Summer of the Geek

Table of Contents

 

 

ALSO BY PIPER BANKS

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First published by New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, May 2010

Copyright © Whitnet Gaskell, 2010

All rights reserved

 

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

 

 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA:
Banks, Piper.
Summer of the geek / Piper Banks.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-40447-8

[1. Au pairs—Fiction. 2. Ability—Fiction. 3. Self-esteem—Fiction. 4. Dating (Social customs)—Fiction.
5. Stepfamilies—Fiction. 6. Genius—Fiction. 7. Florida—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.G2128Sum 2010
[Fic]—dc22 2009051304

 

 

 

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“I
don’t understand why this is so hard for you. I thought you were supposed to be a genius, Miranda,” Dex teased me.

“Shush,” I growled as I again tried to shift the car from first to second gear. This was met by a horrible grinding sound that made Dex flinch.

“The clutch! You have to step down on the clutch!” Dex said, pointing wildly at the pedals.

I stomped down on the clutch, but the car just lurched forward and stalled.

“Gah! What am I doing wrong?” I turned to look at Dex. The corners of his mouth were twitching into a smile.

“It helps if you step down on the clutch at the same time that you’re shifting gears,” Dex suggested.

“I give up,” I said. “I told you I’d never be able to drive a standard transmission car! I can barely drive an automatic, and this is three trillion times harder.”

I opened the car door and climbed out. Dex already had both his driver’s license and his own car—an ancient red Honda Civic, which I now officially hated—so he’d driven me over to the empty parking lot at Orange Cove High to practice for my driving test. It was less than three weeks away, and I was pretty sure I was going to fail. It would be the greatest humiliation of my life. Even Hannah, my stepsister, who thought Albert Einstein was a member of a German boy band, had passed her driving test on the first try.

I leaned back against the car and crossed my arms over my chest. Dex walked around the car and stood in front of me.

“You can’t just give up,” he said.

Dex’s pale blue eyes were squinting against the sun. He had lightly freckled skin, red hair that curled back from his face, and when he grinned, as he was doing now, his smile was slightly crooked. I felt a zing right in the center of my stomach every time he looked at me like that.

“I don’t want to kill your car,” I said.

“I don’t want you to kill my car either,” Dex said. “But I know you can do this.”

“How do you know?” I said.

“I know.”

He put his hands on my waist and leaned toward me. My heart began to rocket around inside my chest, thumping so loudly, I was amazed he couldn’t hear it. Dex’s lips were warm and soft against mine, and suddenly all of my frustration at not being able to master a simple stick shift transmission melted away. I reached up and encircled my arms around his neck.

After a long moment, Dex leaned back and looked at me. I loved the way he smelled, a clean scent that reminded me of soap and laundry fresh from the dryer. It made me want to nestle closer to him.

“Do you want to give it another try?” he asked.

At first, I thought he meant the kiss, so I nodded happily. It wasn’t until Dex grinned at me, and turned to walk back around the car, that I realized he meant the driving lesson. I sighed. I’d already humiliated myself enough for one day. But I also knew Dex wasn’t about to let me give up, so I reluctantly climbed back into the car and, once we were both safely buckled in, turned the key in the ignition. There was an awful grinding noise. Dex winced.

“Sorry,” I said. I glanced sideways at Dex. “Are you laughing at me?”

He was, but he coughed to cover it up. “Remember, you have to step down on the clutch when you’re starting the car,” he said. “Just like when you’re shifting gears.”

“Oh, right. Sorry,” I said again. I turned the key, this time pressing down on the clutch. The engine roared to life. Triumphant, I turned to grin at Dex. “Look! I did it!”

“Excellent. Now just try not to strip the gears while you shift into first,” Dex cautioned.

“Right,” I said. I drew in a deep breath and then pushed the clutch down while grappling with the gearshift. Amazingly, I managed to do it, and when I pressed my foot to the gas pedal, the car lurched forward.

“I’m doing it! I’m driving!” I said triumphantly. Maybe I wouldn’t be an epic failure after all! My dad had promised to buy me a used car once I passed my driving test. I could just see myself cruising around town in a cute little Jetta convertible, wearing chic sunglasses, my frizzy brown hair tamed back into a ponytail. Maybe I could even get Hannah to teach me how to straighten my hair with her hot iron. Then I would be the girl with the cool car and the shiny hair—

Dex let out a sudden squawk, abruptly ending my daydream.

“Miranda! You’re driving on the sidewalk!”

“Sorry!” I jerked the steering wheel to the left to avoid hitting a NO PARKING AT ANY TIME sign. Flustered, I forgot to keep my foot on the clutch, and the car lurched and stalled again.

“Why don’t you try that one more time?” Dex said patiently. “And this time, try to stay on the road, okay?”

Dex dropped me off at the beach house after our driving lesson.

“I’m never going to pass my driving test,” I groaned. “Never, ever, never.”

“That’s the spirit. Positive thinking will get you everywhere,” Dex said.

“I just don’t understand it. Why is driving so hard for me?” I asked. “Practically everyone in the world can do it.”

Dex looked thoughtful and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “Maybe it’s your brain.” He glanced at me. “I mean, not that you’re defective or anything.”

“Thanks a lot!”

“I just mean that maybe your brain works differently. Look, you can solve really complex math problems in your head, the kind that ordinary people can barely do using a calculator, right?”

This was true. I’d had the bizarre ability to calculate sums in my head ever since I was little. My calculator-like brain had gotten me into the Notting Hill Independent School for Gifted Children, better known as Geek High, where I’d just completed my sophomore year. To enter Geek High, you have to have an IQ of at least 125. Most of the students that matriculated there also had some sort of a special talent. My best friend, Charlie, was an amazing painter. And our friend Finn created top-selling computer games.