Nerd Camp (19 page)

The return to school was like the landing of another UFO: the focus and atmosphere of the whole camp shifted instantly. Instead of scoreboards and giant maps and mud pits, the
camp became filled with rocket launchpads and soil samples and even the beginnings of a replica of a medieval village. The excitement and competitive spirit was still there; it was just redirected.

Gabe sat on a tree stump, his hair brushed forward and flipped up in the front, thinking about his final poem. Mr. Justice had taken the class out to the woods for inspiration, but Gabe's wasn't coming. He knew he wanted to write about camp, but that could mean anything that happened in the last six weeks. It was so big that he didn't know how to start, and he had no idea which of all his memories were even worth writing about.

He'd had the same mental blank when thinking about his final logic proof. All he could think about was the personal logic proof he'd been working on all summer. He'd thought that all his adventures would prove that he wasn't a nerd, but they presented a stronger case for the opposite. Summer Center was one big adventure in geekdom. But was there any truth in what Amanda said? Did the geekdom part not necessarily cancel out the adventure?

Mr. Justice knelt down beside Gabe's stump. “How's it coming, Gabe?”

Gabe sighed. “I don't know what to write.”

“Do you know which form you'd like to write in?” Mr. Justice asked. The final poem could be any type of poem they'd studied, and they'd studied lots.

“No,” Gabe said. “Maybe a haiku or a sonnet.”

Mr. Justice smiled. “You like meter.”

Gabe nodded. He did like poems that had set rules about how many lines or words or syllables you could use. “You have to make it fit,” he said. “Like the old wooden puzzles I had when I was little. There was this board with the outline, and you had to figure out which pieces went where to make it come together. Writing those poems is kind of like that.”

Mr. Justice nodded. “Kind of like a logic problem.”

“Yeah,” Gabe said slowly. “It
is
kind of like a logic problem. …” Mr. Justice stood up and went to check in with someone else, leaving Gabe with all the neurons in his brain beginning to fire.

He had a flashback of Amanda last night, sitting opposite him in her kayak and saying,
You always look at things backward.
He could think of his poem like a logic problem … and his logic proof like a poem. Solving a logic problem meant taking a whole bunch of facts—givens—and combining them to
come to one solution. But writing a poem was the opposite: You took a big thing—the woods, say—and broke it down into small things—the smell of the leaves, the sound of the wind.

Instead of looking at his nerd chart as a set of facts that needed to prove one thing or another, he began to look at it as a collection of memories and moments. When camp was over, he wouldn't have just one conclusion, he'd have all these fun and funny and crazy experiences. He could combine them to prove all sorts of different things or make any type of poem. And he'd remember every one of them—they were all
him
, more than any hairstyle was. He had a feeling he wouldn't be looking back at his logic proof anymore.

Amanda walked behind Gabe's stump and looked over his shoulder at his blank piece of paper. “I'm almost done already,” she bragged.

Gabe looked up. “I'm just starting to get it.”

“I think we won,” said Wesley.

“We should assume that we came in last place,” said Nikhil. “That way, we'll be sure to be happy with whatever place we came in.”

“We should
hope
we got first, though,” said Gabe. His hair was not gelled at all, just plain and in need of a haircut.

“Hope it, okay,” said Nikhil, “but be ready for any result, just in case.”

“I'm ready to win,” said Wesley.

The loudspeakers crackled and then began broadcasting the music of a violin quartet. It was a complicated, lively
tune, and though some kids looked confused and one stood up and began to wave his arms as though he were conducting, everyone stopped talking to listen. A procession started onto the stage: first the teachers, then the nurse and librarian, then the administrators, and finally the director of the camp. The staff formed a line at the top of the stage, and the director stood in the center wearing a red hat, a green shirt, blue shorts, and knee-high yellow socks. The music stopped, and all the campers applauded. Then the staff on stage began applauding too, but pointing their hands at the campers.

“Welcome to the Color War closing ceremonies,” the director said. “That wonderful music you just heard was
Color War Opus in E-flat
, composed and performed by Summer Center campers from four summers ago.”

Everyone clapped again.

“Before I read the final scores and announce the winner,” the director continued, “I'd like you all to give yourselves a HUGE round of applause. You all did an excellent job. What a stimulating, enriching, fun few days we've had!”

A couple of days ago, they all would have jumped to their feet and begun chanting cheers about their teams. But the scores were already tallied, and classes were already back
in session. All anyone cared about now was the results.

“Without further ado,” the director said, “I have the Color War results.” She pulled out a multicolored envelope, and a whole roomful of bodies shifted closer to the edge of their seats. “The award for best sportsmanship goes to … the RED TEAM!”

The Red team cheered, but the other three teams cheered louder. Everyone knew the sportsmanship award never went to the team that had won.

“The award for best team spirit goes to … the YELLOW team!” In honor of the yellow team's sing-off performance, she added in a robotic voice, “Or should I say the 10010 team.”

“We had to win it,” Wesley said excitedly. “That leaves just us and Blue, and only
we
had red sand!”

Gabe swallowed but kept quiet. What were the odds that the red sand would make the difference between winning and losing, that his sharing with Amanda would push her team over the edge and leave Green in second place?

“And now for the final scores. In fourth place, with 470 points … is the RED team!”

The Red team was clearly bummed, and they stayed that way despite their counselors' pretending fourth was the best place to be.

“I'm going to have to announce the rest in a somewhat different way,” the director said, “because we had something incredibly rare happen. We have two teams
tied
for second place, with 525 points each.”

A symphony of murmers and whispers went through the crowd.

“But the winning team …”—the director paused and let the suspense hang there—“won us over with their team spirit and sportsmanship and fantastic sing-off performance. With 655 points, it's the YELLOW team!”

The yellow team sprang to their feet and began screaming and jumping on top of one another.

“Tied for second,” Nikhil said proudly. “I was expecting fourth.”

Wesley kicked the seat in front of him. “I can't believe we came in second. And that we tied with Blue.”

“At least we beat Red,” Gabe said, resigned. “And they knew about the milk snake.”

Wesley covered his eyes. “Watch out, Gabe. Here comes Amanda Wisznewski, and she's probably going to say we copied her by coming in second.”

Gabe couldn't help but laugh, even as he shook his head.
What she should do was thank him; if he hadn't shared his sand, Blue would be third to Green's second. But she probably would say exactly what Wesley predicted.

She tapped him on the shoulder. “We tied. You know what that means,” she said.

Gabe and Wesley and Nikhil waited.

Amanda smiled. “We're meant to be.”

With the row of packed bags along the wall—Gabe's suitcase between Wesley's duffel and Nikhil's trunk—Gabe felt like he'd stepped out of a time machine into the first day of camp. How strange to think that only six weeks ago, he had just arrived at Summer Center and didn't know Wesley or Nikhil or Amanda or the postulates of logical reasoning or the difference between a couplet and a triolet.

The three of them were mostly done packing, but they'd decided to leave all their pictures and lists and graphs on the walls until after their parents came. Even Nikhil agreed that being able to hold on to the feeling that the bunk
was still theirs outweighed the risk of not being 100 percent packed by the time the parents arrived. Stark white walls would have been too sad. And besides, they wanted to show off their Pi digits and Wesley's sleeping-bag times and their celebrity photos and the funny things they all said. They'd spent the first hour of the allotted packing time reading their walls and reliving the memories. It was only when David knocked on their wall and said that families would begin arriving in an hour—and then they'd need to go get lunch before their class presentations at one o'clock—that they got to work.

Wesley found a lump of clothes wedged between his bed frame and the wall. “I didn't realize I brought this shirt,” he said. He shrugged, blew a ball of dust off it, and stuffed it into his duffel bag.

“That bag is so big,” said Gabe, “you could put a body in there.”

“I do have a body in it,” said Wesley seriously. “A
body of knowledge
about geometry and Shakespeare!”

All three of them cracked up.

Nikhil sighed and sat down on his bare mattress. “I wish school was going to be like Summer Center.”

“I know!” said Gabe. “This is like school, but even more fun.”

“And the other kids don't make fun of you,” said Wesley.

“And they don't call you a nerd and teacher's pet,” said Nikhil.

“Or say SCGE stands for Smart Camp for Geeks and Eggheads.”

“That's what they called it at my school too!” said Nikhil.

“Who called it that?” Gabe asked.

“Everyone,” said Wesley. “My mom came into school and told my teacher that I was going here, and then my teacher announced it to the class.”

“My mom told Julia Renderson's mom,” Nikhil said through gritted teeth, “and then Julia told
everyone
, and they started calling it that.”

“Smart Camp for Geeks and Eggheads … That's pretty good for people who aren't smart enough to come here,” Gabe said. “I bet my stepbrother would call it that too. But you know what? Even if we are nerds, we did a lot of really cool stuff.”

“Well,
duh
,” said Wesley. “That's because this camp is awesome.”

“Yeah!” said Nikhil. “Even if it is Smart Camp for Geeks and Eggheads.”

“I get to be Geek!” called Wesley.

“No,” said Nikhil. “Gabe should be Geek because his name starts with
G
.”

“I'm Geek,” said Gabe proudly.

“Okay,” said Wesley. “Then I'm Smarty, and Nikhil's Egghead.”

“I don't want to be Egghead,” said Nikhil. “Besides, your head is kind of shaped like an egg. Gabe, don't you think Wesley's head is shaped like an egg?”

“Is it?” asked Wesley seriously.

Gabe cocked his head. “Kind of. If eggs had hair and wore glasses.”

“I can see eggs wearing glasses,” said Wesley, “but imagine if they had hair. Nasty.”

They all laughed. “That goes on the quote wall,” said Nikhil. He got up, took a pencil out of his pocket, and added it to the long list of funny things they'd said or heard during the past six weeks.

“Hey, can I use your pencil?” said Gabe. A proud Geek, he walked to the drawing of the three of them that they'd had
made during the caricatures activity. He used the pencil to write in their names below their faces:
SMARTY, GEEK, AND EGGHEAD
. Then he added,
THE WORLD'S COOLEST NERDS
.

From the front of the cabin, David shouted, “It's noon, guys! Families will begin arriving any minute now. Make sure you're all packed!”

As sad as he was to leave Summer Center, the sound of the word “family” made Gabe think about how long it had been since he'd seen his mom. He hoped she'd be the first to arrive.

“I can't wait to see my family,” said Nikhil. “Even my sister.”

“My stepbrother told me my mom is bringing me a surprise,” said Gabe. “But I have no idea what it is.”

“My grandparents are coming,” said Wesley. “And my mom and dad and brother and sister. And my aunt and uncle who are visiting from China.” He scratched his egg-shaped head. “I hope there's room for me in the car.”

“And for your body of knowledge,” said Nikhil. “Why are so many people coming to pick you up?” Gabe asked.

Wesley grinned. “They're my Fans. Get it? Because my last name is Fan.”

As if on cue, the first family through the cabin door was
the Fans, and there were a lot of them. “Dad!” shouted Wesley. He flew off his top bunk into the arms of a man who looked just like he did, only taller and with graying hair. Then Wesley was swallowed up by hugs and kisses and a flurry of conversation in Chinese. Wesley's brother and sister began squeezing between and climbing over their relatives to walk around and look at the walls. There was hardly any room to fit them all, and Gabe could see that Nikhil was probably thinking about fire hazards, so he suggested he and Nikhil go wait for their families outside.

The campground was swarming with people, and more and more were parading over the hill to the bunk area in large clumps led by counselors and staff.

“There's my mom!” shouted Nikhil. He sprinted toward an oncoming group of families and was greeted by a tall, thin Indian couple. Gabe watched as a small girl with long pigtails jumped out from between Nikhil's parents and tackled Nikhil to the ground. They rolled down the hill in a tangle of arms and legs. Nikhil jumped to his feet and brushed himself off, but the girl kept rolling—making other families jump over her or step out of her way—until she landed close to Gabe. She stood up and showed off a smile
that was missing so many teeth, it looked like a chess-board. Gabe wondered how many she'd lost naturally and how many she'd lost doing things like tackling Nikhil and rolling down hills.