After carrying the entire academic history of recorded human knowledge to our last two classes, Beanpole, Q, and I met up at our usual spot, next to the fountain by the front gate.

“This is going to be so much fun!” Beanpole said, shifting the cinder-block-size binder from her left hand to her right. “I mean, just think of the…OUCH!”

She dropped earth’s database on her foot.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m okay,” she said, bending over to pick up the zillion-pound binder. “Just a small bump.”

BAM! Beanpole smashed her head into the cement ledge of the fountain. Her legs wobbled, and for a second I wondered whether or not she was going to remain conscious.

“You okay, Barbara?” Q asked. It sounded like Beanpole had fractured her skull.

“Ouch-a-doozie,” Beanpole said, her palm covering her forehead. “Did it leave a mark?” She moved her hand so I could see the damage.

Yeesh! It looked like she’d been struck by a meteor.

“Nah,” I said. “Can hardly notice.”

“Good,” she answered, rubbing her noggin. “’Cause nothing’s going to stop me from learning every piece of information in this entire book. When do we start?”

“We don’t.”

Both nerdwads stared at me.

“What do you mean, we don’t?”

I looked out into the parking lot, where a bunch of parents were picking up their kids in the carpool loop. Students screamed, a few couples held hands (ahh, teen love…barf!), and some car horns honked.

“You heard me; we don’t,” I repeated.

“But how are we going to win the qualification tournament if we don’t study?” Beanpole asked, not quite understanding.

“Do you know how much time it’s going to take to prepare for the Academic Septathlon?” I replied. “We would have to stay after school five days a week to get ready. Plus, meet on Saturdays. Plus, on Sundays. It would swallow our entire existence.”

“But you’re the one who volunteered us,” Q said.

She had a point. But that’s because I was thinking with my abee-dah-bee at the time, or whatever that thing was that Beanpole had called it—the emotional, not logical, part of my brain. Really, I just didn’t want Kiki to get the better of me, that’s all. And when I get all riled up like that, I’m like an annoyed rhinoceros. I don’t use my head; I just get all passionate and thoughtless, and stupidly charge forward without thinking things through.

“I got caught up in the heat of the moment,” I confessed in an I made a mistake tone. “But trust me, no one wants to do the Academic Septathlon. I mean, why do you think our school hasn’t been able to put a team together for years? It takes up too much time and you have no life.”

“I already have no life,” Beanpole said.

“Me, neither,” Q agreed.

“Well, I do,” I told them. “Granted, it’s pathetic, but still, I don’t want to spend every waking moment of my day until Thanksgiving break learning school stuff like a nerd.”

“But you are a nerd,” Beanpole said.

“This is nerd squared,” I said. “No, scratch that. This is nerd cubed. No, wait…This is nerd to the power of nerd times nerd!”

I readjusted my backpack. The beastly Septathlon binder didn’t fit all the way inside. I couldn’t even zip the stupid zipper.

“Polishing cleansers cause my quadriceps to cramp.”

“Don’t worry,” I said to Q. “By next week I’m sure he’ll have forgotten all about this polishing nonsense.”

Neither Q nor Beanpole was buying it.

“Okay, so we’ll have to wipe down a few whiteboards, maybe mop a floor,” I said. “Big deal; it won’t be that bad.”

“So we’re just going to let the ThreePees win?” Q asked.

“There is no winning,” I said. “I mean, sure, we could easily trounce those witches, but whoever goes to the city championship is going to get slaughtered by those private-school girls, anyway. They’ve got coaches and experience and all that. The only thing we’d really win is a chance to lose by a zillion points and get publicly humiliated on a big stage in front of a whole lot of people.”

“Nice optimism,” Beanpole said.

“Just saving us the embarrassment,” I replied. After all, my entire life was about embarrassment. It was smart to play defense, to cut stuff like this off at the pass before it eventually blew up in my face. If I’d learned anything by this point, I’d learned this much: stay away from situations that hold the potential for gigantic public humiliation. Could there be an easier rule to follow?

The three of us stood in uncomfortable silence as a car horn blared in the distance. Beep-beep.

“Are you serious, Mo?” Beanpole finally said. “I mean, are we really not going to do this?”

“We have to make ’em pay nerrrd style,” Q said in her most intimidating voice.

Beanpole and Q nodded in solidarity and then decided to high-five each other.

But missed.

The momentum of fanning on the high five sent Beanpole tumbling into a flower bed. She quickly popped back up, soil in her hair.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m okay.”

“I’m just going to pretend I, like, didn’t see that,” I told them.

Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

“Look,” I continued, “I want to thrash the ThreePees more than anyone, but I just don’t want to end up spending all my time studying every subject under the sun, knowing that no matter what I do I still have no chance to—” Beep-beep. “Jeez Louise,” I said, after yet another car-horn honk. “What moron has the parent who keeps blasting away on their stupid horn?”

“Um, you do, Mo.”

“What?”

“Look,” Beanpole said, pointing toward the carpool loop. “It’s your father.”

My father?

I spun around. It was my father. He got out of the car and waved at me.

He was wearing an untucked white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, blue jeans, a large watch, and midlife man sneakers, the kind you can’t actually run in but are made to look sporty (if you are a midlife man, that is). His mostly brown hair had relaxed curls in front, but some gray streaks at his temples showed he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. However, his face was still kind of boyish. I thought I looked nothing like him.

“You kinda look like him,” Beanpole said.

“Stuff a piece of pita bread in it, doof face.”

He waved again.

“He’s picking you up?” Q asked.

“Uh, I guess. Must be part of his whole ‘holes to fill’ thing.” I didn’t move toward the vehicle.

“How’s your”—Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh—“brother taking it?” Q inquired.

“Marty?” I said. “He’s like a silent volcano. Totally ignores him and looks as if he’s ready to explode at any moment.”

“And Ashley?” Beanpole asked.

“He gave her twenty bucks yesterday. She thinks having a dad is cool.”

My father waved a third time. Why had mom given him her car? I wondered.

“And what about you, Mo?” Beanpole asked. “How are you doing with it all?”

“Well, let’s see…My divorced mom is now re-dating my re-divorced dad,” I said as my father blocked the flow of traffic and cars began piling up behind him. I mean, everyone knew that the carpool loop was a no-waiting zone.

Yet still, there he was, waiting.

“What’s a re-divorced dad?” Q asked.

“He got married and divorced after he married and divorced my mom,” I explained. “Thus, re-divorced.”

“And you never told us any of this?” Beanpole said, looking at me with big ol’ bug eyes. “Oh, you are so ketchup.”

I stared at my mom’s car. I didn’t want to go over there. And I certainly didn’t want to share a car ride home with my long-lost father so we could fill some stupid holes, whatever that meant.

“This is just so, I dunno…weird-o-rama,” I said.

My father, smiling, waved a fourth time.

I half waved and half smiled back. Feeling encouraged, he motioned to me with his arm, as if to say, Come on. Get in.

“So, what are you gonna do?” Beanpole asked.

“Eat something fudgey.”

“No, seriously, Mo. What are you going to do?”

“Why would you think I’m not serious about that?” I took a deep breath. “Well…I guess I’m just gonna have to go over there and tell him the truth.”

“The truth?” Beanpole said in a surprised voice. “You mean, like about how emotionally conflicted you are with him so suddenly trying to re-enter your life?”

“No, of course not,” I said, as if that were the dumbest thing I’d ever heard. “I’m gonna tell him how busy my schedule is going to be, due to all the time I’ll be spending on the Academic Septathlon.”

Beanpole stared at me in disbelief.

“Heck, if we go all the way to the national finals, I might not be free until Christmas vacation of the year 2086.”

Each of them looked at me in amazement. Q spoke first.

Well, sort of.

Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.

“Oh, don’t start with me, cheese brain,” I said, understanding every word she had meant, by the tone of that last scuba dive. “I haven’t had enough doughnuts today to deal with this.”

“Mo, I’ve just got one word for you,” Beanpole said, in a calm voice.

“Oh, yeah, what’s that, Beanpole?” I asked.

“Restaurant ketchup.”

“That’s two words,” I said.

“Clogged up as you are, what’s the difference?” she replied. “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked. “Like, walk over for support?”

“Naw, thanks,” I said as I headed toward the car. “Just wait here. This should only take a sec.”