Chapter 9
I following day I slip into my seat in Global Studies next to Logan. “You’re so lucky you started during Geek Week,” he says.
“Geek what?” I turn to him and await an explanation while he shares a knowing glance with MJ.
“When you take the date of Einstein’s birth and multiply it by the year of Socrates’ death…”
I tune out his long-winded explanation. Something involving the birthdays of genius’s throughout history being multiplied together and then divided by pi, which apparently gave you four twenty one, or April the twenty- first.
“The teachers incorporate these fun tests and on Friday night all the results are revealed and we have some competitions and a party to celebrate,” Logan finished.
To celebrate what? Their geekiness? “Sounds delightful.”
Tate gives us the access code for a website that promises to test our geekiness. I’ve never thought of myself as all that geeky, sure I liked to spend an unhealthy amount of time on my computer, but so do a lot of people.
I easily answer no to the first few questions: doing math problems for fun, in the marching band, played in role player games, I’m firmly in the no category on those. But my answers to the next set of questions start to concern me.
I click yes on all the following: in “smart” classes, have fixed someone’s computer, on speed dial as someone’s personal tech support, skipped parties to program or repair computers.
I might just have something in common with these gifted geeks after all.
My first week of classes has left me physically sore and mentally exhausted, yet with each passing day my plan to get sent home has become little more than wisps in the back corner of my mind, only remembered when I text with Piper. But yesterday, when she mentioned Wes’ hook up with Stacey, it only solidified my resolution to stay here at least a bit longer. Not to mention my parents are over the moon about me being here.
Friday night I’m sitting on the center of MJ’s bed while she swirls miniature brushes into well-used compacts. She brushes my whole face with a thick foundation.
“What do I need this for?” I’m not used to wearing anything that covers my whole face.
“It evens your skin tone out,” MJ says. I study her more closely and see that her makeup is flawless, but still manages to look natural. I loosen my shoulders, and begin to relax a little.
“So, what will tonight be like?” I ask.
MJ concentrates on sharpening a black eye pencil into a tissue lying on the bed.
Sara tucks her dark hair behind her ears. “It’ll be most of our class, plus a few second years hanging out, playing games, reveling in their geekiness. A few people will drink too much. Some of the girls will get annoying and turn up the music to grind on each other, you know, pretty typical stuff.”
I smile while MJ swipes bronzer across my cheeks and forehead. “Sounds like fun.”
She shrugs and finished by lining my eyes with the black pencil and adding a few swipes of mascara. When I look in the mirror I’m pleasantly surprised. My complexion is clear, I’m a bit tan and my blue eyes stand out against the dark makeup.
MJ gathers everything from the bed, stuffing it into the pink makeup bag and then we set off for the basement.
“You go ahead.” I shoo her out the door. “I’ll meet you down there in minute.” MJ eyes me curiously. “I’m gonna make a quick phone call.”
She nods once and turns to leave. The phone call home’s not a bad idea, but really I need a minute alone. I don’t have the energy to fake sounding happy and well-adjusted right now. I just want a second to myself. I open the trunk at the end of my bed and refold all the clothes I shoved inside when I was too overwhelmed to unpack earlier this week. At home, I had two dressers plus a walk in closet that were never this organized, but with less space to work with, I have a strange desire to keep it tidy.
I’m not sure why I’m hesitating joining them at the party. Maybe because if I make friends here, it’ll be like admitting I’m staying. I haven’t decided yet, but I certainly haven’t been doing anything that would get me kicked out like I’d originally planned. Piper’s recent texts to me have gone unanswered. I didn’t know how to tell her that it doesn’t look like I’ll be thrown out anytime soon and that I’m enjoying this reprieve from seeing Wes.
When I’ve refolded the last tank top and placed it on the top of the stack, I let the lid drop closed. I steal one last glance at the mirror and head into the hall. Just as I’m turning the corner, I meet Colt at top of the staircase. He stops his descent from the third floor and waits. His eyes linger on me and suddenly I’m self-conscious under his scrutiny. I can’t help but wonder if he’s remembering me in all my glory: hip cocked out and gyrating like a drunken lunatic.
My patience is shot. All week I’ve answered endless questions,
I intend to step around him, but as I take a step down, in my flustered state I’ve misjudged the distance and end up tripping. Colt’s steady hands around my waist stop me from tumbling to my death.
“Thanks,” I mumble without meeting his eyes.
His hands are still at my waist. We both look down and notice, and he slowly removes his hands, and stuffs them into his pockets. “Are you going to the party?”
I nod and try another step. I’m steady this time, but I reach out and trail my hand along the banister just to be safe.
He jogs down next to me until we’re side by side. I wouldn’t have thought instructors would be going to the party, but somehow I know that’s where he’s headed. I try to ignore him and not let him get under my skin, but with his faint trace of cologne invading my senses and his snug fit T-shirt, he’s incredibly distracting.
We reach the basement in silence and he slides open a heavy door set on a rolling track. He keeps his hand on the door, holding it open for me and I slide in around him, brushing past his chest in the process.
Inside is a large open room with a concrete floor and walls. The wall on the far side of the room is painted in multi-colored graffiti. There are signatures, a rough sketch of a dragon, a long math equation and lots of drippy handprints. I step closer and read some of the writing.
Dance music is thumping from the speakers plugged into a laptop. MJ and a few others sway to the music in the center of the room and pass a flask back and forth.
There’s a group sitting around a table, a few guys along with Bria and a girl I don’t recognize who must be a second year. They seem to be in the middle of an over-eager game of strip poker. Bria is shirtless with a hot pink bra pushing her cleavage up to her throat. One of the guys is also shirtless, but the rest have opted for lesser articles. Watches, belts and socks litter the floor at their feet. Colt is still at my side and my eyes flick up to his. He seems amused by the innocence and surprise in my reaction.
MJ spots us at the door and jogs over. “Hey!” She passes me a flask. I take it and look from her to Colt.
“Tequila.”
“Tastes like gasoline.” I take another quick sip which goes down a little easier than the first, and pass it back to her. Colt’s smile has faded. I can’t read him.
Colt tips his head, motioning to the wall as a tug of a smile pulls on his mouth. “Nicely done.”
I turn to see a big poster on the wall displays the results of this week’s geek tests, and I’m surprised to find my name listed second from the top, only behind a guy named Pete who is galloping around the room in a cape.
