leave the house. It takes me about ten minutes. And that’s including my shower.

  Still, this wasn’t a day to roll my eyes over my stepsister’s bathroom habits. Instead, I just smiled at her and waited for someone to say something. Like,

  Happy Birthday, Miranda!

  Would you like some special birthday pancakes?

  I think there’s something waiting for you in the driveway. . . .

  But nothing. No one said a word about what day it was. Hannah just went back to chattering about how she couldn’t wait to get her license—she was taking her driving test later that week—and then Peyton began to complain loudly about how the most recent housekeeper she’d hired was slacking on the job. Then my dad stood up and announced that he was going to go to the gym. And all the while, I just stood there, staring at all of them, wondering if it was all supposed to be some sort of joke.

  “Wait!” I said, catching my dad just as he was headed out of the kitchen.

  But when he looked back at me and I saw his expression— surprised interest, without the hint of a mischievous twinkle—I realized that it wasn’t a joke. They had forgotten my birthday. And not just any birthday . . . my sixteenth birthday.

  Well, I certainly wasn’t going to remind them. I had my pride.

  “What is it, honey?” my dad asked.

  “Nothing,” I said, shaking my head and turning away from him, so he couldn’t see the hurt expression on my face. “Just . . . nothing.”

  To: mirandajbloom@gmail.com

  From: hewent@britmail.net

  Subject: many happy returns of the day

  Seriously? Your family forgot your birthday? That’s so unbelievably lame.

  I didn’t even know it was your birthday (although technically I didn’t forget, since you never told me). Still, I feel like a bit of a prat for not sending you a card.

  My Top Three Worst Birthdays

  1. age fourteen (measles)

  2. age eight (petting zoo disaster; I ended up in hospital, after being bitten by a goat)

  3. age one (don’t remember this one, but my mum tells me that there was an incident involving the birthday cake and a dirty nappy)

  I’ll make it up to you when you come back to London.We’ll have a belated birthday bonanza.

  Cheers, Happy Birthday,

  Henry

  I spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon in my room, studying and feeling sorry for myself. I had to read a few chapters of 1984 for Mod Lit, a chapter in my Art History of the Renaissance book, and a paper on World War Two for modern history class, all of which was due on Monday. For lunch, I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and brought it back up to my room on a tray, so I wouldn’t have to eat with the others. . . .Not that they were even around, from what I could tell.

  In the afternoon, I took a break from studying, and took Willow for a walk.

  I can’t believe everyone forgot, I thought sadly, as we made our way down the beach. Finn and Charlie hadn’t, of course; we still had plans to meet up at the bowling alley. But I hadn’t gotten so much as a single card, not even from Sadie. My own mother had forgotten my birthday! How big of a loser did you have to be for your own mother to forget the day you were born?

  But when Willow and I got back, my dad was waiting for us on the back deck, looking chagrined.

  “Miranda . . . I’m so sorry,” he said. “It’s your birthday.”

  I shrugged. I really wasn’t ready to forgive and forget just yet.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “No, it’s not. It’s . . . well. I don’t know what to say,” he said. He hugged me to him. I held my body stiff, away from his for a moment, but finally relented and let him fold me into his arms.

  “How’d you figure it out?” I asked.

  “This arrived while you were out,” he said, handing me a FedEx box. It was addressed to me in Sadie’s familiar elegant scrawl. Underneath my name, she’d written: HAPPY SWEET SIXTEEN!

  A wave of relief washed over me. At least Sadie hadn’t forgotten me. I tore open the package. There was a card and two wrapped packages inside. I sank down on one of the wrought iron porch chairs and opened the card first. It was arty, with a painting of a peacock on the front. Inside, it read:

  Have a very happy birthday, Miranda! I wish I could be there to spend it with you. I miss you terribly! Love and kisses, Sadie

  I opened the larger of the two packages. It was an old book wrapped in multiple layers of lavender tissue paper. Once I got the wrapping off, I recognized it immediately.

  “Wind in the Willows!” I exclaimed, turning the book over in my hands. “This was my favorite book when I was growing up. I even named Willow after it. Wait, there’s a note in here.”

  Sadie had stuck an index card just inside of the book. It was the sort of card she sketched out her plot points on when she was writing a new book. On this one, she’d jotted a note: It’s a first edition!

  “A first edition,” I gasped. “Oh, my gosh!”

  “May I see?” Dad asked.

  I nodded and handed him the book. He paged through it for a moment and then smiled. A little sadly, I thought.

  “I used to read this to you when you were little,” he said. “You’d ask for it every night.”

  “I remember,” I said.

  “You do?” he asked.

  I nodded. Bedtime stories with my dad had been a ritual of my childhood. Well past the age when I could read myself, he’d read a chapter or two aloud to me every night before I went to sleep.

  “I wonder what’s in here,” I said, turning my attention to the smaller box. It was wrapped in shiny red paper, with a large white bow around it. I pulled off the ribbon and tore at the paper, revealing a white jewelry box. I opened it up and gasped. Inside was a gold claddagh ring. It had the traditional Claddagh design: two hands holding a crown-topped heart.

  “Wow,” I said. “It’s beautiful!” I tried it on and admired how it looked on my hand. “What do you think?” I asked, showing it to my dad.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. He s
ighed, and shook his head ruefully. “I’m glad your mother, at least, came through. What do you say? Would you like to go out shopping? You can pick out whatever you want. Wait, no, you hate shopping. I guess that wouldn’t be much of a treat for you.”

  “I can’t anyway,” I said. “I’m going to meet Finn and Charlie at the bowling alley. It’s our birthday tradition.”

  “That sounds like fun,” Dad said. He looked disappointed, though, and I had to steel myself against the inevitable surge of guilt this gave me. After all, it wasn’t my fault he’d forgotten my birthday.

  Just then Hannah danced out onto the back deck, flush with excitement over her new SUV.

  “There you are, Richard!” she said. “You haven’t seen my new car yet!”

  My dad’s reaction to this was almost comical in its horror, as the stark contrast of how differently Hannah and I had been treated on our birthdays dawned on him. Hannah had gotten a huge party and an expensive new car, whereas no one had even remembered mine.

  “Right,” he said, swallowing hard and looking from Hannah to me. “Um . . . Hannah, do you know what today is?”

  “It’s new car day!” Hannah cheered.

  “Ha ha,” Dad laughed weakly. “It’s also Miranda’s birthday.”

  Hannah stared at me. “Are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything?” Her tone was almost accusing, as though I’d planned this just to annoy her.

  I shrugged. “I didn’t know I had to,” I said.

  “Oh. That sucks that everyone forgot.” Hannah frowned for a minute and then her face brightened with an idea. “I know what’ll cheer you up! Let’s go for a ride in my new car!”

  I was glad I wasn’t staying at the beach house for dinner. The atmosphere there was oppressive. In his guilt over having forgotten my birthday, Dad was being overly solicitous toward me, and, in turn, seething with anger at Peyton. As it turned out, Peyton had written my birthday down in her calendar. She’d sworn she hadn’t looked at it today. . . . But I don’t think my dad believed her. She lived by her calendar; it was the only place she was able to track all of her various beauty salon and spa appointments, tennis matches and lunches. Hannah was too jubilant over her new car to pay much attention to anyone else. But at every mention of the new car, my dad looked even more uncomfortable.