The Great Geek Rebellion of Halsey School (Tales of the Uncool) Read online

  The Great Geek Rebellion of Halsey School

  Tales of the Uncool

  Copyright © 2015

  Published by Scobre Educational

  Written by Kirsten Rue

  Illustrated by Sara Radka

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever

  without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Scobre Educational

  2255 Calle Clara

  La Jolla, CA 92037

  Scobre Operations & Administration

  42982 Osgood Road

  Fremont, CA 94539

  www.scobre.com

  [email protected]

  Scobre Educational publications may be purchased for

  educational, business, or sales promotional use.

  Cover and layout design by Jana Ramsay

  Copyedited by Renae Reed

  ISBN: 978-1-62920-140-5 (Soft Cover)

  ISBN: 978-1-62920-139-9 (Library Bound)

  ISBN: 978-1-62920-138-2 (eBook)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 The Roar

  Chapter 2 Publicity Campaign

  Chapter 3 A Plan

  Chapter 4 The Mystery Ball Planning Committee

  Chapter 5 Betrayed

  Chapter 6 The Mystery Ball

  The Roar

  It was the trip that really did it. “The Trip That Started It All,” my friend Samantha calls it. I guess she’s always had a dramatic side. What happened was this:

  I was leaving Computer Resource class. Mrs. Zuck, the computer teacher, has been giving me special projects for the whole year. What I can I say? Computers are just kind of easy for me. I left class, but before I did, I helped this other kid—Joe Russo— with the Microsoft Excel spreadsheet he was making.

  He grunted, but I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to mean “thank you” or what.

  I left class, head held high, and BAM! All I could feel was the gross school carpet scratching my cheek. What do they have under there, cement?! My arm hurt. My ankle hurt. My glasses had somehow popped off and rolled to an inch away from my nose. (These are really cool glasses, BTW. I got them online.)

  Even though I couldn’t see anything (duh, no glasses), I could hear laughter. Like, all around. Laughter from above and below. Laughter in every pitch between low and high. Coming down the hall, still echoing as it rounded the curves into other classrooms. I’m pretty sure I heard even Joe Russo’s deep, husky chuckle, and heck, I had just been helping him. I mean, without me, I highly doubt he would even pass Computer Resource class.

  As I lay there, I worried just a little bit that the hem of my shirt had ridden up and that other kids walking by might be able to see the waistband of my underwear. They’re Hanes, in case you’re wondering. I definitely didn’t like the idea of Mrs. Zuck seeing them. Ugh. I didn’t like that idea at all. I hoped that the scratchy carpet hadn’t actually given me a legit rub burn. Because those are annoying.

  Mainly, though? I was just really, really mad. I could feel the anger like hot prickles of light alternating with cool prickles. My friends and I, we’ve been pushed around Halsey School all year. We’re anxious about just going into the Freeburger for a shake and

  fries because of the looks we get. Even if the other kids don’t say anything to our faces, we can hear the whispers. We can see them point and roll their eyes. We get tripped, cheated off of, have our homework ripped out of our hands and torn in half in the hallways. The list goes on. I’m actually afraid of listing any more torture tactics here, because, you know, we don’t want to give anyone any ideas . . .

  Everyone at school calls us the Doomsday Geeks. I guess they think that we all play Dungeons and Dragons or something. Okay, so Glenn does like Dungeons and Dragons and I happen to like a game called Valcora. But what does that have to do with anything? We, as a group, are going places. We win every Science Fair and turn in our homework on time—no, early—every week. I think we’re nice enough guys (and a couple of girls . . . yes, girls, I’m serious). And yet it doesn’t matter how much we keep a low profile or avoid making eye contact with the Football Lardos and the Deadly Sweets. We just can’t win.

  This time, though? I had had it. I pushed myself up from the carpet and I roared. I’m serious. An actual, honest-to-goodness, “Rooooooaaarrrr !!!

  The laughter stopped. Samantha, my friend, stood next to me and crossed her arms, like, “Don’t mess with us.” I heard Pete Russo whisper the word “Weirdo!” to his friend Tom Zellingersburgerzing. (Okay, that’s not his real name. Nobody knows how to spell his real name.)

  One of the Sweets (the most dreaded, most popular girls in school) took out her phone and started texting at lightning speed. A couple of teachers popped their heads out of their classroom doors. One was Mrs. Zuck, and when I made eye contact with her, I could tell that she kind of understood. Like she always says, she grew up in love with computers when all girls were supposed to love horses and sparkle pens. She gets it.

  There were gasps as a short, determined figure began huffing and puffing up the hallway. The crowd parted to either side and kids started ducking towards the lunchroom, gym—anywhere—as fast as they could go. I think I was the last person to figure out who it was: Assistant Principal McCloud.

  “Did I hear a roar?” Assistant Principal McCloud bellowed. “Who’s shouting in the halls?”

  I knew Mrs. Zuck would never rat me out. She ducked back into her classroom. None of the other kids made eye contact with McCloud, either. Besides maybe Mrs. Pruggle the math teacher, no one is more feared than McCloud. Samantha reached out and touched my arm, trying to get me to back up. But I didn’t budge.

  “Principal McCloud, sir?” I said loudly, raising my hand. “I shouted. And I did it in protest!”

  And that’s how the Great Geek Rebellion of Halsey School began.

  Publicity Campaign

  Assistant Principal McCloud was too busy that day to haul me off to his office, but he told me to be there during lunch hour the next day. 12 p.m. sharp.

  So, with just a few minutes to go before I have to report for questioning, I stand with my friends, discussing the situation. It’s five of us, counting me: Glenn, Samantha, Kirk, and J.D. (Kirk and J.D. are twins, and you pretty much never see them apart. Heck, I can’t even tell them apart sometimes.) We huddle at Glenn’s locker, which is close to some benches and fake plants.

  “Okay, Tim, so you don’t want to apologize, right?” Glenn asks.

  “Nothing to apologize for,” I say. I’m determined.

  “Yeah, but we want an allegiance with the faculty.”

  “Geez, Glenn. Stop trying to sound like you’re in a movie or something,” Samantha cuts in. “I think what he means, Tim, is that you don’t want McCloud to get mad. We want him to understand our point of view.”

  “Sure, sure,” I say. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I am sort of the boss of this group. Sorta. If you don’t ask Samantha. She might think she’s the boss.

  “But,” Glenn says, “you have to come in there with terms . . . proposals . . .”

  Samantha holds up her hand to put Glenn on pause. “Seriously, Glenn, you are not in a movie. That is just how it is.” Kirk and J.D. laugh.

  “You know what we need?” I say, because the idea has just come to me, and it might be a really good idea.

  “What?” Glenn and Samantha say in the same breath.

  “A good P.R.
campaign.”

  Now it’s Glenn who doesn’t get it. “Personal Record?” he asks.

  “Nope. P.R. It’s like what my Dad always says about working for Zenith—”

  “Yeah, Tim,” Samantha interrupts, dramatically rolling her eyes. “We get it. Your dad’s a programmer at Zenith. Big whoop.”

  “Yeah, but listen,” I try again. “My dad told me this story once. About how everybody was not buying Zenith phones. They were buying Filotech phones instead. So, Zenith started having these commercials. They made it seem like ‘Filotech phones are boring and lame, but Zenith computers are unique. Zenith phones are for cool people.’“

  “And your point?” Samantha is definitely one of my best friends, but one thing that drives me crazy about her? She’s impatient and rude.

  “My point is that it worked! Next thing my dad knew, Zenith phones were flying off the shelves. I mean, do any of you even have a Filotech phone?”

  Kirk and J.D. pull their phones from their pockets. “No, man,” they say. “We convinced our parents to get us the Sprocket.” Of course they did.

  “Anyway, we’re getting off track here,” I press on. “The point is that those commercials were a public relations campaign. They changed people’s minds. And that’s what we need. We need people to stop seeing us a certain way, and see us in a better way. And then leave us alone!”

  “I’m on it,” Glenn says. “Samantha and I are on it.” Samantha looks annoyed to be volunteered for the job, but she still nods.

  “But . . . we didn’t cover what you’re going to say to McCloud,” Kirk points out. “And now it’s 11:57.”

  I’ve been trying to act cool in front of the others, but actually? My stomach is still nervous and tied up in knots. I’ve only seen him floating down the hallways like an angry, balled-up cloud. I’ve never actually had to talk to him before.

  “At this point, guys, just get to the lunchroom. The best thing to do is act like everything’s normal. They won’t even see it coming.”

  “Who’s they?” Samantha asks, but by then, it’s too late. The clock turns 11:59 and I rush towards Assistant Principal McCloud’s office.

  Beverly, the woman who works at the Halsey front desk, is always really nice. I know because last year I got a piece of gravel stuck in my hand and had to wait to get into the nurse’s office. While I waited, she brought me a little plastic cup of juice and half of a donut with sprinkles on top.

  “Shhhhh!” she said, her eyes twinkling at me. Even her lipstick kind of looked like crushed-up sugar. “These are left over from the staff meeting this morning!” I remember being annoyed that the teachers

  and principals get to have donuts while we have the gross “Halsey Meat Bar.” But I couldn’t be mad at Beverly. I wish, today, that she didn’t have to see me waiting to go into McCloud’s office. It doesn’t really help with my whole idea of making our image better.

  “Mr. Watkins,” she says, looking up with a little disappointed frown. “Mr. McCloud will see you now.”

  The door to McCloud’s office is made out of dark, gleaming wood. It makes it seem like he’s the warlord of a huge castle or something like that. (Okay, so in my game, Valcora, there are a lot of warlords in castles.) I creep up to it and knock very lightly on the heavy wood. Silence. I knock again.

  “Come in!” McCloud says, and as I push the door open, it creeeaaakksss on its hinges.

  Assistant Principal McCloud’s office is full of photos of fish. I didn’t expect that. There’s a huge picture of a swordfish on the wall behind his desk, fish figurines all over his bookshelf, and even a framed photo on the wall . . . of? You guessed it: McCloud holding a huge fish in his fists, smiling a wide smile. He also has a little goldfish bowl where a sparkly yellow fish with floaty fins stares out at the room, probably looking directly at me.

  “Mr. Watkins,” McCloud says, “take a seat.”

  I sit across from him, trying not to be distracted by the floaty yellow fish that is staring at me for sure.

  McCloud leans his elbows on the desk and plops his chin in his hands. “Now tell me about this roar.”

  “Well, Mr. McCloud, sir,” I begin, though once again I’m distracted by the fishbowl. I’m almost certain that McCloud’s fish is doing backflips in there.

  “Try not to be distracted by Chloe,” he says. “That’s my fish.”

  “Right. Well, sir . . . the truth is . . .” C’mon, Watkins, don t lose your cool now! “Yesterday, I—I got upset. Well, mad. And so I protested.”

  “By roaring.”

  “Right. I just, well, we—my friends and I—we just want some more respect. I was tired of getting pushed around. So I roared.”

  “Very loudly, I might add,” says McCloud. “I heard it all the way in the break room, where I was having my donut.” Do Halsey staff have a constant parade of donuts or something?!

  Up close, and without his fast, angry walk, McCloud still looks stern. Yet he doesn’t look mean, exactly. His face is all different colors of pink, purple, and red, and his white hair is thinning on the top of his head. He wears a fat ring on one hand that catches the light and is almost as distracting as Chloe.

  “Do you think a roar is really the best way to get your point across?”

  “No, sir! So, that’s why we’re doing things differently. We’re going to have a—a campaign. And then, by doing that, hopefully . . .” I trail off. McCloud doesn’t seem to be listening. Instead, he’s cocked his head to one side, as if he can hear something from the other room that I can’t. Maybe the fish talks to him or something.

  “You know what I want to see, Mr. Watkins?” he asks. “I want to see that this campaign or thing that you’re talking about does NOT involve roaring or otherwise causing a distraction at Halsey School. Do you think you and your friends will be able to handle that?”

  “Yes, sir. Definitely. We will not bother anybody in the school.” Well, correction, we might bother them, but it will be for a good cause. And loud in a good way, too.

  “Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Assistant Principal McCloud thumps his fist on his desk. Inside her bowl, Chloe jumps and flutters her fins again.

  “Thank you, sir. For not giving me a detention or anything,” I say. He simply smiles.

  “Just hope I don’t have to deal with you again, Mr. Watkins. Remember what I said about distractions.” His smile is still frozen on his face, but his eyes definitely DON’T look happy.

  “I won’t, sir!” I leap up and open the door before he can say anything else, slipping out to the front office in relief. I walk as quickly as I can, my heart pounding in triumph. First problem: Solved. Maybe I’ll even be able to make it for the end of lunch!

  As I leave, Beverly waves me over with a secretive smile. She slides a pack of Skittles over the top of the counter. “Shhhhh,” she says again, with a wink. Beverly is definitely the best thing about Halsey School.

  A Plan

  By the time I slide into my regular seat in the cafeteria, I really only have time to gulp down a carton of chocolate milk.

  “So???” the twins ask, leaning over the table. I take my time finishing the milk.

  “I think Assistant Principal McCloud is on our side,” I say. “I really do.”

  “He didn’t give you a detention or anything?” asks Glenn breathlessly.

  “Nope. Nada. He said he just doesn’t want us to create a distraction.”

  “Were we . . . going to create a distraction?” Glenn’s eyes look confused behind his glasses.

  “Well . . . I did have some pretty good ideas on the way over here.”

  “If it’s about our publicity campaign, Samantha and I have it covered.”

  “Yeah,” she chimes in. “Let me show you.” Samantha pulls out her phone and holds up the screen for me to see.

  Happenings at Halsey School, says the screen.

  “We’re going to make a blog. And I already know who can help us write it.”

  “Someone we can trust?” I as
k. You can’t be too careful at Halsey, especially when you’re dealing with coolness.

  “Yeah. That guy Damien who sits at our table.” “Okay, whatever. Cool. That can definitely be part of it. But I think . . . we should go even bigger”

  “Um,” says Kirk. “This won’t affect our homework or anything, right?”

  J.D. nods. “Like, I have my after-school violin lessons and we’re also working on our applications to NASA camp,” J.D. chimes in. Sometimes I feel like I have to do all the work around here.

  “Well, here’s what I think,” I say. I know it can sometimes take some convincing to get the Geeks to think outside the box. And that box is about ninety-eight percent made up of homework and worrying about college. I mean, GEEZ, we have like years left to go before college. “I think if we do some work now on our image, it means less work later. Like, having to re-do homework after one of the Lardos steals it.”

  “Or having to go to the bathroom between classes and clean the spit wads off our necks!” Glenn adds.

  “Yeah, exactly! I think we should find a way to change our image. So. Here’s what I think.” I take a deep breath. “I think we should organize a dance.”

  After I share my idea, the table goes silent. You can hear trays clattering on the metal tray racks in the lunch line. You can even make out the “Shhhhhh!” of Ms. Arple, the lunch monitor, as someone raises his voice too high. I mean, I guess I knew I would get a shocked reaction to my idea, but still. This is even more shocked than I expected when I first had my idea, sitting in McCloud’s office and on the way to the lunchroom. I feel a little drop of sweat slide down behind my ear. Is it hot in here or what?!

  Finally, Samantha breaks the silence. “Whoa, Tim. A dance?! Are you being serious?”

  You might think I’m nervous because of the sweat dripping behind my ear, but nope. “I’m one-hundred percent sure,” I say back in a brave tone. I figure that’s what being a leader is all about, right? If I think it’s the best idea in the world, I have to make sure my friends see it that way, too. I need their support, after all.