Geek Magnet Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgements

  ACT ONE, SCENE ONE - In which: WE MEET THE GEEKS

  ACT ONE, SCENE TWO - In which: WE MEET TAMA GOLD, CAMERON RICHARDSON, AND MY BOOBS

  ACT ONE, SCENE THREE - In which: WE MEET THE FAMILY, AND WAIT

  ACT ONE, SCENE FOUR - In which: WE MEET MY DAD

  ACT ONE, SCENE FIVE - In which: A PLAN IS HATCHED

  ACT ONE, SCENE SIX - In which: THERE ARE NEAR MISSES

  ACT ONE, SCENE SEVEN - In which: I GIVE A GIRL A RIDE

  ACT ONE, SCENE EIGHT - In which: I’M APPARENTLY BRAINWASHED

  ACT ONE, SCENE NINE - In which: I RECEIVE AN UNEXPECTED GIFT

  ACT ONE, SCENE TEN - In which: DIVORCE SOUNDS LIKE A PLAN

  ACT ONE, SCENE ELEVEN - In which: WE ALL PLAY OUR ROLES

  ACT ONE, SCENE TWELVE - In which: I SING IN PUBLIC . . . SORT OF

  ACT ONE, SCENE THIRTEEN - In which: I HAVE A BREAKTHROUGH

  ACT ONE, SCENE FOURTEEN - In which: I PUT MY NEW SKILLS TO GOOD USE

  ACT TWO, SCENE ONE - In which: GLENN FIGHTS BACK

  ACT TWO, SCENE TWO - In which: WE’RE GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD

  ACT TWO, SCENE THREE - In which: ROBBIE AUDITIONS FOR THE FOOD NETWORK

  ACT TWO, SCENE FOUR - In which: ROBBIE EXPLORES MY BEDROOM

  ACT TWO, SCENE FIVE - In which: TAMA AND I GO TO WORK

  ACT TWO, SCENE SIX - In which: FOOTSIE IS PLAYED

  ACT TWO, SCENE SEVEN - In which: THERE’S A BETRAYAL

  ACT TWO, SCENE EIGHT - In which: TAMA TRUMPS STEPHANIE

  ACT TWO, SCENE NINE - In which: THERE’S FORGIVENESS . . . FROM SOME

  ACT TWO, SCENE TEN - In which: COMPROMISES ARE MADE

  ACT TWO, SCENE ELEVEN - In which: I’M A ONE-GIRL SHOW

  ACT TWO, SCENE TWELVE - In which: AN INVITATION IS EXTENDED

  ACT TWO, SCENE THIRTEEN - In which: WE PHILOSOPHIZE ON POPULARITY

  ACT TWO, SCENE FOURTEEN - In which: ANGER ISSUES ARE DISCUSSED

  ACT TWO, SCENE FIFTEEN - In which: THERE IS DANCING

  ACT TWO, SCENE SIXTEEN - In Which: THERE’S A SURPRISE VISITOR

  ACT TWO, SCENE SEVENTEEN - In which: I WANT TO DIE

  ACT TWO, SCENE EIGHTEEN - In which: TAMA FINDS OUT

  ACT TWO, SCENE NINETEEN - In which: I LOSE IT

  ACT TWO, SCENE TWENTY - In which: A CHOICE IS MADE

  ACT THREE, SCENE ONE - In which: THE WALLS CRUMBLE

  ACT THREE, SCENE TWO - In which: ROBBIE SAVES ME, AGAIN

  ACT THREE, SCENE THREE - In which: I BLAB

  ACT THREE, SCENE FOUR - In which: CONFUSING EMOTIONS SURFACE

  ACT THREE, SCENE FIVE - In which: I JUST WANT TAMA OUT OF MY CAR

  ACT THREE, SCENE SIX - In which: A DATE IS MADE

  ACT THREE, SCENE SEVEN - In which: I TAKE THE PLUNGE

  ACT THREE, SCENE EIGHT - In which: A PLOT IS REVEALED

  ACT THREE, SCENE NINE - In which: THERE’S PINKY CONTACT

  ACT THREE, SCENE TEN - In which: THERE’S AN UNEXPECTED MELTDOWN

  ACT TWO, SCENE ELEVEN - In which: WE KISS

  ACT THREE, SCENE TWELVE - In which: IT GETS WORSE

  ACT FOUR, SCENE ONE - In which: HE’S “OKAY”

  ACT FOUR, SCENE TWO - In which: I MAKE A CALL

  ACT FOUR, SCENE THREE - In which: I HAVE FRIENDS

  ACT FOUR, SCENE FOUR - In which: LIES ARE TOLD

  ACT FOUR, SCENE FIVE - In which: THINGS SETTLE

  ACT FOUR, SCENE SIX - In which: I MAKE A DATE

  ACT FOUR, SCENE SEVEN - In which: I’M THE BITCH

  ACT FOUR, SCENE EIGHT - In which: GLENN GETS AN EARFUL

  ACT FOUR, SCENE NINE - In which: THE CHART IS REVEALED

  ACT FOUR, SCENE TEN - In which: WE SHARE

  ACT FOUR, SCENE ELEVEN - In which: THERE’S A WALKOUT

  ACT FIVE, SCENE ONE - In which: DEAR OLD DAD RETURNS

  ACT FIVE, SCENE TWO - In which: WE UNITE OVER A COMMON CAUSE

  ACT FIVE, SCENE THREE - In which: AN INSANE SUGGESTION IS MADE

  ACT FIVE, SCENE FOUR - In which: WE STORM THE CASTLE GATES

  ACT FIVE, SCENE FIVE - In which: SODA IS FLUNG

  ACT FIVE, SCENE SIX - In which: THERE’S LAUGHTER AND TEARS

  ACT FIVE, SCENE SEVEN - In which: THE WALLS SHRINK

  ACT FIVE, SCENE EIGHT - In which: I CONSIDER MURDER

  ACT FIVE, SCENE NINE - In which: I GO DOWN

  ACT FIVE, SCENE TEN - In which: I SAVE MYSELF

  ACT FIVE, SCENE ELEVEN - In which: THERE’S A NEW FIRST KISS

  ACT FIVE, SCENE TWELVE - In which: WE CELEBRATE

  ACT FIVE, SCENE THIRTEEN - In which: EVERYONE COMES TOGETHER

  ACT FIVE, SCENE FOURTEEN - In which: I SAY THE WORDS

  Welcome to my life. The life of a Geek Magnet.

  I am the geek pied piper, drum major in the geek parade. Ever since I can remember, a steady stream of unsavory guys has been following me around like I was God’s gift to geekdom and I have no idea why. Stephanie was always telling me that I shouldn’t complain. That at least someone was crushing on me. And she had a point. She did. But at times like these, that logic really did nothing for me. I mean, this was what my days were like. Embarrassing ambushes, awkward conversations, horrible letdowns, me feeling like this evil, superficial person who couldn’t see past face value. But it wasn’t my fault. I would have gladly fallen in love with one of these guys. My life would have been so much easier. But I couldn’t do it. My heart already belonged to another. And besides, these guys really did make it so damn hard. I mean, it wasn’t like they were funny-cute dorks (no Andy Sandbergs here), or even semi-hot dorks (Jimmy Fallons don’t actually exist). Each one of these guys had at least ten strikes. And I’d been through this so many times before that really, all I wanted was for that stupid light to fall and flatten me. I would have gladly taken one on the head if it would have gotten me out of this mortification.

  OTHER BOOKS YOU MAY ENJOY

  SPEAK

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

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  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  First published in the United States of America by G. P. Putnam’s Sons,

  a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2008

  Published by Speak, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2009

  Copyright © Kieran Viola, 2008

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS EDITION AS FOLLOWS: Scott, Kieran, date. Geek magnet: a novel in five acts / Kieran Scott. p. cm. Summary: Seventeen-year-old KJ Miller is determined to lose the label of “geek magnet” and get the guy of her dreams, all while stage managing the high school musical, with the help of the most popular girl in school.

  eISBN : 978-1-436
-23256-2

  [1. Dating (social customs)—Fiction. 2. Musicals—Fiction. 3. Theater—Fiction. 4. High schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title. PZ7.S42643Ge 2008 [Fic]—dc22 2007028707

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  THIS ONE’S FOR ALL MY FRIENDS FROM PHHS, especially those who made my own Grease experience so very memorable that I could actually smell the auditorium while writing this book.

  Special thanks to the following geeks, without whom there would be no Geek Magnet:

  Jen Bonnell (super-smart editor geek), whose patience and insightful comments keep making me better

  Sarah Burnes (enthusiastic agent geek), who believed in me even when this particular labor of love was too heavy for either of our athletic selves to lift

  Lee Scott (loving mom geek), who looks at me like I’m an angel fallen to earth no matter how much I think I suck

  Erin and Ian Scott (sister and brother geek), who got me through a lot of the familial tribulations which inspired parts of this book

  Matthew Viola (adorable, hockey-loving, politico geek), the love of my life, who never stops reminding me that I am also his

  GEEK MAGNET

  AND

  GREASE

  (A Washington High School Drama Club Production)

  LEAD CAST

  ACT ONE, SCENE ONE

  In which: WE MEET THE GEEKS

  OKAY, SO I WAS DIZZY WITH POWER. CAN YOU BLAME ME? IT WAS the first day of rehearsals for the spring musical, Grease, at Washington High and I, KJ Miller, was the stage manager. The woman in charge. The first junior ever to be granted this most prestigious position. So when I walked into the auditorium after the final bell that afternoon, I’ll admit it: I sort of felt like I was surveying my territory. Those two hyper drama guys up on stage parrying with old, plastic French bread props? I was in charge of them. Tama Gold chatting illegally on her cell in the front row? I was in charge of her, too (though she’d never admit it). Theater diva Ashley Brown and her two sidekicks Cory and Carrie Danes (a.k.a. the Drama Twins), who were singing select songs from Dreamgirls at the piano? You guessed it. I was even in charge of Stephanie Shumer, my best friend in the entire world. But I had to be sensitive to her. She had so wanted the part of Rizzo, but Riz went to the indomitable Ashley, who had actually wanted to play Sandy. Meanwhile, Stephanie was stuck playing the principal, Miss Lynch. Ugh.

  Before anyone could spot me, I took a long, deep breath and let that very particular auditorium aroma fill my senses. It was like moldy, old stage curtain, mixed with dust and chased by Sour Apple Blow Pop. I loved that scent. It was the scent of the best part of the year.

  Musical season. It was finally here. And it was the only time of year that a girl like me—a short, red-haired, flying-below-the-social-radar girl like me—could suddenly become one big blip on the radar screen. Basically, it was magic.

  “All right, people!” I announced, my heart pounding with wild anticipation. “Let’s—”

  “KJ!”

  So much for my moment. Fred Frontz, my neighbor and eternal stalker, materialized as if by magic. Not that it was that much of a surprise. Fred was everywhere, all the time.

  “KJ! KJ! KJ!” Fred hustled over to me, his T-shirt riding up and exposing more and more of his wide, pale stomach with each step. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his face was blotchy and red. Like always. Even on freezing cold mornings when I took pity on him walking to school alone and offered him a ride, he was always blotchy and red. “How cool is this? I still can’t believe I’m gonna have a solo. Can you believe it? Me! With a solo!”

  “Um, Fred? Your shirt’s kind of . . .” I pointed at his Buddha belly. Fred yanked the shirt down and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Thanks,” he said. “So listen. I got you something.”

  He reached into his overly large burlap backpack and came out with a Hostess cupcake, half mushed on one side. “To celebrate your first day.”

  “Thanks, Fred,” I said, touched. Considering Fred’s sugar addiction, I knew that refraining from eating this must have taken gargantuan effort.

  “She doesn’t need that right now.”

  Andy Terrero, my assistant stage manager, stepped in and snatched away the snack. Andy was a health and science nut, so skinny he must have weighed less than I did. His brown hair stuck straight out from the crown of his head like he had a tiny propeller up there, and his glasses were constantly sliding down his nose. “Refined sugar just gives you a super-high high followed by a major crash. You don’t want to crash on your first day, do you, KJ?”

  Andy’s brown eyes were wide with hope. So were Fred’s blue ones. To take the cupcake or not to take the cupcake? That was the question. If I took it, I would crush Andy. If I didn’t take it, I would crush Fred. And although it might seem like a teeny tiny thing to a normal person, it wasn’t to them. They would be crushed. Just like that, I was going to have to let somebody down. My heart squeezed at the thought. Why me?

  “You know what? I’m gonna save this for later,” I said. I took the cupcake back from Andy and shoved it inside my messenger bag.

  “Okay, but you are gonna eat it,” Fred tried to confirm.

  “But after rehearsal,” Andy clarified, glancing at Fred. “Right?”

  “You can’t tell her when to eat something, Terrero,” Fred complained.

  “Do you realize how many preservatives are in that thing? You’re basically giving her poison.”

  Okay. They were starting to make a scene.

  “You guys? You know what? I really have to go, uh . . . get everyone out of the dressing rooms before they, you know, stain . . . something!” I improvised, inching away. “I’ll be back in a sec!”

  “I can do that for you, KJ!” Andy shouted after me.

  “It’s okay! I got it!” I shouted back. I tore up the stairs and into the cool darkness of the wings. Deep breath. Okay. I was safe. Now all I had to do was—

  Oh crap.

  A sudden chill raced down my spine. I was not alone. I could feel it. And I knew exactly who was watching me. I had to get to safety, like, now. I turned on my heel and walked directly into the concave chest of Glenn Marlowe.

  He took a slug of his Yoo-hoo, his Adam’s apple bobbing above a curl of chest fuzz sticking out of the V-neck of his velour pullover. A chocolate moustache clung to his pathetic attempt at an actual moustache. Meet Glenn “All-Hands” Marlowe. The bane of my existence. If Fred and Andy were semi-irritating gnats, Glenn was one big-old, soul-sucking mosquito.

  “Hey, KJ.” He licked his teeth. “You’re looking mighty . . . fetching this afternoon.”

  His eyes trailed down to my breasts. My stupid, mongo, mega-breasts. This whole thing was their fault, really. Glenn Marlowe had been stalking me for exactly six years—longer than Andy, but not as long as Fred—and I can remember the exact day it started. It was the first warm day of fifth grade—before I was even aware of the effect that boobs had on boys—when I’d worn that stupid white T-shirt that I hadn’t realized I’d grown out of. Glenn had walked into homeroom right when I was stretching my arms over my head and his bug eyes had practically catapulted out of his head. He hadn’t stopped looking at my chest since.

  “Congrats on being stage manager,” he told my left boob.

  “Thanks, Glenn,” I said. I tried to move past him. Like he had ever let that happen.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked, blocking my path. “I mean, look around. You. Me. The dark. What do you think the universe is trying to tell us?” He reached out and squeezed my upper arm. Hard. And suddenly I was not only boiling, but could hardly breathe.

  Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? And why couldn’t I bring myself to tell him off ? Tama Gold would have. She would have told him to back the f-word off and probably would have kicked him in the groin fo
r good measure. But me? No. I was a good girl. Ask anyone. I was incapable of making people feel bad. Even if they were in the process of torturing me.

  “Glenn? I really have to get the table read started. Why don’t you go check on the sound system? That would be such a big help.”

  His lascivious grin widened. “Really know how to crack the whip, don’t you, KJ? Well, don’t worry. I like it.”

  Ew.

  “I have to go.”

  I faked left, then dodged right, and somehow got around him. Maybe somebody on stage would save me. Please let Mr. Katz be here so we can start rehearsal. Or let Steph be here so we can run to the bathroom together. Something. Anything to get me away from—

  “So, KJ, when are you gonna quit playing games and go out with me already?” Glenn asked.

  The entire cast, whom Andy had gathered on the stage by now, fell silent.

  “What?” Andy blurted, his clipboard dropping.

  “You’re gonna go out with him?” Fred asked.

  A few people laughed. A few people whispered. I looked up at the pink light above us and willed it to fall on my head.

  Welcome to my life. The life of a Geek Magnet.

  I am the geek pied piper, drum major in the geek parade. Ever since I can remember, a steady stream of unsavory guys has been following me around like I was God’s gift to geekdom and I have no idea why. Stephanie was always telling me that I shouldn’t complain. That at least someone was crushing on me. And she had a point. She did. But at times like these, that logic really did nothing for me. I mean, this was what my days were like. Embarrassing ambushes, awkward conversations, horrible letdowns, me feeling like this evil, superficial person who couldn’t see past face value. But it wasn’t my fault. I would have gladly fallen in love with one of these guys. My life would have been so much easier. But I couldn’t do it. My heart already belonged to another. And besides, these guys really did make it so damn hard. I mean, it wasn’t like they were funny-cute dorks (no Andy Sandbergs here), or even semi-hot dorks (Jimmy Fallons don’t actually exist). Each one of these guys had at least ten strikes. And I’d been through this so many times before that really, all I wanted was for that stupid light to fall and flatten me. I would have gladly taken one on the head if it would have gotten me out of this mortification.