I have no idea what she’s talking about, but I don’t care. “Awesome. We can tell Mr. Carter today, then.”
She stops clicking abruptly. “We can’t tell him today. We need to do more research.” She starts clicking again.
“No way. Someone else might steal the idea.”
“No one’s going to—”
“LotS is basically the most popular game in the universe,” I point out. “Anyone could think of it. We’ve got to get our idea in first. Today.” I don’t know how she can even think when she’s clicking her pen like that. It’s like a chicken pecking on your brain.
“But—”
“Shh, class is starting,” I say, pointing to Mr. Carter, who’s started writing on the board. “And give me that.” I snatch the pen-chicken out of her hand, tap her on the forehead with it, then grin at her before turning around to try to pay attention to whatever weird diagram Mr. Carter is drawing. Our idea is brilliant, and our project is going to be amazing. Even Kat can’t deny it.
At the end of what has to be the longest science class in the history of time, I grab Kat’s arm and pull her across the room. “Mr. Carter!” I say when we’re almost at his desk. “We have our science fair project idea.”
He looks down at us—everyone looks down at me, but he’s taller even than Kat—and beams. “A whole week early. That’s great. Let’s hear it.”
“You know the video game LotS? Legends of the Stone, I mean? Well, there are these things in it called speed runs. It’s a mod, and they’re timed and stuff—Kat can probably explain it better than I can.”
Kat chews her lip, and for a moment I’m worried she might back out or change her mind or something, but then she clears her throat and rattles off this perfect explanation of how we can have people eat sugar and then test the impact on their reaction times using LotS speed runs, because they’re timed and we can choose an easy one to use on everyone for consistency, and Mr. Carter nods along because it all sounds epic. I mean, as epic as a science project can get.
When Kat finishes, Mr. Carter gives us an actual thumbs-up. “That sounds great, ladies. Edgy and modern, but still scientific. I like it. And a whole week early. Good job.” Then he babbles on about questionnaires and testing and other random things that we’re supposed to keep in mind or something, and then Kat and I are finished and heading out the door.
“So when do you want to start working on the proposal?” Kat asks as we step into the hall.
“The proposal?”
“Yeah. You heard Mr. Carter. It’s due in a few weeks. We should get started right away, since we’ll need to do some research on sugar and reaction times before we can write it.”
I shake my head. “No way. No. Way. We just handed in our idea. And Mr. Carter loved it. Now we get a break.”
She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything.
“We’re a whole week early!” I say.
“Fine,” she says, sighing. “We can take a one-week break. But then we need to really knuckle down.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” I say, saluting her. In a week I’ll find some other way to distract her from this science project obsession. For now, we’re free. And brilliant.
My giddiness at our brilliance only lasts a few days, but Mr. Carter reenergizes it all over again when he lets us skip deadline day—the Thursday science class when the rest of our classmates have to hand in their topics and get approval. If I’d known handing things in early could result in being excused from class, I would’ve switched to being a keener nerd a long time ago.
Although I guess I’m already kind of a keener nerd in history, since I’ve been bringing in books about space travel and how the pyramids were built—some people think aliens!—and other random things to discuss with my teacher. But that stuff is interesting, so it’s different. Stephen-the-Leaver would say it still counts, but he doesn’t count, so it doesn’t matter what he’d say.
We spend our free period in the library, and Kat must be as happy as I am about the break, because she plays LotS the whole time and doesn’t even mention our science project once. I switch back and forth between playing LotS and shopping for new nerd accessories. Well, window shopping, since Mom’d probably have a fit if I used her credit card to buy glasses when I don’t actually need them. But I bet I’d look baller with glasses. Especially if they had bright-green frames.
When school ends on Friday, I race down the hallway, still on a high, speedy as a cheetah, or a race car, or a rocket, whichever is fastest, which is probably the rocket because it can fly and the others can’t. Flying cheetahs would be awesome, though.
I whip around the corner and slam on the brakes.
“Do you go everywhere at top speed?” It’s the boy I pointed out to Kat in the caf, with the floppy brown hair and the jaw like LumberLegs. The white guy whose eyes I keep meeting across the cafeteria. Boxer Boy. His face is only a foot away from mine. His bushy eyebrows are a shade darker than his shaggy brown hair; I wonder if he dyes it—the hair, not the eyebrows, though I suppose it technically could be either. He reaches out his hand to steady me, but his hand just grazes my arm before falling back to his side. His boxers are blue plaid today.
“Top speed?” I say. “This is slow for the Flash.” I back up just a little so I’m no longer cross-eyed when I look at him.
“Are you implying that you’re a superhero?”
“Have you ever been attacked by a supervillain?”
He cocks his head as if to consider it. I knew it; he is funny. “No,” he says, “I don’t think I have.”
“Exactly. You’re welcome.”
He grins. There’s a small patch of darkness along his chin that must be five-o’clock shadow. And another one on his cheek. If he tried to grow a beard, it would probably come out all scattered, like some parts forgot to grow.
“I’m Meg, by the way. When I’m Peter Parkering it, I mean.”
He runs a hand through his floppy hair, still grinning. “Well, hi, Meg, I’m—”
“No, don’t tell me!” I spit out. Boxer Boy, his name is Boxer Boy. If he tells me his real name, I’ll have to start calling him that instead, which is boring.
“What? Why?” His grin is gone but his eyes are still warm—brown like chocolate.
If I explain, he might think I’m weird, and then I’ll lose that warmth, too. I guess I can’t call him Boxer Boy forever. “I—never mind. It’s ridiculous. Go ahead.”
Boxer Boy raises one of his dark eyebrows, which I hope means I’ve intrigued him, not spooked him.