Geekhood (18 page)

“What is it?”

“It’s out of your Baby Box. Your Great-aunt Bertha was convinced you were going to be a girl.”

In my hand is a pink handkerchief. Complete with lacy edges.

“A handkerchief?” A half-decent shirt is obviously not on the menu.

“Well, if you’d let me know a little sooner…” I can feel a huff coming on, so I give her a hug and tell her it’s great.

Back in my Lair, I examine my frilly heirloom. A pink bloody handkerchief.

Fifteen minutes later, I’ve worked out that I can fold it enough that I can hide the frills and tuck it into the top pocket of my shirt. I look like a waiter. With cuts and a black eye.

PS:
Vanity is a sign of spiritual blindness. You must look beyond your physical self and see what lies within
.

What lies within right now is someone who is very
tired. But if I’m to win Sarah’s heart, I will have to draw on all the psychic energy that Dr Hughes tells me is at my disposal.

And probably have an early night.

I spend Sunday waiting for the phone to ring.

PS:
To learn patience, you must first be patient!

It doesn’t.

SIXTEEN

Monday begins with a small object smacking me on the forehead and the all-too-familiar aroma of cigarette smoke.

“Hey, Arch! You alive in there?”

Tony is standing in the doorway, puffing on his
early-morning
heart-starter. He points to a tiny box that has rolled off my forehead and on to the pillow.

“What d’you think of that?”

With all the enthusiasm of a sedated bear, I open it up to see what can only be described as a very showy diamond ring. My brain can’t quite process this information; have I forgotten Mum’s birthday or something? It’s not Valentine’s Day; what’s the occasion?

“I’m going to propose to your mother.”

I am then subject to a split-second montage in my head that depicts Mum in a Cinderella-style wedding gown, my father gatecrashing the ceremony and shouting “Nooooo!” as he chases them up the aisle, and me having to call Tony “Dad”. In the midst of this, I just manage to croak out an “Uh … OK,” when a final, apocalyptic thought detonates inside my mind: what if they have children?

What if they have children?
What does that make me? Where do I belong? Which family is mine?

“So what d’you think?” Tony’s nodding at the box again.

PS:
Read the signs. Use your powers of psychic perception
.

The only immediate signs are that my world is starting to crumble around me, but I try and dig a bit deeper. Looking at Tony with my PS coaxing me in the background, I can see that he’s nervous – he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot and is sucking on his cigarette with a little more than his usual ferocity. And then it dawns: in his own weird way he’s asking my permission to ask Mum to marry him. If the idea wasn’t like looking into a crystal ball and watching yourself being torn apart by rabid wolves, the notion might be quite touching.

PS:
He has his own path to walk. Show him the way
.

“Good luck,” I manage, and chuck the box back his way. “When’re you doing it?”

Tony obviously relaxes and, now that permission has been granted, takes charge.

“I thought I’d wait until you’d gone to school. Take her by surprise sort of thing.”

I take the hint.

“I’ll make myself scarce.”

“Nice one.” He disappears in a puff of smoke. I wish the thoughts in my head would do the same. Once Mum slips that ring on, I’m not going to belong anywhere.

At least the mirror’s showing a degree of sympathy: my lacerations have calmed down and are barely noticeable, although there’s no sign of a beard on the horizon. I chuck my uniform on, tucking my pink handkerchief into my shirt pocket, and wolf down a bowl of cereal before heading on out.

The walk to school affords plenty of time for thought. Unfortunately, all I can think about is how Jason Humphries is going to kill me. Suddenly, my handkerchief looks less like a protective talisman and more like a handwritten invitation to beat me to death. All I can do is try and keep a low profile. Not so easy when you’re wearing a Bully Beacon
^TM
in your top pocket. I pull Sarah’s book out of my school bag and wonder if Dr Hughes has got anything up his sleeve for disturbances in the Force of this magnitude.

The closest thing I can find is his advice on “How to Avoid Negative Energy”. Reading between the lines, criticism, pessimism and teasing are like a “poison that can permeate and damage your ego”. All I’ve got to do is work out who in my life generates these negative energies and cut them out of it. And I’ve got to “get into the psychic orbit of those that generate positive
energies”. Sounds simple enough.

Cutting Tony out of my life is going to be a hard one, especially as he’s liable to be my Official Stepfather sometime soon. And, if I’m being honest, he doesn’t particularly criticize me – he’s just a Tosser.

“Dude! How’s your eye? What’s with the pink hanky? You looking to get your ass kicked?”

Beggsy arrives.

PS:
And with him, the acrid stench of criticism
.

“Ha, ha, you’re a funny guy. It’s called
fashion
.”

“Dude!” Conveys *Is disapproving*. Up in the distance, he spots Ravi and Matt. I brace myself for the onslaught.

“Dudes! Check this out! Archie’s turned into a fashion icon!”

“Yeah, I hear bruises are gonna be big this year. Anyone who’s anyone is gonna be wearing them!” True to form, Ravi’s missed the blindingly obvious.

PS:
But not the opportunity for teasing
…

And Matt completes the unholy trinity.

“At least it’ll be useful for mopping up the blood when Humphries gets hold of you.”

PS:
The pathetic poison of pessimism
.

“Jesus, guys!” I explode. “It’s only a hanky, for crying out loud!” And with that, I march on ahead of them, getting lost in the swelling crowds of teenagers
approaching the school gates. There’s a dull nagging in the back of my head that I’ve let loose on my mates – not about the hanky, but about everything else that’s going wrong in my life. Perhaps I should stop and apologize.

PS:
Those are the words of someone whose ego has been weakened by negative energy. Stay strong and true. Avoid them
.

Even the harshest advice sounds right in an American accent; maybe the PS has a point. All we ever do is take the mick out of each other and I don’t need that in my life right now. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m in a spade shop, looking for a bigger shovel.

“Hey, Archie!”

Positive energy almost sweeps me off my feet in the shimmering physical form of Sarah. Suddenly, my negative friends are little more than a foggy memory.

“Hey, yourself!” Damn, I sound almost cool!

“Nice handkerchief. Going somewhere special?”

My heart leaps – Dr Hughes was right! I don’t think I’ve ever felt so pleased about anything in my whole life. My handkerchief
is
nice – it’s the nicest damn handkerchief I’ve ever had. God bless Great-aunt Bertha! And God bless whoever invented handkerchiefs! Especially pink ones.

“Oh, you know,” I reply airily, “thought I’d give this
place a try – I hear the food’s quite good.”

My reward is a bounty of beautiful laughter and a squeeze on my upper arm; it’s like being touched by an angel.

“There’s Caitlyn – I’ve got to go. See you later? Maybe lunchtime?”

“I’ll reserve the best table in the house. The chef’s a personal friend.” I think I can feel my beard starting to grow.

More laughter and another squeeze before she runs off to meet her friend. Life doesn’t get any better than this. The truth of that thought is reinforced by something like a battering ram thudding into my lower back. I swallow the retort that’s forming on my lips as I turn to face the hardened, thundercloud visage of Jason Humphries complete with Battle Damage. I guess Mum’s already rung Mrs Holly this morning to report him; he’s angrier than ever. But due to the presence of the occasional wandering teacher, all he can do is draw a finger across his muscular throat and leer darkly at me.

Perhaps pink isn’t his colour.

Learning goes out of the window for the rest of the morning. Even basking in the whispered glory of being in
a fight with Jason Humphries goes out of the window; the pats on the back, thumbs-ups and furtive compliments I’m paid are overshadowed by desperately sneaking peeks at Dr Hughes’s words of wisdom. More specifically, I’m trying to find out what Dr Hughes thinks are the best methods of dealing with an overgrown Grunt who is doubtless going to want to use me as a punchbag. The closest he gets is in dealing with “negative energy that is aimed directly at you”. As far as I’m concerned, a smack in the face is pretty negative and it takes some energy to do it, so it’s as good a place to start as any.

Unfortunately, this is where the first shreds of doubt creep in. So far, Dr Hughes has had it all pretty much spot on: I’ve managed to silence my inner critic, developed a more positive outlook and enticed Sarah into my psychic orbit with the criminal-quelling powers of my pink hanky. But I don’t think that “denying these negative forces” is going to stop Humphries’s fist from connecting with my nose. Dr Hughes’s advice is to imagine the negative energy flowing from me like a jet of water. The only jet of water flowing from me I can imagine in the whole scenario is the one that is likely to be expelled by my treacherous bladder if Humphries comes anywhere near me.

PS:
Ask the Universe and the Universe will answer
.

Rather than asking, I offer up a quick prayer.

The lunch bell sends me scurrying through corridors, trying to be as invisible as possible. Which doesn’t seem to be that easy when you’re sporting a pink handkerchief. Who’d have thought that such an innocuous item could cause so much of a stir? One minute I’m a folk hero, the next my sexuality seems to be in question and the amount of people who call me a twat has got to be some sort of world record. Fame can be so fickle.

PS:
Dare to be different!

Jason Humphries is thankfully absent from the slavering hordes who gossip, cackle and trudge their way to the canteen. Just as I think I can breathe easy, Ravi rounds a corner and we literally bump into each other.

“Hey, Archie – you OK?”

“Yeah, I’m cool.” I can almost feel his psychic probes sounding me out, but I’m giving nothing away.

“You seemed pretty hacked off this morning. You know – the hanky thing.”

PS:
Let him know that you will not be the recipient of his negative energy!

“I’m just tired of all the piss-taking, Rav. I don’t need it in my life.”

“Oh. OK. I’m gonna hang for the guys.” There’s a question in his statement: he wants to know if I’ll wait with him. Once I would have been drawn into his
gravitational field, but my recently installed psychic thrusters give me all the power I need to break free; I need to be around positive energy. I need to be around Sarah.

“I’m not. See you.” Simple as that.

PS:
Your strength is growing!

I’ll have to reserve judgement on that, but Dr Hughes’s advice to avoid negativity has opened up another window of opportunity for me: I can see Sarah’s hair shining like an ebony flare through the heads and shoulders up ahead. With a bit of squeezing and diplomatic shoving, I finally make it next to her.

“Going my way?”

“Well, hello, stranger!” There’s enough sauce in her voice to start up a ketchup factory.

PS:
You must dispense with lustful thoughts!

I take a quick mental cold shower.

“You going in?” I jerk a casual thumb to the canteen doors.

“Yeah. Just waiting for someone. You go ahead.”

There’s a slight whooshing sound as the rug is pulled from under my feet. Suddenly, I’m not quite so cocksure, and the skin on my chin feels naked and hairless. I’m just about to suggest pathetically that I’ll wait, when a loud American voice cuts through my self-doubt.

PS:
Channel your positive energy!

“OK. I’ll go and check our table’s ready.”

“I’ll see you in a minute.”

I award myself a mental medal.

All this positivity has made me hungry and I plump for my favourite on today’s menu: Spicy Beef with Rice. After a moment’s hovering by the till, a group of girls leave their table and I jump on it: perfect. Actually, on closer inspection, it’s not quite that perfect and I clear the trays and plates that the girls have left behind.

“Dude!” Beggsy barges one of the chairs with his backside and starts to slide into it. I can see Matt and Ravi leaving the till; I’m going to have to work fast.

“Uh… It’s taken.”

“Ha, ha.”

“No, really; it’s taken.”

Matt looms over the table, his Geek-sense obviously having detected that thing that Geeks fear most: change.

“What’s going on?”

“Archie’s saving this seat for someone, apparently.” Beggsy’s butt still hasn’t made contact with the seat, but he maintains his half-squat as though he’s waiting for orders to either sit or stand. There’s a moment as the three of them test the tension.