A Catastrophe of Nerdish Proportions (22 page)

The girls from Saint Dianne's jumped high in the air and hugged one another. Their coach ran onstage, joy beaming from her cheeks. I would have thought that coming in second would have been better than coming in third or fourth or even sixth. But it wasn't. Not only had Saint Dianne's just won the Academic Septathlon, Grover Park had just lost it.

Ouch.

My phone buzzed again. Slowly, I reached into my pocket and checked the caller ID. It was Q.

“Hey,” I said. “You okay?”

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

“Q, is that you? Talk to me?”

I pressed the phone closer to my ear. It was hard to hear through all the commotion.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.
“There's a new element they recently added to the periodic table.”

“What?” I said. “You're not making sense.”

“There's a new element called ununseptium. The question's invalid. There are 118 elements in the periodic table, not 117.”

“Huh?” I said. “What?” Q must have been following the live-stream feed of the Septathlon over the Internet through her cell phone.

“Protest, Maureen!” she yelled. “You're the captain. Go protest.”

I hung up my phone, ran over to the judges' table, pushed my way through the confetti and balloons, and confronted Miss Terrier.

“I protest!” I shouted. “As captain, I protest the question. There are 118 elements in the modern periodic table, not 117. The question's not valid.”

Even though I had no idea what in the world I was talking about, Miss Terrier realized she suddenly had a “situation” on her hands, and while the girls from Saint Dianne's were jumping for joy and congratulating themselves under streams of confetti, the judges began having a private conversation.

A moment later, they were checking their computers. Then the regulation guide. Finally, Miss Terrier spoke.

“Grover Park is correct,” Miss Terrier said into the microphone, even though it seemed like no one was listening. More than half the audience probably didn't hear, having already risen from their seats to fight the traffic and head home. “The question is invalid.”

A ripple of Huh?s and What?s began to filter through the crowd.

“Please return to your seats. Quiet, please. We will be providing another question.”

Saint Dianne's suddenly got wind of the fact that something was up. Confused looks crossed their faces.

“What's going on?” asked their coach, approaching the judges.

“The question has been ruled inadmissible, and Grover Park will be provided one more opportunity in the Circle of Inquiry, so, please, everyone, move back to your seats.” Miss Terrier tried to reestablish order. “We need quiet in the theater, please.”

“What? Why?” Wynston said, coming up to the judges. “What kind of stuff are they trying to pull this time?” she asked, glaring at me.

“It's not ‘stuff,'” I said. “The question wasn't valid 'cause there are 118 elements in the periodic table and not 117 like he said.”

“Please have your teams return to their positions,” Miss Terrier instructed. “Our ruling is final.”

Wynston put her hands on her hips and paused. “Fine,” she said as she walked past Sofes on her way back to her table. “Ask the girl ten questions. She's not gonna get it right anyway.”

Sofes winced.

“They found another stupid technicality, but whatever,” Wynston explained to her team. “In forty-five seconds it's not going to matter one bit.”

Wynston knocked a yellow balloon out of her way as if this whole thing were just a giant waste of her time.

I had to admit, seeing how frustrated Wynston was made me smile.

Yes! I thought as I walked back to our table. One more chance.

“Nice going, skinny-chubby,” Kiki said. “All that achieved was you set us up for another round of embarrassment.”

“Yeah,” Brattany added, with sad eyes. “Maybe more colored ribbons will fall on our head.”

Whoa, I hadn't really thought of it that way. Suddenly, however, I had a brainstorm and rushed back over to the judges' table.

“Can we send out the next member of our team?” I asked. If so, that meant Beanpole would be heading into the Circle of Inquiry. And wait until Saint Dianne's saw that. I pleaded my case. “I mean, we are supposed to keep rotating the order, and it's not our fault that an invalid question was asked, so the rules should allow for—”

“No.” Miss Terrier adjusted her glasses. “You may not.”

Shot down. I returned to our table. Sofes spoke to me in a low voice. “Does this mean I have to go back out there again?” Her eyes were watery.

I paused before replying; then my shoulders sank. “Not if you don't want to, Sofes. Not if you don't want to.”

She swallowed, and I could almost see the lump in her throat.

Sofes turned, first to Kiki, then to Brattany, for guidance. Both of them crossed their arms and stared angrily. Their body language spoke for them.

It was over. It was all over.

Until Beanpole began to chant.

“We're the Aardvarks,

The mighty, mighty Aardvarks!

We're the Aardvarks,

The mighty, mighty Aardvarks!”

Her cheer grew louder.

“We're the Aardvarks,

The mighty, mighty Aardvarks!”

She sang it again louder, now pounding her fists on her thighs.

“WE'RE THE AARDVARKS,

THE MIGHTY, MIGHTY AARDVARKS!

WE'RE THE AARDVARKS,

THE MIGHTY, MIGHTY—”

“I'll do it!” Sofes screamed. “And this time,” she said, with fire in her eyes, “I'm gonna victorize us.”

I couldn't help shaking my head and cracking a smile. “You do that, Sofes. You go out there and victorize us.”

Enthusiastically, she darted off to the Circle of Inquiry.

“Are you serious?” Kiki asked me. “You're letting her go back out there?”

I didn't even acknowledge the question.

“I believe in you, Sophia!” Beanpole called out as Sofes stood at center stage. “I believe in you.”

“Me, too, Sofes,” I yelled. “Go get 'em! Go show 'em what Aardvarks are made of!”

The girl might not have had the most lightbulbs in her attic, but wow, she had guts.

“The category is still Science.” Bingo held up a new blue note card. “And phone lines are still open. By the way, are you familiar with all the benefits that Station 723 brings to the community?”

Another fund-raising promotion appeared on the big screen. The station was milking this for all it was worth.

“Really, you could give that block of wood three-quarters of the answer and she'd still be a quarter short,” Wynston said in a voice loud enough for everyone onstage to hear as the promotional video drew to a close.

What a loser, I thought. Smart, pretty, fashionable, and yet what a total loser.

“And now,” Bingo said, “the closing conclusion to a remarkable night. The category is Science.…

“When a peroxide-based bleach oxidizes melanin molecules, it creates an irreversible chemical reaction. Please identify the effects of this reaction on follicles of human hair.”

“It lightens it, of course,” Sofes said, without blinking. “However, if, like, the exposure remains on for too long, lightening turns to burning. That's where we get frosted tips from.”

Bingo seemed stunned by the quickness of Sofes's answer. His mouth open, he said nothing.

So Sofes kept talking.

“And then, if you, like, keep the exposure going on certain sections of hair but not on others, you get highlights. But with highlights you've got to be careful to keep the chemicals consistently applied, 'cause otherwise you'd see roots and, like,
yuck
…like, how tacky are roots?”

Amazed, no one said a word.

“Now, permanent hair coloring, though, is a two-step process. First, you—”

“Um, thank you, Sophia. Your answer is correct. We have a new winner.”

Wynston's jaw dropped.

“The victory goes to the little Aardvarks.”

Kiki's eyes popped open, and a second later she exploded with a leap into Brattany's arms. The two of them started bouncing and hugging and screaming as Beanpole and I rushed to the Circle of Inquiry to give Sofes a giant hug.

Beanpole, however, tripped over her unevenly sized feet on our way to center stage and ate a faceful of wooden floor.

“Oooh,” groaned the audience when they saw how hard she'd fallen.

“Don't worry, don't worry, I'm okay.” Beanpole bounced up and turned to me. “Did it leave a mark?”

“Nahhh,” I said, even though there was a cruise ship on her forehead.

“You did it, Sofes. You did it!” Beanpole hugged Sofes like she'd never hugged a friend before. Joy radiated from their faces as if they'd just won a three-hundred-million-dollar lottery.

I rushed to join in the celebration, jumping and screaming and hugging.

“GROVER PARK,

NOT STUPID,

SMART!

GROVER PARK,

NOT STUPID,

SMART!”

“Eat that, Wynston!” Kiki barked. “I mean, how you like me now, girlfriend?” she added, wagging her head at Wynston, really rubbing it in.

“And put some spank on it!” Brattany added as the two of them high-fived.

“Double-double nice-nice!”

Just then I realized that for Kiki, the best part of all of this didn't come from winning; it came from Wynston's losing.

Pah-thetic.

“Make sure you show your little boo-hoo to the audience, Winnie,” Kiki said as she pointed at one of the television cameras, “'cause donation lines are still open.”

Kiki and Brattany stuck out their tongues and ran to join us in the Circle of Inquiry.

Of course, no streamers fell from the rafters. We got no confetti or balloons or even music. They'd used all that stuff up already. The whole Civic Center was eerily quiet. But did the little Aardvarks care?

Not at all.

“Great job, Sofes!” Kiki exclaimed, ready to smother her in a hug.

“You were awesome,” said Brattany.

Sofes stiffened.

“Get away from me,” she said in a disgusted voice. A cold, heartless glare fell like a shadow across her face. “And don't touch me, Keeks.” She held up her hand.

Kiki stepped backward, confused. “Huh?”

“Just stay away from me, the two of you,” Sofes told them. “I'm a—” She paused, then looked at Beanpole and me. “I think I'm a Nerd Girl.”

One at a time, Sofes pulled the two fancy green barrettes out of her hair and threw them down on the stage floor.

“Matter of fact,” she said. “I'm positive.”

Sofes turned back to Beanpole and me. “I think I owe you guys an apology.”

S
tanding onstage, I had only one thought floating through my mind.

“Wow, we won. We really won.”

But as we found out the next day, actually, we hadn't. Back at school, drama was in the air.

All over school.

To start with, Wynston had protested everything. After reviewing the videotape of the contest, she officially objected to our protest, since we'd only disputed the question about the periodic table because of the fact that I had illegally answered a phone call while onstage, which, of course, was cause for our team's immediate disqualification.

“But the contest was over,” I pleaded.

“Not if you were going to protest, it wasn't,” Miss Terrier informed me as we all sat in Mr. Mazer's office. “I guess I didn't see you do that, because of all the balloons.” Miss Terrier had made a special trip to our school in order to explain everything to us. Apparently, there were a lot of pieces to this puzzle.

“Additionally, the tape confirmed that one of the judges nodded permission for Wynston to exchange calculators, so when she originally violated the rules, she did so with a judge's approval.” On her laptop computer monitor, Miss Terrier showed us a slow-motion replay of what had happened.

Yep, sure enough, the potbellied judge had nodded his head when Wynston raised her calculator after her batteries had died, as if he were giving her permission to swap devices. The videotape made that crystal clear.

“So, really,” Miss Terrier said, “the point deduction wasn't ever warranted.”

“But that's not fair,” Kiki complained. “I mean, we won, and now you're telling us we didn't. That prize money belongs to us.”

I rolled my eyes. Kiki had probably already ordered her stupid purse, even though we hadn't been given any cash yet. As with all stuff like this, they never gave you the money that night; the check was always “in the mail.”

“Yeah,” Brattany added. “And my dad's a lawyer.”

Hearing Brattany say that for the forty-thousandth time caused Q to groan. All in all, Q had spent less than four hours in the hospital. Once they got her hydrated and gave her an injection of some antihistamines in order to counteract the nuts she'd overexposed herself to, she'd returned to good old-fashioned
Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh
form. Didn't even miss a day of school.

Miss Terrier reached into her purse, having already worked out a solution.

“Due to the confusion, we've decided to split the prize money this year. Saint Dianne's will get half and Grover Park will get the other half. Congratulations, Aardvarks,” Miss Terrier said. “You surprised a lot of people.”

She passed me the envelope. Smiling, I tore it open.

“Wow, one thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars.” I'd never held so much money in my entire life.

Kiki and Brattany grinned from ear to ear. Half was better than nothing, right?

“And as captain,” I said, attempting a formal announcement, “it's my pleasure to inform you that the Grover Park Aardvarks Academic Septathlon team would like to donate this check to the art department.”

“What?!” Fire flashed across Kiki's eyes.

“We know budgets are tight,” I said to Mr. Mazer. “And we know that our reckless, thoughtless, immature behavior caused the school some extra expenses it really couldn't afford.” I handed Mr. Mazer the check. “We hope you'll accept our apology.”

I put my arm around Kiki's shoulder, hugging her tight. “We Aardvarks were wrong.”

Kiki threw my arm off her shoulder, not even bothering to fake a grin.

“Well, well, well,” Mr. Mazer said as he held the prize money in his hand. “It does seem as though a lesson or two was learned in all this, does it not, Mr. Piddles?”

“Indeed it does,” Mr. Piddles replied, with an approving nod of his head. “Matter of fact, I'd go so far as to say that justice has prevailed.” He glanced over at the vacant chair in the corner of the room where Vice Principal Stone usually sat.

Today the chair was empty. “Justice, I believe, has been served across the board.”

Though he was only months from retirement, Mr. Stone, we'd learned earlier that morning, had been placed on administrative leave because of his unprofessional conduct toward our team.

“Of course I ratted him out to Mr. Piddles,” I'd told Kiki earlier that day, when she'd confronted me about it after first period. News about scandals at school traveled with such lightning speed that the gossip about Mr. Stone had already entered the ears of every kid on campus by the start of second period. “Why wouldn't I?” I continued. “There's a difference between snitching and standing up for yourself when someone's being an abusive, bullying jerkwad. Screw Mr. Stone.”

“But he's gonna zap us,” Kiki answered.

“Show some spine,” I responded. “Guy's a putz.”

“You had no right,” Brattany said.

“What are you complaining about?” Q told her. “Your dad's a
law-yerrr
.”

“True dat,” Brattany replied. “But he's not gonna defend you.”

“Come on, guys. Can't we just get along?”

Sofes nodded in agreement. “Yeah, get along like those kayakers who had to drink the protein shakes.”

Huh?
We all stared.

“Well, maybe it was soy,” Sofes clarified, as if that made better sense.

Things, as anyone could tell, had gone right back to being just as they'd always been between the ThreePees and the Nerd Girls, which was why handing the check over to Mr. Mazer felt just so delicious to me.

“We're proud to make the donation, sir,” I said. “It feels…how do you say?” I asked Q.

“Double-double nice-nice.”

“Yeah,” I repeated. “Double-double nice-nice.”

Steam was practically coming out of Kiki's ears as she watched Mr. Mazer place the check inside his desk drawer.

“Of course, we can only send one team from our region to represent us in the state competition,” Miss Terrier informed us.

“Just one?” I said, hoping we'd get the chance to go on to the finals. I know, I know—what a nerd, right? I mean, who else but a total dorkasaurus actually wants more study pain on their plate? But it was fun.

“You should send Saint Dianne's.”

I whirled around to see who'd said that.

“Saint Dianne's should go,” Sofes continued. “They're better than us and they deserve it.”

Instead of wearing a shimmering, shiny outfit today, Sofes was dressed in a simple white T-shirt with jeans. Her hair, of course, looked styled and nice in a tight, clean ponytail, and she wore a few cool bracelets, but she wasn't poufed out to the max like she usually was.

Beanpole nodded her agreement. “It's true. They earned it.”

Sofes smiled at Beanpole, Beanpole smiled at Sofes, and the two of them shook their heads in unison, their ponytails—the same length, the same color rubber band—bobbing up and down at the same time. It was like the two of them were long-lost sisters born to a mother whose brain hadn't gotten enough oxygen at the time of their birth.

“Maybe we'll join a new squad of some sort,” Sofes suggested.

“Yeah, like, something academic and rigorous,” Beanpole replied.

“I know, a cookie-baking club!” Sofes exclaimed.

That's her idea of rigorous and academic? I thought.

“Oh, wait until you see the architectural wonders my mom can do with lemon bars,” Beanpole informed her.

Kiki and Brattany rolled their eyes. The ThreePees were officially down to two.

“Well, that settles it,” Miss Terrier said. “I'll inform the team from Saint Dianne's that they will be our regional representatives.”

“Tell them they're the real winners,” I said. “I think it's important they know that we said that about them.”

Kiki fumed.

“Shall do,” Miss Terrier confirmed as she picked up her purse, preparing to leave. “And perhaps we'll see you for the high school competition next year, ladies?”

“You might,” I said.

“Or not,” Kiki snipped.

After saying good-bye to Miss Terrier, the six of us departed the principal's office and got ready to go to lunch. But before the ThreePees and the Nerd Girls parted ways, Kiki had to launch one final missile.

“This is not over, skinny-chubby,” she said. “There's still a lot of time left in eighth grade. Be warned.”

“Stuff it in your purse, Kiki,” I replied. “Your non-French one, that is.”

Q snorted.

Brattany glowered. “My dad's a lawyer.”

“So's my mom,” Q said.

“She is not,” Brattany said.

“Is too,” Q replied. “She just stopped practicing a few years ago.” She turned to me. “But we talked, and, well, she's going to start working again. Part-time.”

I smiled.

“My dad will still sue her,” Brattany said in a superior sort of way.

“Your dad should sue himself for raising such a booger for a kid,” Q answered. Brattany's jaw practically fell to the floor. “And he can sue her mom, too,” Q added, pointing at Kiki. “It'll be a class-action lawsuit, a guaranteed win.”

“Come on, guys,” Beanpole said. “Can't we all just get along?”

Kiki's response was short, crisp, and to the point.

“Pfft.”

I watched as the
two
ThreePees wiggled off to their usual lunch table. Sofes, however, stayed with us as we cruised over to our spot in the back corner of the courtyard. For the first time ever, all the seats at our table were filled.

Kiki and Brattany ate alone, quietly. It was weird not seeing a flurry of action around them. Almost as weird as it was to have our table feel like a hotbed of activity.

Beanpole and Sofes talked a mile a minute, comparing phones, chatting about how they liked to organize their sock drawer. The two of them had a million things in common. Q, of course, was back on the deflavorized food wagon.

“Tofu cubes?” I asked when she removed a Tupperware container from her lunch sack.

“The battle may be lost, but the war is not over.” Q jabbed her spork into a slice of skinless pear. “Today fruit, tomorrow…” she said, looking at my lunch, “pizza.” She smiled and put the sporked piece of pear in her mouth. “The low-fat kind, of course.”

“It's Giuseppe's,” I answered, defending my nutritional choice. “My dad brought it over last night.”

“More hole-filling, huh?” Beanpole asked.

“Well, I'm certainly filling my hole right now,” I said as I took a big, cheesy bite of pizza. “And I don't care if I don't have another glass of water for an entire month.”

Beanpole shot me one of her famous motherly looks. I knew she wanted me to spill more details, but couldn't she see I was eating?

“There's something about a great bite of pizza that makes every last calorie worth it,” I said as the flavorful pizza grease drizzled over my tongue.

Beanpole continued to stare.

“What?” I said, chewing.

“Do I need to mention the name of a certain condiment again?” she asked.

Sofes wrinkled her brow, evidently having no idea what we were talking about.

I heaved a sigh and set down my lunch. “Okay, okay, I know he's trying to make up for years of lost time by going for my weak spot,” I said. “But I did tell him last night that nothing was going to just magically happen. If he and I were going to be cool with one another, we were going to have to go slow.”

I wiped my hands with a napkin.

“You said that?” Beanpole asked.

“I did.”

“Just like that?” she asked.

I nodded.

“How very unketchuplike,” she replied, with a smile. She stood up and began to walk over to me. “I'm proud of you, Mo.”

“Don't hug me. Don't hug me.…Oh, you hugged me.
Awk
ward.”

“What can I say? I'm a hugger,” Beanpole replied with a grin.

“I'm a hugger, too,” Sofes said. The two of them looked at each other, and then—what else?—decided to hug.

Unfortunately, they each turned the same way, leaned eagerly forward, and
BAM!
smashed their foreheads in a head-on collision.

“Ouch!” they yelped at the same time.

“Don't worry, don't worry, I'm okay,” said Beanpole.

“Um, me too, I think,” Sofes said, rubbing her melon. Both of them looked at me.

“Did it leave a mark?”

“Barely noticeable,” I replied, looking at the red tree stump each of them was growing. “Hardly detectable at all.”

“So, you're going to give him a chance?” Q asked, in reference to my father.

“Uh-huh. But I also told him that if he was going to try to use me to get to Marty, well…that wasn't happening.” I reached for a sip of my Mountain Dew. Ounce for ounce, I think, Mountain Dew has more sugary fizz than any other soda on the market. Plus, it's green, and green foods, as every doctor says, are good for you.