The Clueless Girl's Guide to Being a Genius (15 page)

I nearly choked on my after-practice Doritos.

“That gives you an extra day of practice. We'll meet at the same time, but on—”

“Thursday,” I said with a shudder. The odds had to be 365 to 1—the same night as the Great Math Showdown.

 

When I got home, I got out a piece of paper and drew a line down the middle. On one side I wrote
Baton Competition
and on the other side I wrote
Math Showdown
. I figured I would list the best reasons for going to each, and that would help me decide.

It reminded me of the day Mom said I was old enough to dye my hair if I wanted, but I couldn't decide if I should be a blond or a redhead. So I dyed one-half of my hair blond and the other half of my hair red. Then, when I still couldn't decide, I dyed the blond side red and the red side blond, figuring that would somehow give me one color that was a blend of both. Here's a beauty tip—don't try it. What you'll get is a totally splotchy mess and some bald spots, although if you're lucky enough to have an expert beautician in the family, you can get it dyed back to something close to your natural color.

The thing about messing up my hair was that it didn't hurt anyone but me, same as if I skipped the Twirlcrazy Grand Championship. But if I didn't go to the Great Math Showdown, it would be like pouring multicolored hair dye on every kid on the math team.

I took a folding chair out to the front of the beauty shop so I could get some fresh air while I thought. It was dark, but the light from the beauty shop lit up the area. “Fingernails clogged with manure, come in for a manicure,” the sign said.

The door opened and the happy sounds of women chatting flowed out. Even though people said she was ditzy, everybody loved my mom. It made me feel a little jealous, but glad for her, too. I mean, if she had a big decision to make that was really important to her, she wouldn't have any problem finding someone to listen and help her figure out what to do. Who could I call?

Veronica, Jordeen, and Summer never understood why I bothered with the math team. They thought the other kids in my math class were all worthless idiots. I could almost hear their reaction if I went to them for advice:

“Your twirl thingy is at the same time as that stupid math contest?” Veronica would say. “Great. That means you've got a good excuse to skip the Great Math Showdown and you won't have to embarrass yourself in front of the whole school by coming in last place.”

“But I'm the one who told the team we should try to go for it,” I'd say.

Then Jordeen would add, “You don't owe those losers anything. Do what you want to do.”

But doing what I wanted to do, and only thinking about myself, is what got me here—sitting alone in the dark. It's funny, in a sad way, because it's the opposite of what happened to Dytee. Thinking only about how other people felt and doing what other people wanted her to do is what made her listen to me and go back to Harvard. It's almost like we have the same problem, only switched around, and that's when I realized that the best person to call about my big decision was Dytee. I just hoped she would forgive me for being so rotten to her and take my call.

I remembered her talking about living in Dr. Goode's house while she went to school there, which gave me the bright idea to call her mom and ask for the number. Calling Dytee would give me a chance to make sure she knew I was sorry, too. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought to do it sooner.

“This is the Goode residence,” a woman answered. She had a weird kind of accent, like she was from another country.

“Can I speak to Aphrodite Wigglesmith?”

“Who may I say is calling?” the woman asked.

“This is Mindy Loft. I was one of her students at Carnegie Middle School.”

The phone went quiet, like the woman had put her hand over the receiver, and it took a few seconds before she spoke again. “I'm sorry, but she's not available.”

“Can I leave her a message?”

More silence, and then I heard the woman say softly, as if whispering to someone else, “It's one of those children from the test class.”

“Not again,” said the man. Then there was a clunk like somebody dropped the phone, and the man was talking to me directly. When I asked him if I could talk to Dytee, he said, “She's working and can't be disturbed.”

“It's okay,” I said. “I wanted to ask her something, but I realize now that I already know the answer.”

After I hung up, I pulled the piece of paper with the line down the middle from my pocket. Once, I told Dytee that I thought she was the worst teacher I ever had, but it turned out she was the best. She taught me what it meant to be a real friend and to be part of a team. Sometimes it means making sacrifices for other people. That night, sitting in the dark, looking up at the stars, I felt like I'd finally put two and two together. I drew a line through the words
Baton Competition
, and circled
Math Showdown
. It was the least boneheaded decision I had ever made.

H
ere's a test you can do if you're a teacher and you want to see if students are really listening. While you're lecturing, slip over to your desk, pull a banana out of your lunch, place it on your head, and wait to see if anyone notices.

“Remember to turn in your proofs by Friday,” I told a class of yawning Harvard sophomores as the dismissal bell rang after early-morning class. “And check the schedule for the time of the final exam.”

The students raced off. I took the banana off my head and slumped in my seat. It wasn't their fault. Dr. Goode thought it might help cheer me if I guest lectured a few classes, but I just couldn't stop feeling sad and tired all the time, particularly this morning.

It was May 23, the date of the Great Math Showdown.

I went to my room to lie down, changing from my gray suit into my pink sweats and bunny slippers. The box that Hershey Bear had come in was still sitting on the floor next to my bed. I opened it and smelled the crumpled newspaper.

I selected a page and straightened it. It was from the
Carnegie Signal Item
. There was an advertisement for Wigglesmith Plumbing, and a notice about the school lunch menu. I picked up another piece and uncrumpled it. “Local Girls Set to Compete in Baton Competition,” an article said. It was about how the girls from Miss Brenda's Baton Barn were going to the Twirlcrazy Grand Championship.

Mindy was finally going to have her day and I would not be there to cheer her on. At least I should call her and wish her good luck. Maybe enough time had passed that she wouldn't be mad at me anymore. Maybe she could have the competition videotaped so I could watch it here.

I reached for the phone, but stopped myself. When I first got back to Harvard, I'd talked about my students at Carnegie Middle School so much that Dr. Goode said he was concerned that I had formed an unhealthy attachment with my research subjects. He suggested a temporary ban from contact with my former students. Even though it didn't feel right, I had gone along with it, neither taking their calls nor calling them. I knew Dr. Goode would frown on me calling Mindy, maybe even get angry, but I grabbed the phone anyway and dialed Mindy's home phone number. When there was no answer, I tried the beauty shop.

“Tiffany's House of Beauty and Nails,” answered a strange male voice. “Home of the so-bright hi-light special.”

“May I speak with Mindy, please?”

“She's not here.”

“Tiffany, please?”

“Up to her elbows in a two-hour hair extension. You want an appointment?”

“No.”

“Want to hear our specials? ‘Beauty denied is happiness delayed. For twenty-nine ninety-nine get unlimited braids.' Or how about this one: ‘Hair that's too straight is hair you can hate. For forty-three eighty-four, make it curly galore.' ”

“This is Aphrodite Wigglesmith. Would you please tell Mrs. Loft that it's important?”

I heard the phone hitting the appointment desk and the soft 1970s love songs that play when you're on hold.

“How you doing, kiddo?” Mindy's mom sounded happy to hear from me.

“I'm okay, Mrs. Loft. I wanted to wish Mindy good luck at the Twirlcrazy Grand Championship.”

“You and me, both. But the fact is, Mindy's decided not to compete.”

I tried to keep my voice from sounding too frantic. “But with the Baton Barn closing, this may be her last competition. She can't just give up on her dream.”

“Don't I know it?” said Mrs. Loft. “But the Twirlcrazy Grand Championship and the Great Math Showdown are on the same day and Mindy's made up her mind. If the math contest means that much to her, there's no way I'm going to talk her out of it. I would think you'd be happy. You're the one that got her involved in all of that math stuff.”

Mindy was giving up her last chance to win a baton trophy so she could help the math team. The team that I had walked out on, she was seeing through to the end.

“Look,” said Mrs. Loft. “I've got a half-head of extensions I've got to get back to. It was nice talking to you.”

After I hung up, I tried to focus on my equations, but I couldn't stop thinking about Mindy and the rest of the team. Statistically, my students didn't stand a chance. After all, the collective IQs of the other teams were higher, and without my help the remedial class probably hadn't been making the most of its study time.

Anyone could be a math wiz. That's what I had set out to prove. But did I really believe it? Maybe I only wanted to believe it, because if anyone could be a math wiz, then anyone could be like me, and that meant I wasn't really so different from everyone else. Was that why I had tried so hard to prove my theory? So I could feel better about myself? Had I stopped to consider how my students might feel if they lost?

I checked my watch. It was a little past noon in Boston. The Great Math Showdown started at 6:00 p.m. in Carnegie, Pennsylvania. No matter how impulsive it seemed, I couldn't let it start without me. That gave me just six hours to travel nearly six hundred miles.

I dialed the number for an airport taxi.

N
ot only were Adam and I the first to show for the competition, we were so early that we were drafted into setting up chairs on the sides of the gym that didn't have bleachers. Mom had closed the beauty shop so she could come, and she waved at me from the top of the bleachers. She wore a T-shirt she had made herself. The back of it said:
If your hair is mad from too much teasing, a trip to Tiffany's is extra pleasing,
but the front simply said:
Go, Mindy!

“We're expecting a crowd,” said Mr. Ripple. “Channel Four News is going to be here.”

I lost three pounds sweating as I waited for the team to arrive. Eugenia came wearing her rattiest sweater and carrying a box of tissues to wipe her red nose. “I think it's the flu,” she said dramatically. “But I couldn't let the team down.”

Bobby and Salvador arrived at the same time and announced that Hunter had chickened out. Keisha hurried over, fumbling with a stack of yellow pads and number-two pencils. “Is everybody here?” she asked. She was wearing green ribbons in her pigtails, which were braided extra tight.

“Not yet,” said Adam. “But let's start getting ready.” Our group went over to the table with the green tablecloth. Adam, Eugenia, Salvador, and Kiesha each took a seat, pad, and pencil, as the bleachers began to fill.

The table to the right of us had a brown tablecloth and was for the members of the academic math team. The table lined up to the right of that one, covered in a yellow tablecloth, was for the honors/gifted and talented team. As we waited for the rest of our team, all six seats at each of the other tables were filled.

I kept my eye on the entrance. If LeeAnn and Roland didn't show, our team wouldn't have any backup in case there was a problem. Worse, it would mean we alternates couldn't just sit in the special section in case we were needed; Bobby and I would have to play.

A chubby third grader with a crew cut and Sponge-Bob SquarePants T-shirt raced over. “Are you the bonehead team?” the boy asked.

“We don't call ourselves boneheads anymore,” said Bobby.

“Whatever. Look, I'm supposed to give you a message from my brother, Roland. He's got hives all over his body. He didn't want to mess the team up with his bad breath during the huddles, so he went on the Internet, and this site said he should eat garlic and drink vinegar, and he got sick something awful and it turns out he's allergic to garlic. He's covered in red bumps.”

I would have totally traded all those times I made fun of Roland's breath just to have him there. Eugenia didn't look so great, either. There was no telling if she could survive the full competition, and if she got sick and had to quit, without any alternates we would be disqualified.

Mr. Ripple tapped on his microphone. “Testing,” he said. “One-two-three testing.”

“Looks like we're it,” said Adam. Bobby and I reluctantly took our seats.

The scoreboard blinked to life and flashed the names of the three teams. We had voted to call ourselves the Frogs. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that I saw the names the other teams had chosen—Wolves for the academic team and Lions for the honors team—I wasn't so sure.

Adam put his hand out. “Here goes,” he said. I placed my hand on top, and Bobby, Salvador, Keisha, and Eugenia piled theirs on.

“On the count of three,” said Adam. “One, two, three . . .”