One-Third Nerd Read online

  Big windows look out on the indoor tennis courts, where people are playing. The courts aren’t the usual green, but blue, and there isn’t a single crack in any one of them. The nets are the perfect USTA height, not pulled too tight or sagging too low in the middle. The ball makes a funny sound when it bounces inside the cool, echoing courts. The ceiling is tall enough to lob, so long as the lob isn’t crazy high.

  Guys with iced drinks watch the tennis players through the big windows. When Moses and I get out there, they’ll be watching us. If I’m playing well, I don’t feel embarrassed when people watch me play. I kind of like it.

  On the courts we put our stuff on a bench next to a water cooler. I look down the row of courts. There’s a water cooler on every one!

  Moses gets his racket out of a big bag with two rackets inside. My racket sticks out of my backpack, along with a can of used balls. I wonder if they even let you play with used balls here.

  When you play with someone who hits hard, they make you look good. If you play with someone who hits sloppy, loopy balls with weird backspin, you don’t.

  At first my feet stick to the court and my racket slips around in my hand. The ball floats up. A moon ball, really?

  My chest tightens. I hope those guys with the drinks aren’t watching me now.

  But then I forget about everything except Moses’s hard topspin balls clipping toward me. I have to stand way behind the baseline to hit them.

  Moses and I rally until I find my groove. Now that I’m hitting better, I’m hoping somebody is watching—somebody who will ask me to join Moses’s other team. The one he plays on here.

  We hit for a long time; then we take a break to guzzle water.

  “You want to play or just hit?” Moses asks.

  What, is he crazy? Of course I want to play him. “Play.”

  Moses grins. “Good, because I’ve been holding back. Being real gentle with you.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  He laughs. “Too bad kids in our class aren’t here. They’d be rooting for you.”

  “No they wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah they would, but I’m going to beat you anyway.”

  We start the real game. Moses serves first. His serve kicks right. The trick is to know the kick is coming and watch the ball extra hard. Moses makes some unforced errors and I win the first game. Then he wins, then I win, then he wins.

  My hair is wet with sweat. It’s humid in here, and the rain pounds on the canvas roof. I wipe the sweat off my hands. But when we change sides, I see he is sweating too and he doesn’t look so confident as he did when we started.

  Now we are at 6–6, and I imagine the guys watching are tennis scouts and they’re going to offer to sponsor me and give me my own tennis bag.

  We have just decided to play a tiebreaker when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice a man approaching. This is my chance!

  But when I turn around I see he has gray hair, cut short, and he’s kind of stooped. He’s wearing weird black yoga pants, black socks, and Birkenstocks.

  Mr. Torpse.

  He shakes his crooked finger at me. “I thought I saw you out here.”

  I can’t help but be proud he saw me playing so well. Maybe he’ll tell my mom and she’ll get me tennis lessons from a pro, like Crash suggested. If your landlord says something, then don’t you have to do it?

  “Your mother is always telling me she’s just scraping by, and here you are.”

  “I have a guest pass,” I mumble.

  He snorts. “You tell your mother she has three days to get that dog out of there. Three days. That’s it. No one pulls the wool over Melvin Torpse’s eyes. No one!” He turns and limps away.

  “Yes, sir,” I mutter as Moses leaps over the net. “What was that all about? Are we out of time?”

  “He didn’t say,” I mumble.

  Moses nods. “Everybody wants to play in here when it rains. They don’t cut you any slack. I’ll go check.” He trots off the court and in the door that leads to the lobby desk.

  While he’s gone, I think about Torpse’s words. Mom said we had a week. Did Torpse move the deadline?

  When Moses comes back, he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. “We can play a tiebreaker, but then we have to stop.”

  Now all I can think about is Cupcake curled up under the table. Cupcake licking the sleep spit off my face. Cupcake shoving her dish around the kitchen when it’s time for dinner. Cupcake with her black lips that always look like she just ate licorice. Cupcake loving me with all her big, loyal heart even when I’m in the world’s worst mood.

  Moses wins the tiebreaker: 7–1.

  Moses’s sister picks us up. She has hair braided tightly along her scalp and then a ponytail of braids. I move the big stack of schoolbooks on the backseat and sit down.

  “You’re Liam, right?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “I’m Jada. Moses’s favorite sister.” She grins.

  Moses rolls his eyes.

  “Where do you live?” she asks when we’re buckled in.

  “Oh, uh, yeah…just drop me off at, you know, Camino.”

  “It’s raining. Don’t you want me to drive you home?” she asks.

  “No, I, um, want to practice my, you know, sprints,” I say lamely.

  “Okay.” She shrugs.

  “Your sprints…really?” Moses whispers.

  “Uh-huh,” I say, but I don’t meet his eyes. I’m pretty sure he knows I’m lying.

  After they drop me off, I watch them turn up Rialto toward the fancy houses with the big lawns with trampolines and riding lawn mowers.

  When I pull out my phone, there’s a string of texts from Dodge. D blew up microwave. At my house. Meet there.

  It is raining, so I half run the rest of the way to Dodge’s house.

  I’m sopping wet when I get there. Dakota is sitting on the front porch with Cupcake. “What did you do?” I ask.

  “Nothing.”

  “How’d the microwave blow up if you did nothing? Mom made you a list of what you aren’t supposed to put in there. It’s taped to the door.”

  “I know…I’ve read it a billion times.”

  “Yeah, so why did you blow the thing up?”

  “I didn’t put anything in there. Mom didn’t put ‘nothing’ on the list.”

  “Why’d you run the microwave with nothing inside?”

  She juts out her chin. “I thought it might lead to an important discovery. I only have two days until the maker fair projects are due. I have to let my mind run free.”

  I sigh. “Does Torpse know?”

  She shakes her head. “The microwave is Mom’s.”

  “That’s good, but couldn’t you google putting nothing in the microwave to find out what would happen? Why did you have to do it?”

  “Mrs. Johnson says you need to think, not just google answers.”

  Cupcake’s leash is tied to a lawn gnome. She paws her Tupperware water dish, flipping it over.

  Then she dives down the porch stairs, pulling the gnome behind her.

  She pokes her nose under a hedge and comes out with a sandwich.

  I try to get it out of her mouth, but she gulps it down in one bite.

  “Oh, great.” I untie her leash from the gnome and set it back up where it was.

  Dodge sees me and comes out. “How was tennis?” he asks.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “Crash said if it doesn’t rain, he’d hit with us tomorrow.”

  “Excellent,” I say as my phone starts vibrating. I look at the text. It’s from Mom. Come home.

  I pull Cupcake away from wet grass she doesn’t want to stop sniffing and we head home. Mom is out front sweeping.

  Mom’s face is dirty and sweaty. Her black pants are covered in d
og hair and her ponytail droops.

  “Mom, can you come to maker fair day on Thursday?” Dakota is jumping up and down.

  “What time?”

  “Three.”

  Mom nods. “I can’t wait to see what you’ve been working on.” She smiles. When we walk down the stairs to our apartment, we see the big carpet-cleaning machine is back. “Don’t tell Mom Cupcake ate that sandwich,” Dakota whispers.

  “If I were to, you know, get in trouble before then…” Dakota’s voice gets small. “Will you still come?”

  Mom’s eyebrows rise. “I’m knackered, Dakota. Please don’t tell me…”

  Dakota scratches at her neck. “I might have made a teeny mistake.”

  Mom sighs.

  “It was nothing, but then it turned into something,” Dakota says. “A big something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I blew up the microwave—but I didn’t put anything in it.”

  Mom frowns. “I saw that. But it was on its last legs, and even so it shouldn’t blow up if you run it empty.”

  Dakota perks up. “I know, right?”

  Mom nods. “I’ll check it out. Do you want to ask your dad to the maker fair?”

  Dakota looks at Mom, and then she looks at me. She shakes her head. “Science is for girls, Kimberly.”

  “Oh really.” Mom grins.

  Dakota nods. “You can tell him when I win, though. Then I’ll have so much money I can buy a new microwave.” She runs into her room and closes the door.

  When I get to the science room, Mom is already sitting in front with Izzy, who gets to miss speech therapy so she can watch Dakota. I’m kind of glad Dakota didn’t invite Dad, because I wouldn’t know who to sit with. We had that problem last year when our aunt got married. Then Izzy and Dakota sat with Mom and I sat with Dad, but I felt like my left foot was in my right shoe for the entire ceremony. I think kids should write a book about what you’re supposed to do in situations like that.

  “Liam.” Mr. Gupta motions to me. “I need Leadership Council help here now.”

  I look around. No one from Leadership is here except me.

  “I invited Moses,” he says.

  “You did?”

  “Yes. He’s new and he doesn’t have a lot of friends yet.”

  I give Mr. Gupta a weird look. He normally knows what’s what, but this makes no sense at all. Moses has lots of friends. I just don’t want him here. If Dakota is going to do something stupid, I’d like as few fifth graders as possible to see it.

  “Would you walk each team up to the front of the class so they can present their findings? Then I will do a little introduction. When each group is finished, you can walk them back to their seats.”

  He says this as if we’re in a big theater with hundreds of people in attendance. But we’re in a regular classroom with a handful of parents sitting in too-small seats. Mr. Gupta likes to pretend everything is all fancy and he is the master of ceremonies.

  Just as I bring the first group up, Moses arrives. When I get back to my seat, he slips in next to me and Dodge.

  Two boys start with the question: Is it better to lick a toilet seat or lick a coin? They have a poster full of toilet-seat germs and then another one with coin germs drawn in brown and green colored pencil.

  They think that most toilets get washed more than most coins, so they conclude it is safer to lick a toilet seat. They have two bottles of hand sanitizer that fit on your belt. One is for your coins. One is for your hands after you touch the coins.

  When they are done, Mrs. Johnson jumps up to assure the audience that this is, in fact, a hypothetical question and nobody licked a toilet seat. Mr. Gupta thanks the boys for their questioning minds and for adhering to the scientific process.

  Moses escorts the next group up. They have made a Ferris wheel for ants. Then we have a lightbulb inside a cauliflower, and then a bottle opener that fits into your shoe.

  Finally, it’s Dakota’s turn. She is the only team of one. She waits for me, then hops to the front of the class.

  Moses laughs. My face gets hot.

  “My first idea was a hover umbrella motored by a drone, but unfortunately the money was not there to create the prototip,” Dakota announces in an extra-loud voice.

  Some of the parents laugh.

  “Ah, prototype!” says Mr. Gupta. “Good word choice, Dakota.”

  “So this is just to hold you over until we get the real hover umbrella working.”

  Dakota dives behind the table. She has constructed an umbrella out of the large fabric Frisbees the Forty-Sevens use and a metal shish kebab stick attached to a backpack. Dakota pulls out a pitcher and pours water over the Frisbee. The water drips down the sides.

  Dakota dances around. “It’s a hands-free umbrella. Get it?”

  Everybody claps.

  Mrs. Johnson grabs a towel and begins mopping up the mess. She looks like she is about to kill Dakota for getting her classroom wet.

  Dakota sticks her finger in the air. “Stay tuned. The hover umbrella will be coming soon.” Then she comes back and sits with Dodge, Moses, and me.

  “Nice job.” Moses gives her a fist bump.

  Dakota grins.

  “I think Mr. Gupta likes me now,” she tells me.

  * * *

  When everyone is done, Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Gupta go out into the hall to decide the winner. Then they come back in and announce the maker team who will represent Red Horse Elementary in the county-wide competition. Dakota starts to get up but then drops back down when she hears that the winning team created the Ferris wheel for ants.

  “Why do bugs need to go on a carnival ride?” she asks.

  I shrug.

  Dakota opens her mouth. Uh-oh. She’s about to tell Mr. Gupta and Mrs. Johnson they are wrong. But before she can, Mr. Gupta jumps in. “One more winner. In a special category: the most useful idea—which has not yet been implemented to the satisfaction of the committee. And that award goes to Dakota Rose.”

  Dakota grins at Mom.

  Everyone claps and Dakota bows. Then she waves her arm in the air. “Is there money? What about the money?”

  Why does she have to say things like this?

  “No money, I’m sorry to say, Dakota Rose. But actually there is something far better than money.” Mr. Gupta pulls out a bag and sets it on the table.

  “Skittles!”

  Mom slips her arms around Dakota and gives her a hug. “Great job, love.”

  Mr. Gupta walks up and offers his hand. “Hello, Mrs. Rose. I’m Mr. Gupta.”

  Mom shakes his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gupta. I’ve heard so many nice things about you.”

  Mr. Gupta smiles. “I cannot wait for Dakota to be in my science class.” He taps his finger to his temple. “Little girl. Big ideas. And I am very much enjoying working with your son. Quite the athlete. The three of them are, actually.” He nods toward Dodge and Moses and me.

  “Did you hear that?” Dakota asks. “He can’t wait for me to be in his class.”

  “I heard.” Mom winks at me.

  “Maybe we can sell my idea,” Dakota whispers. “Do you think Dad will know how?”

  * * *

  In the car on the way home, drops are running down the windows. Dakota is silent, staring out.

  Mom glances back at her.

  “Why the sad face?”

  “How are we going to make money for Cupcake?”

  “We all love Cupcake, but sometimes things happen that are out of our control. And honestly, I wonder if she wouldn’t be happier on a farm.”

  “How could she be happy without us? We’re her family.”

  “We can go and visit her.”

  Dakota leans forward in her seat. “If I do something you don’t like, will you send me away?” />
  “Of course not, Dakota. Dogs are different.”

  “How do you know? Have you ever been a dog?”

  Mom sighs as she waits for the light to turn green.

  “What if I started peeing all over the place? Would you make me live on a farm in Sonoma?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think Red Horse is going to win,” I say. “I mean…a Ferris wheel for ants?”

  Dakota nods.

  “The Ferris wheel was pretty,” Izzy says.

  “Yes,” Mom agrees.

  * * *

  At home, Dakota follows me into my room and plops on my bed. Ordinarily I would kick her out, but I’m worried about Cupcake too. Mom is sounding more and more serious about giving her away.

  “Maybe I could start school somewhere else tomorrow and then I could submit to their maker fair.”

  “You’d need Mom or Dad to register you in a new school. But we could try doing a bunch of things. And see how much we make. We have two days,” I say.

  “We have a week,” she says.

  I shake my head. “No, I ran into Torpse at Moses’s club. He said three days and that was yesterday.”

  “Two days! Did you tell Mom?”

  “No. I thought it might make her get rid of Cupcake faster.”

  Dakota twirls her nerdy wristband. “That was smart.”

  I don’t think Dakota has ever used the word “smart” about anyone but herself before. I smile at her.

  “Of course you’re smart. You’re my brother. And sometimes that one-third nerd kicks in.”

  I laugh.

  “So, what do you think we should do first?” she asks.

  “Call everyone we know. See if they can give us little jobs,” I suggest.