Spirit week used to be something to look forward to. Back during freshmen year we were all way too excited about it. A chance to dress like weirdos and not get sent to the office on a dress code violation? No one passed that up. They’d had Mime Day, and my friends and I had painted our faces and worn stripes and overalls and refused to talk to anyone all day. We almost got in trouble for that. Things had changed sophomore year, when suddenly everyone was too cool and mature to participate in something so childish. My friends still did, of course, but we didn’t go all out like we had the year before. By junior year, people started to come around, and now, as seniors, most people were as excited about it as the freshmen.
Over the years there had been some interesting ideas that came out of the whole affair. We’d had a Zoo Animal Day (I’d been an ostrich), Desert Plant Day (I was, obviously, a cactus, along with just about everyone else, aside from a handful of palm trees), and my personal favorite, an Inanimate Object Day (I’d been a bookshelf).
This year’s offerings were decidedly less exotic. A mainstay of Spirit Week was the infamous pajama day, which was pretty much an invitation to dress as skimpily as you could without being completely naked, which is exactly what Lucas had been trying to get away with since we were freshmen. “If I wear a bathrobe, who’s going to know?” was his argument. “In this heat, I sleep in the nude anyways. Wearing pajamas would be dishonest.”
Kyle and Liam were particularly excited about pajama day, even though the most they were going to see were a few extra bra straps. “There’s a strict no lingerie policy,” I reminded them.
“Rules are made to be broken,” said Liam, who was wearing Oscar Meyer Weiner pajama bottoms.
I rolled my eyes at them and stuffed my pillow under my arm. I was wearing my X-Wing pajama pants and my bathrobe, which was brown and made me feel like a Jedi knight.
Classes that day felt like sleepovers. A lot of people seemed to have taken pajama day to mean, “Roll out of bed and come to school with whatever you slept in.” There was plenty of bed hair and morning breath and BO. Mrs. Hernandez got on the PA to remind everyone to be modest and remember that being allowed to wear pajamas in school was not a license to sleep during class. Aside from the staff and faculty, the only person wearing normal clothes was Darcy, and I was not at all surprised. She didn’t even have a pillow. Given her sunny disposition it wouldn’t surprise me if she slept on a bed of nails or a coffin.
“Do you always sleep in jeans?” I asked when she sat down next to me in English.
“Aren’t we the fashionable one today,” she said as she took in my outfit. “Why do I get the feeling I’m the only person in this room who took a shower this morning?”
“I did, actually. And these are clean, by the way.”
“Indeed,” she said, like she didn’t believe me.
“So what, are you too cool for Spirit Week?” I asked.
She tossed me a sidelong look. “I’m not in love with the idea of prancing around in my underwear in public.”
“Fair enough. Tomorrow is Nerd Day. No underwear required.” She gave me a horrified look, and I choked. “I mean, sure, you can wear underwear if you want. I mean, no one has to see them.”
She raised a brow at me, and surprised me by smiling. “Nerd Day? I suppose I’m talking to the right person about that, aren’t I?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, faking indignation.
The bell rang, and Mr. Williams prepared to begin his lecture.
Darcy picked up her pencil and started sketching. “You know exactly what that means.”
I didn’t say anything, because I was too busy trying to get the thought of Darcy in her underwear out of my head. It was still there by lunchtime, when I bumped into her as I was coming out of the hot lunch line. “Headed my way?” I asked.
“You mean my way,” she said, “and if you’re planning on sitting with your cousin, he won’t be joining us. Bridget said he was working on something having to do with the play.”
“Weird. He never mentioned that to me.”
“He talks about the play a lot. It’s clear that it’s very important to him.”
I nodded, unsure where this conversation was going. “I’d hope so; he’s one of the stars. And he’s working his butt off for it too. I’ve never seen him commit to something like that before.”
“Is that right?” Darcy asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Yeah, why?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “No reason.”
“Right.” If Jake wasn’t sitting with them, there was no reason for me to be there. “Catch you later then.”
“Wait. I have a question.”
Another one of her Darcy questions. I hesitated, missing my opportunity to make a break for it.
“I need your advice.”
“My advice? For what?”
“You said tomorrow was Nerd Day. What would you suggest I wear?”
“Sorry, I wouldn’t know. I’m a geek, not a nerd.”
“Is there a difference?”
I balanced my tray in my hands and walked away. “Actually, there is.”
* * *
“Superlative. Anyone know what the word means?” Christian answered his own question before anyone else in the newsroom got the chance to. “It means of the highest degree. For example, ‘Christian’s skills as a leader are superlative.’”
I raised my hand. “It can also mean an exaggerated or hyperbolic expression. That’s what you were going for just now, right?”
Christian pursed his lips, but he managed not to lose his cool even though I could hear several people chuckling. “Right,” he said briskly. “Point being, I know I tasked you each with coming up with superlatives for the yearbook, but quite frankly, what you’ve given me is a bit disappointing. We need to transcend the atypical, ‘best smile’ or ‘most likely to succeed’ drivel. I want superlatives that are meaningful, ones we won’t look back on in five years and be embarrassed about. That is our task. I want each of you to come up with seven new superlatives by our next meeting, after which we’ll compile a list and select the best for inclusion in our yearbook. Questions?”
I shook my head along with everyone else. I already had a few. Most convinced of his own superiority. Most pretentious. Most condescending. Those would all go to Christian. Well, no, on second thought, any of those could apply to Calvin or Darcy. Maybe they each could have one. After all, I wasn’t sure one person was supposed to win more than one superlative. But then again, it was sad that I knew three different people who could potentially lead in all three categories.
Nicole and I stuck around after the meeting was over. By now Christian had had enough time to evaluate whether or not our blog was worth keeping. I was anxious to find out if people were actually reading what I wrote, but I was ready to either rub that in Christian’s face or blow out of here with righteous indignation depending on what he said.
He took his time telling us. “The numbers are in,” he said casually. “I have to admit, I am surprised.”
“Is that good surprised or bad surprised?” I asked.
He pursed his lips and huffed. “It seems views are up. Your feature was quite well-received. I . . . would like for the two of you to continue it.”
“You mean it worked?” I asked, making sure never to take my eyes off of him. “As in the idea that I came up with was actually a good idea? An idea that you now want to incorporate into the paper? Is that what you’re saying?”
Christian scowled, which made this all the better. “That’s what I’m saying,” he growled.
“Oh. Well, now that we understand each other, I suppose that’s fine with me. Nicole, is that okay with you?”
“Um, okay.”
“Wonderful,” Christian grumbled. “Thank you both for your contributions.”
Lucas was coming out of the media center with his camera as Nicole and I were leaving the bullpen. “Have you given any thought to my generous proposal?” Nicole asked me.
“No,” I said flatly. She just smiled, like that was the answer she’d been expecting.
“Take your time. No rush. We’ve still got a few months, seal boy.”
I grimaced as Nicole strutted away, thinking how unflattering a nickname ‘seal boy’ was. “What was that all about?” asked Lucas as he watched Nicole leaving.
“She wants to date me,” I explained glumly. “Or be seen dating me. I don’t really know which.”
“Wasn’t she drooling over Christian though? Why doesn’t she ask him out?”
“Apparently because he’s a shark and I’m a seal.”
“What?”
“Forget it.” I groaned. “I’d rather not regale you with the details.”
“Suit yourself. You down to skate tonight?”
“Of course.”
“Cool. I’ll rally the troops.”
* * *
Even though I’d told Darcy that I wasn’t a nerd—which was true—I still found Nerd Day to be slightly offensive, not to mention boring. For one thing, people didn’t understand the difference between a nerd and a geek. Nerds were into things like computers or science or math, things that required a degree of intelligence. Geeks, like myself, were just people who were more into something than most people were. It was possible to be both, but there was a definite difference between the two. So it was more than a little annoying when, on Nerd Day, lots of people had opted to dress like, well, me. In this day and age when every other movie released was based off a comic book or superhero, there was nothing wrong with being a geek. Or a nerd, for that matter. But seriously, people, there is something very wrong with confusing one for the other.
Despite my irritation, I was a little curious as to whether or not Darcy would take my advice and participate today. What was her take on the whole thing, I wondered.
I didn’t have to wait long for my answer, because she was already sitting at her place when I arrived to first period, wearing . . . the same thing she always wore. Dark clothes, black boots, the usual.
I should have expected this, but as I took my seat next to hers I couldn’t help but feel a just a little bit disappointed. “So, no Nerd Day for you, either?”
“On the contrary, I am participating.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I spent a fair amount of time researching just what exactly a nerd was, and my findings were surprising. As it turns out, there is no definitive definition for the word, but I was able to conclude that anyone with any sort of intelligence or interest in anything that requires intelligence could be considered a nerd. If intelligence is the only qualification, then I, strangely, already fit the bill. So here I am, participating as myself.”
“That’s . . . logical . . . I guess. But I doubt anyone else is going to get it.”
“That’s everyone else’s problem, not mine. And it doesn’t look like they’ll have any trouble understanding your costume.” She gave me a quick up and down. I was wearing slacks with a dress shirt tucked in, and tie, and one of my dad’s pocket protectors. “I think it’s an improvement on your usual ensemble,” Darcy noted.
“Thanks,” I told her. I wasn’t sure, but underneath the usual annoyance I felt toward her, I may have felt a slight stirring of admiration for Darcy. Which, of course, I would never, ever admit.