The Opposite of Geek Read Online Free Page A

that never happens. He is relentless in his desire for me to love chemistry, and I am relentlessly bad at it. Which doesn’t mean I’m not getting a slightly better grade — even I will admit some of the stuff is coming more easily — but it’s still torture and I still feel like a dunce.
    James, nice geek that he is, pulls out my chair and asks me random questions in an effort to ease me into the lesson. For some reason I’ve told him that my parents want this grade way more than I do. The honesty feels good. Together we give them the nickname “The Board.”
    James wears obscenely geeky t-shirts every day (the ripped one never appears again) and today it’s the chemical structure of something with the words
Sexy, huh?
underneath. He sees me looking at it. “Do you get it?”
    “Of course not.”
    He points to the formula. “It’s oxytocin. The ‘love’ hormone.” There are those air quotes again.
    “Ah,” I say. “Clever.”
    “Hey, I saw you with the food people,” he says.
    He knows about the cooking club?
    “I think that’s cool,” he says. “Cooking is actually just chemistry if you think about it.”
    “Oh, no no — don’t turn one of my passions into chemistry. That’s depressing.” I put my head on the table.
    “You have a passion?” He looks at me intensely.
    “Well, yeah. I guess a few.”
    He cocks his head like a spaniel or something.
    “My family is food obsessed. We make our own yogurt. I know some cooking terms that impress the food club. It’s not that big a deal.”
    But he’s shaking his head. “This is great. We can use this. Glucose, lactose — I can show you the chemical structure of basic molecules in food and how they get denatured and converted by the heating process. It’s perfect!” He looks at me so triumphantly that I can’t say what I’m thinking:
Doing that will ruin my love for cooking! Why can’t we keep the sucky separate from the sublime?
     
Nemiah’s Invitation
    It seems the world of swimming is beyond me — a simple landwalker. Nemiah asks if I’ll go to see her swim in her first competition (a swim meet) and be her cheering section. Her mum will be working an extra shift at the pet store she manages. This makes us Sport-and-Entourage, something I never in a million years thought was possible.
    “What do I have to do?” I ask. We’re walking to her house after school.
    “Just be there and scream really loud when I swim,” she says. She always wears her hair in a tight ponytail now. It makes her forehead look big but I don’t tell her.
    “What if you lose?” I ask.
    She looks at me funny. “So?”
    “Won’t you be embarrassed that I was making all that noise?” I would be.
    She stares at something behind my head. “Being on a team is about competing, doing your best. It doesn’t matter how you finish.”
    I start to do our gag routine, thinking she’s joking, but I realize she’s not.
    “Will you come?” she asks again.
    I wonder if I’ll be the only non-swim-related person there. I hug her and her backpack. “Of course I’ll come.”
     
Haiku for Licorice
    Red twisted threads shine
    from the torn bag on my lap
    we devour with grins
     
Oh God, Here Goes Nothing
    I am a Foodie. This sucks. It’s Wednesday afternoon and I feel like I’m going into an exam. There’s nobody I’m friends with here. There are no hot boys in Speedos. No lifeguards.
    We better be making something chocolate.
     
Seven-Layer Dip
    Method: take a bunch of yummy ingredients and layer them on a plate. Take some nacho chips and eat the layers. Tasting notes: salty, spicy, creamy — gimme more.
    Ashlyn’s impressed that I can chop green onions really fast, like a chef. I only cut myself once.
    She’s so happy I’ve changed my mind about the club that she’s my new best friend. I kind of feel icky about it — she’s nice and really helpful, but it’s like I’m cheating on Nemiah.
    “Next week we’re making chocolate mousse,” Ashlyn