by Laura Preble
“Okay! Ready!” Jon shouts. I mean, he shouts in his Jon-like way, which means that he sort of flips one hand in a weak wave and then talks above a whisper.
Fletcher plops on the sofa and motions for me to sit with him. I’m tempted, but feel the need to be less like a lapdog called by its master and more like a superhero. A superhero sitting on the floor eating chocolate almonds.
Becca dims the lights, and we all focus on the projection screen that slides silently from the ceiling. (I told you it was a mansion.) Jon clicks frantically at the laptop, until finally an image pops onto the screen, a surface that looks like polished metal with a big insignia in the front, a turquoise star with a big G in the middle. Fletcher’s voice booms: “In a world where geeks are an endangered species…” A graphic sweeps into the picture. It’s a silhouette of a woman, definitely not any of us since none of us have legs that long or boobs that big. The voice continues: “Where computer nerds tremble with fear…” Another silhouette zooms in. “Where six-syllable words are outlawed…” A third figure pops up. “And where intellectual curiosity means watching Sesame Street with the sound off…” A final figure joins the first three, and an electric blue flash fills the screen, then fades to reveal the four figures again, glowing faintly blue. “Help is on its way! The Geektastic Four!”
A deafening guitar riff shreds the air as the electric blue gets brighter and starts pulsating. Fletcher’s narration continues: “Saving the world, one geek at a time! Smart-tastic!” One of the silhouettes zooms to the front and becomes a cartoon illustration. “That’s me!” Becca squeals. Then she frowns and tilts her head. “Why do I have a librarian hairdo? And glasses?”
“Organize-i-tastic!” The shorter figure zooms to the front and resolves into a colored illustration of a superhero clutching a Palm Pilot and a calculator. Her eyes glow green below close-cropped red hair, and the pattern on her skintight suit is a checkerboard Excel spreadsheet.
“Is that supposed to be me?” Elisa growls. “I am not that short! And I never gave my approval for spandex!”
Jon pauses the program. “Well, I only had, like, four basic body shapes to choose from. I thought this was closest, and it’s different from the other three.”
“So, I’m a disfigured troll to you?” Elisa says frostily.
“Let’s move on,” I say, hoping to stave off a punk-versus-disfigured-troll war.
“Art-tastic!” Fletcher’s voice booms, and Amber’s superhero expands to fill the screen. Hers is pretty cool, actually; she has magenta hair and a blue beret and this kind of turquoise skin. She’s carrying a laptop and a camera, and has on these killer hip boots.
“I want those boots!” Amber says. She and Jon exchange glances. Is it a coincidence that her superhero is the hottest? Of course, I haven’t seen mine yet….
“Vege-tastic!” The fourth figure, mine, resolves into a fruit-salad nightmare of organic clarity. I have a big yellow growth branching out from the top of my head, and my weapons of choice are celery sticks and a rather sharply whittled piece of zucchini.
“Where’s my weapons-grade juicer?” I ask. Fletcher chuckles and nods at me. I know he must have had something to do with the design. My boobs are bigger than everyone else’s, I notice.
The presentation goes on as the Geektastic Four hover, ready for action. “Fighting for the rights of oppressed geeks everywhere, it’s the Geektastic Four!” Some synthesized music swells and our alter egos stand there, looking like they’re ready to kick some butt. Or correct some papers. Or make a salad.
“Okay, so then, once you get past the intro screen”—Jon is talking faster than I’ve ever heard him talk—“there’s a page to describe the whole Queen Geek Social Club, and then if you click on each of the superheroes, you go to her individual screen. There, you can do blogs, games, statements or purpose, that kind of stuff. Like for Shelby, I thought you could have a kind of battle game.”
“What? Peas versus carrots?” I ask, sounding kind of snotty.
“No, I mean…like she’s going after people who eat bad stuff or fast food or something,” Jon says. He looks a little hurt. As Vege-tastic, I don’t think it’s my job to understand mere mortals. Especially mere mortals who put produce on my head.
“Maybe we could go together and help old ladies organize their produce shopping,” Elisa snipes. “Turn on the lights.”
Becca, who has been strangely silent, hits the dimmer switch, and we all blink a bit. The Geektastic Four hover expectantly on the projector screen. We all just sit there looking at each other. “Well, I thought it was great,” Amber finally says.
“Of course you thought it was great,” Becca says acidly. “You looked hot. The rest of us looked like Marvel Comics rejects. What power was I supposed to have? Collecting library fines?”
Jon sighs and looks at us as if we are too dumb to get his brilliance. “The Geektastic Four are supposed to be a joke. If you had real superhero powers, it wouldn’t be funny. Your power is doing homework and calculating square roots and stuff. I mean, you can make up anything you want, as long as it sounds kind of weird.” He flips off the laptop. “I’ve almost finished the graphic novel. I don’t have the time to do it over, so if you don’t like it, I guess we can just scrap it.”
“No!” Amber says, a bit too loudly. We all stare at her. “I mean, we want to enter the competition, right? Since Jon has done all this work, the least we can do is go for it. And we can all help write our own content, right, Jon?” I can tell by the way she says it that she loves rolling his name around on her tongue. I check Becca’s expression…she hears it too. I’m surprised she hasn’t jumped off the couch and whammed Art-tastic with her own laptop.
Fletcher pipes up. “I agree with Amber. You guys might as well just finish it. So what if it’s not perfect? It’s just a goof anyway. You’re all taking it way too seriously.” He stands up and motions for Jon to follow. “We’ll get out of here and let you guys talk it over amongst yourselves. Let us know what you want to do.”
He leans over and gives me a fatherly peck on the top of my head and Jon kind of waves half-heartedly at Amber, totally ignoring Becca. I consider stowing away in Fletcher’s backpack to avoid the inevitable cat fight, but then, I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I didn’t stick around to mop up the blood and smeared lipstick.
We’ve never had trouble talking before. I mean, usually when the four of us get together, it’s a tidal wave of sound. But now we’re all sort of staring off into space or at the floor, pretending to be alone. I realize that I am the only one who can start this discussion, because Becca and Amber are too mad and Elisa likes awkward silences.
“Okay,” I say, feeling kind of like a camp counselor for dysfunctional cheerleaders. “Let’s talk about this. We can’t just sit here and stare at the shag carpet all day.”
“We would never have shag carpet,” Becca spits.
“Why? Because you can’t stand anything average and normal?” Amber says quietly. “Like a guy liking a girl who isn’t you?”
“Well,” Becca says, laughing nastily. “If you think that’s the problem, then you are more dense than I thought.”
Amber stands up, and I see fire in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. Maybe she’s channeling Art-tastic. “Look, I’ve put up with this for weeks, but I am sick of it, Becca. I’m sorry Jon doesn’t like you. But I’m not sorry he does like me. Why can’t you just be happy for us?”
Elisa, meanwhile, is tracking this grudge match like she’s watching a championship game of tennis. I’m sure if she had snacks, the whole thing would be perfect.
“Wait, wait,” I say. “We can’t let a little thing like a boyfriend get in the way of our relationship. Can we?”
That’s when the aforementioned tidal wave of sound crashes in like an audio tsunami. Amber and Becca are squawking at each other, making ugly faces and gesturing in threatening ways with their hands, while Elisa stands up between them (although she’s quite a bit shorter than eithe
r of them) and tries to talk to each one individually. I try to butt in, but every time I open my mouth, I feel like the words are just evaporating in the chaos. So, finally I do what my dad taught me: I let out a real big wolf whistle to get their attention. Everybody stops talking and stares at me as if I’ve just grown a third head.
“There’s no need for that,” Becca says, crossing her arms.
“Well, apparently there was, because you were all screaming at each other like rabid parrots.”
“Rabid parrots?” Elisa tries to remain serious, but she sort of giggles, and then everyone else does too, including me. “Sounds like some punk band.”
“Just sit.” I pace a bit, then go to the door. “Now, here’s the problem, as I see it. Amber and Becca both like Jon. Jon likes Amber. Becca is mad. Amber feels weird. Jon is oblivious. No fault, no foul.” The girls are nodding in agreement. “But the real disturbing part is that we’re letting this ruin our friendship. Isn’t that something we said we wouldn’t do?”
Becca sighs and chews on her lower lip.
“I mean, last year, wasn’t it all about what we could accomplish, and how we didn’t need guys? And remember all the great stuff we did?” They all nod. “And now suddenly, some scaggy guy in an unwashed denim jacket is tilting the axis of our world?”
“I’m not sure you can tilt someone’s axis,” Elisa offers.
“Oh, he can tilt my axis anytime,” Becca adds, then, seeing Amber’s smoldering eyes, says, “Okay, sorry. Inappropriate.”
“Right.” I put one hand on Becca’s shoulder, and one of Amber’s. “First rule of Queen Geek: We never let guys get in the way, right? And isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?”
“What about you?” Becca says accusatorily. “What about Fletcher? You’ve been a melting popsicle ever since he kissed you.”
“What?” I squeak. Amber and Elisa are smiling slyly and nodding in agreement. “I’m not a melting popsicle!”
Amber leans back in the chair, happy not to be the center of attention for the moment. “You’ve been so unfocused that I’m surprised you remember to brush your teeth.”
“On the plus side,” Elisa says, “all that kissing is probably really good for staving off tooth decay.”
I can’t believe I’m getting ganged up on by the rabid parrots! Obviously, I’m not cut out to be the camp counselor. “Whatever. Let’s get back to the point. How do we handle this stupid love/hate triangle?”
“Actually, if you include the you-and-Fletcher thing, it’s more of a love rhombus.” Elisa whips out a small notebook and pen. “I can draw it for you, if you want.”
“No, thanks.” I grab the notebook and pitch it onto the couch. “Here’s the bottom line: Becca, you will give up on Jon. Amber, you will date Jon if you want, but try not to torture Becca with it. Elisa, you will stop trying to do geometry in the summer.”
“What about you?” Becca asks.
“Me?” I casually head for the door. “I believe I will be swimming, and you will all be eating my dust as I run to the pool. Last one in is a rabid parrot!”
I take off for the back door, with the other three squealing behind me.
6
HERO SANDWICHES
(or Spandex Becomes Her)
The day before Comic-Con happens is a blur of activity. We’re all at my house for a change (Becca’s mom is hosting a group of traveling Sufi dancers, and Becca says they make the house smell like baba ghanoush). We’re in my room with costume pieces strewn everywhere, doing a dry run with our outfits so we can maximize our departure time. Euphoria is trying to help, but she’s actually in the way.
“Explain to me again about Geektastics,” she bleeps at me as I try to navigate around Elisa, who is struggling with some spandex-based costume. Even though spandex is Elisa’s kryptonite, she’s been sucked into the superhero fashion machine.
“It’s the Geektastic Four,” Becca says again. “It’s like four superheroes. Do you know what a superhero is, Euphoria?”
“I should say so,” Euphoria answers, clearly offended. I mean, she’s been programmed to be the ultimate science fiction database, so asking her about superheroes is kind of like asking Webster the dictionary guy if he knows how to spell “cat.” “I just don’t understand which superheroes you are supposed to be.”
Amber is adjusting a flowing fuchsia wig and a blue beret in imitation of Art-tastic. “I don’t know if I can keep this hair on all the time. It’s hot.”
“What about this plastic cauliflower on my head?” I glance into the mirror at my Vege-tastic headdress. “You don’t think that’s going to be hot?”
“Steam it and sell it,” Becca suggests. “Great fund-raiser. ‘Eat Vege-tastic’s head, only a quarter!’”
“I’d want more than a quarter.” Really! I’m not that cheap.
Becca’s wearing a long blue wig pulled into a prim ponytail over her normal spiky do, with these retro hornrimmed glasses. She does really look like Jon’s drawing of Smart-tastic, right down to the blue-and-white zigzag pattern leggings and gold leg cuffs that cover the front of her calves. She’s kind of a cross between the neighborhood librarian and Russell Crowe in Gladiator. I’d hate to think what she’d do if you had a late return.
“But superheroes usually have superpowers, don’t they?” Euphoria tugs down at the red-and-gold towel thing covering my nether regions. “This is too short, Shelby. It’s not decent.”
“It’s fine.” I hike it back up. It’s all the way to my knees anyway; the indecent part is the tiny skirt underneath it that clings dangerously to my Vege-tastic thighs. “We superheroes can’t worry about social hang-ups.”
“As to our superpowers,” Becca says, adjusting her blue-and-white tiara, “we can all do things that all geeks would love to be able to do. For example, I’m Smart-tastic, and my superpower is that I can speed read and calculate pi to its ultimate end.”
“The last piece of pi, hmmm?” Euphoria snipes. “No one can do that.”
Amber arches an eyebrow at my robot. “Did your dad program her for pun humor?”
“Oh, no. That just sort of happened.” I turn to examine my gorgeous costume in the full-length mirror. According to Jon’s design, I have a bright red bustier, a green sash, the yellow and red skirt/towel ensemble, and a dark green cape trimmed in gold. My hair in the drawing looks like wilted asparagus, so I have these olive-colored dreadlocks hanging in my face. He also made my skin Green Giant sweet-pea color, and Vege-tastic wears what look like gold Birkenstocks.
“So, are you going to paint your skin green?” Elisa asks as she struggles with her Excel-patterned bodysuit.
“I guess.” At the costume shop I bought a big round container of green body paint, just so I could achieve the effect. I’m not putting it on until we go to Comic-Con, though. I don’t want green streaks on my sheets. God knows what Dad would think.
Amber strikes a pose in her cool-looking Art-tastic outfit. It’s actually something you could wear to an avant-garde dance; she has blue leggings, turquoise calf cuffs, a fuchsia skirt, and a tight top that looks like one of those modern paintings where the guy just lines up little squares of different colors and calls it high art. Her blue beret tops it all off, and turquoise lipstick over pale makeup and dark eyeliner make her look awesome. “I can make art,” she says simply. “What more do I need to do?”
Elisa has finally finished wrestling with her leotard, and she plunks on the red wig and mock phone headset that Jon designed for her. She looks at the rest of us. “Why do you guys get to look hot while I look like a reject from the Bride of Chucky auditions?”
“I look like the produce aisle at Safeway, so don’t complain,” I remind her. We then do what anyone in our position would do: We decide to go to the nearby McDonald’s to frighten the customers.
Euphoria stands at the front door, waving a handkerchief like my southern nanny. “Y’all be careful! No trans fats!”
I won’t bore you with the details of the McD
onald’s trip. We do stuff like this all the time, really, but I will say that wearing a vegetable on my head and the various wigs and hats (and tight tops) gets us more attention than our usual togas or Halloween masks. I order a Diet Coke, and in my Vege-tastic persona, warn people about the evils of eating hamburger. One guy leaves me a quarter as a tip.
The other Queen Geeks are sleeping over at my house tonight, in preparation for tomorrow’s glorious conquest of Comic-Con. Since my room is too small to accommodate all four of us (and Euphoria will not sleep in the kitchen, even though I point out to her how nice the blender is), we all bunk in the living room in front of the TV, which gives us a great opportunity to watch bad sci-fi, one of our favorite things to do.
“What about Creature from the Haunted Sea?” Amber asks, holding up a DVD case featuring a swooning woman being menaced by a bubble-eyed thing that looks like somebody’s shag rug with arms.
“Oh! I want to see The Giant Gila Monster!” Becca yells, seizing a DVD with an oversized lizard sticking its tongue out at the world. “This is an awesome movie. This giant Gila monster terrorizes a small town full of fifties bobby-soxers, and the main character has a crippled sister who needs leg braces, but he’s broke, so he has to tow cars for practically nothing, and everyone thinks he’s a bum.” She takes a deep breath to make up for the verbal diarrhea. “Anyway, it’s a hoot.”
Elisa stretches out on the floor in her rubber ducky shortie pajamas. “Is Johnny Depp in it?”
“Johnny Depp couldn’t be in it,” Becca says. “He wasn’t born yet.”
We agree on the Gila monster movie, and Euphoria rolls in with popcorn and homemade fudge, then parks herself near the couch. “Aren’t there any mechanical men in this picture?” she whines. She’s developed kind of an obsession with movie ’bots, especially the big muscly kind like Robby the Robot from Forbidden Planet. I’m afraid to let her watch Star Wars; if she gets a glimpse of C3PO, she might have a meltdown. He’s not exactly macho, but that accent might rope her in.