"I just did the project. I used...
Double Trouble by John Williams: Really, how could I not?
I'll Make A Man Out Of You from Mulan: Represents Lady Macbeth
9 to 5 by Dolly Parton: There's a line that goes "Pour myself a cup of…"
"OK, this is about nerdiness and fighting back. Sorry the ending isn't very good, but Patrick was going to write chapter two and I'd write chapter three and so on. I tried to wrap it up as best as I can.
Time to fight back
"Um, well...I'm kinda broke right now, so I did the hole punch thing and threaded some string through...The local craft store didn't even have any metal rings! Yet they seem to have everything nobody NEEDS for crafting! Sorry, I'm done…"
"Sweet!! xD You can just attach it to my wall (or whatever it's called on here :P)
When you made your book, how did you put it together? I have no idea what I'm gonna do for mine yet (which is why I want the stories in a month before her…"
OK, this is about nerdiness and fighting back. Sorry the ending isn't very good, but Patrick was going to write chapter two and I'd write chapter three and so on. I tried to wrap it up as best as I can.
Time to fight back
Patrick and Carlisle ran down the hall. Their names weren't really Patrick and Carlisle, but more on that later. They were late for science! They burst into the classroom. Everyone stared at them, but they were used to it. Patrick brushed her hair out of her eyes. It was so blond it looked as white as a snowflake. Not the fake kind of blond, the natural kind. It made her bright blue eyes look even prettier. But no one seemed to notice that.
“Miss Spitter, Miss Koneski, next time you're late you'll have detention.”
“Yes, Ms. Winters. Sorry, Ms. Winters,” said Carlisle, embarrassed.
“It won't happen again,” promised Patrick.
Ms. Winters started droning on about the sun. Carlisle turned to Patrick and started singing 'Why Does the Sun Shine?'.
“The sun is a mass
of incandescent gas
a gigantic nuclear furnace.
Where hydrogen is built
at temperatures of millions of degrees!”
A snotty girl named Nancy gave them a look that plainly said 'nerd alert', but like I said, they were used to it. Then Ms. Winters started teaching about H2O. After class, Patrick said
“Ugh, water is so stuck up!!!”
“What do you mean?” asked an amused Carlisle.
“'I'm water! You need me to survive! I'm so important! Blah blah blah!'” she said in a high-pitched voice.
Carlisle just laughed.
As they were walking down the hallway, a boy named Adam walked over to them with a bunch of his cronies.
“Hey, guys! Guys! I think we gots us some NERDS!” He said in his loud, obnoxious voice.
“'Gots' is not a word,” said Carlisle. “It's not that I mind being insulted, it's that I mind being insulted so poorly. Nerd is kind of a witless remark.” She was quoting her hero, but the bullies didn't know that.
“Witless?” said Patrick, the human dictionary/thesaurus. “To be without wit. Deficient, dense, dull, foolish, idiotic, imbecilic....let me put this so you can understand. It...means...stupid...” She said the last part slowly.
“What did you just call me, geek?”
They seemed to come back to their senses a little too late.
“No, you called me stupid! You'll pay, nerd!”
He swung his giant fist and hit Patrick in the eye, then Carlisle in the nose and mouth. One of his minions came over and punched Carlisle in the stomach. Another kicked Patrick in the knee. They tried to fight back, but they were surrounded.
But then a miracle happened.
The bell rang.
And the bullies ran! They didn't want to get caught. Maybe they were smarter than they looked.
“See you later, pig!” Called a girl named Samantha.
As soon as they were gone, Patrick and Carlisle doubled over with pain. Patrick had a cut above her right eye, which was slowly turning for red to purple to blue. Carlisle clutched her stomach, which was probably bruised, and her nose and mouth, which were bleeding and probably were going to turn black and blue. They both felt like they were about to puke. Patrick was used to the eye pain (which doesn't make it hurt any less) because that's where they always hit her. That's how she'd earned the nickname 'black-eyed P'. They had to admit, it was witty. They'd made it up! The bullies heard them talking about it and taken the idea.
“That was SO not jokes!” Patrick said. She wasn't trying to be funny. That was just how she talked. Eventually one of the teachers, the nicest one, Miss Summer, realized they were gone and came out to look for them. She saw them lying there, clutching their injuries, and gasped.
“Caroline! Patricia!” She said, using their real names, “Are you alright?” She ran up to them and put her small hand on Patrick's head. “What happened to you?” she asked. But they couldn't tell. Adam would beat them worse than ever if they ever told. Nobody knew about their frequent meetings with Adams fists. But neither of them could bear to lie to Miss Summer.
“We...we...I'm sorry, Miss Summer, we can't tell you.”
“Why ever not?”
“Please, it would only make it worse if we did. One hundred times worse. Please don't make us tell you who did it!”
She must've heard the urgency in her tone because Miss Summer didn't ask anymore.
“Can you walk?” She asked.
they tried. Carlisle made it half way down the hall. Patrick did worse. Then they both fell, probably getting blood on the floor. Carlisle wondered if Patrick's knee was broken. Patrick wondered if Carlisle's nose was broken.
“Someone did this to you, correct?” asked Miss Summers
“And you're not telling who, correct?”
“They'd make it worse for us.”
“What if I got them expelled?”
But they were already shaking their heads. “He'd find us. Plus his friends are almost as dangerous as him. I wish it would work, but it doesn't. Last time we told a teacher...” Carlisle shuddered.
“They broke her arm and knocked me out.” Patrick finished. “Everyone knows nobody tells on the bullies.”
“Or else what?”
Patrick tried to get up, but fell. Carlisle tried to catch her, but fell down in the process. Then everything went black.
Patrick and Carlisle opened their eyes to find the school nurse running around trying to do everything at once. Putting cold towels on their heads, dabbing at the blood on their faces, asking over and over and over, “How on Earth did this happen?!”
They tried too get up, but the nurse shrieked and pushed them down again.
“Not until I'm sure nothing is broken!” she shouted. Patrick wiggled her toes. It can't have been too serious...except Patrick didn't know anything about bones. Or breaking them. And truthfully she didn't know what was going to happen next.
“Well, it is my, ahem, professional opinion that your knee nor your nose are broken,” she said, pointing to them in turn, “however, they're probably going to hurt a heck of a lot...and on spring break too, poor things. Well, at least you'll have plenty of time to relax.” Carlisle coughed and blood dripped out of her mouth. Then she started freaking out. Wasn't this how people always died on TV? Coughing up blood, then passing out in front of their best friend?
“Looks like your mouth's still bleeding, dear,” said the nurse. Carlisle breathed a sigh of releif. She'd forgotten about her mouth. She wished it could've stayed that way. Her jaw started hurting. She probably wasn't as bad off as Patrick, though. Of course, Patrick was thinking the same thing about Carlisle.
After the nurse was absolutely sure their bones were intact they were allowed to go home. Patrick and Carlisle went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror.
Patrick's eye was black, as was her knee. Carlisle was bruised around the nose and mouth area and in her stomach, which ached as if she'd just eaten a blenderized happy meal, thirteen peeps, and a fat sandwich in two minutes. They did their best to make the injuries look less terrible. If anyone found out they might be forced to tell who did it, which, of course, meant lying or certain death. Patrick said lying was necessary sometimes, especially if lives were in danger, but they still felt bad about it. They wiped the blood off each other's faces and put on hats they kept stored in their bags for when Patrick had a black eye.
“Well, at least my left eye healed before I got this one. I've never had two black eyes, but I imagine it's about three times worse.”
“Good job looking on the bright side again, Pats. There's only one good thing I can think of right now.”
“We have a week with no Adam! Spring break here we come! Do you want to hang out at my place later?”
“Sure thing, Cars,” she answered happily.
The bell finally rang a few minutes later. They carefully avoided Adam and his gang on the way to their classroom. As soon as they were ready they ran out of the school as fast as they could. They lived close to the school, right across from each other. They waved goodbye and disappeared into their separate houses.
Carlisle's mom was cooking in the kitchen.
“There's a letter for you on the counter!” she shouted. Carlisle picked up the letter and ran up to her room so her mom wouldn't see her puffy nose. She looked at the front of the letter.
To Miss C. Koneski
4155 Duke Street
The last room on the second floor
Wait a minute. Last room on the second floor? How did they know that? It reminded her of her favorite book series, Harry Potter. That's what it is, She thought. They know how much I like Harry Potter and decided to be funny and write it like Harry's Hogwarts letter.
She slipped it open and her mouth fell open in shock. On the back of the letter was a wax stamp with an elaborate H surrounded by a badger, eagle, lion, and snake. This was much too fancy to be fake! With trembling fingers she pulled out the letter and read it.
Dear Miss Koneski,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Carlisle read this sentence over and over. Then she read the enclosed supplies list, still in shock. She opened her Harry Potter book. They were the same. When she finally came to her senses the first thing she thought of was calling Patrick. But if Pats was a muggle wasn't it against wizarding law to reveal it? She knew she had to tell her, though. She bolted for the phone and, just as she started to dial her phone number, it rang. And it was Patrick! She answered it.
“Guess what?” They said at the same time. Carlisle wondered how Patrick's news could possibly be as crazy as her own, but let her go first.
“I-GOT-A-HOGWARTS-LETTER-AND-IT-SAID-I-WAS-A-WITCH-AND-I-WAS-ACCEPTED-AND-I-DON'T-THINK-IT-WAS-A-JOKE!!!” She yelled without pausing.
“Patrick, guess what?”
They screamed and jumped around. There was no way it could be fake if they both got it!
“I can't believe this is happening! Meet me at the corner!” Patrick said. This was where they always met to discuss important stuff. Once they were there they held hands and jumped around in a circle squealing. Once they got dizzy and fell down they started talking about everything from houses to Hagrid, from brooms to Buckbeak.
“What house do you want to be in?”
“Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff,” answered Carlisle quickly.
“Or Slytherin.” said Patrick.
“People are so prejudiced! Honestly! Slytherins aren't necessarily bad! They're just cunning and ambitious.”
“And they'll do anything to get their way!”
“Why haven't we said Gryffindor yet anyway?”
“Well, anyone who saw us get beaten up by Adam today knows we're not brave. And everyone wants to be a Gryffindor. Ravenclaw is for the smart and quick-witted. And Hufflepuffs are loyal and hard working.”
“We'll probably be Ravens,” said Patrick. “I don't mean to brag, but isn't being witty like our thing?”
“Now there's only one thing to do.”
“Get our parents to believe that we're going to Hogwarts.”
They laughed and imagined the look on people's faces if they ever said they were witches. Then they had an idea.
“Patrick, we find ourselves with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in out hands. When have we ever had a chance to get back at Adam?”
“And when have we ever had a chance to do that, then disappear off to a boarding school across the country?”
Patrick seemed to understand.
“Carlisle, we've got some planning to do.”
“Yep. It's time Adam gets what he deserves.”
hello fellow Nerdfighter, I have a short story about school and social cliches for your project, I hope you enjoy
The Other Side of The Social Line
The spirit of intellectual study somehow seems dead in this coliseum of jockdom, or athleticism, or whatever jocks call the gym now a days; and yet I am here to learn something.
Zach Kauhn was a Genius, no, a God of knowledge in the temple of heretics that is Lancingburg high school. And he was here behind the bleachers of the gym awaiting the basketball team’s arrival to give everyone a lecture on sociology. Of course sociology isn’t my forte, but a lecture by Zach Kauhn was to me what listening to Michael Phelps is for most Olympians; doesn’t matter what he’s saying, they’re still the words of a living God.
It’s only the writers, artist, science team, quiz bowl team, math team, RPG club, and me waiting here; in short, 0nly the nerds. Then, as they say in theatre: enter the protagonist, Zachary Kauhn. He’s very tall, a good 6 “4” with a frail build, pale white skin, and hair that’s as dark as an emo kid’s soul. He looks at us, our glee filled faces, our excited smiles, even into the very soul of our sad sad beings; calculating us all like overly complicated math equations. After a long minute he finally speaks. “In two minutes and 31 seconds the basketball team will enter the room, and I will begin the lesson.”
I can see the math team calculating the time to see if he’s right, and by the look on their faces when the sound of rubber impacting the floor spreads across the room, I’d say he’s right. “Now I want you to tell me what you think about the basketball team. They can’t hear us, so speak freely.” Everyone raises their hands to say their negative opinions. Lancingburg’s basketball team is one of the best in the state, and had managed to step on the toes of nearly every nerd in the school, Whether it be in cutting into the math department’s funding, having the art rooms taken down for more space in the gym, or in my case, getting picked on by the point guard. Basically, if the basketball team was a product, its material section would say: made of suck.
After everyone’s given their thumbs down to the team, Zach simply says, “interesting”. He then looks across this nerd herd of ours and points to one of the artist and asks, “Why do you hate the basketball team?” The artist instantly said “they took away the art classrooms, why do you think.”Zach gives a very meaningful hmmm.
“You’ve never considered that they might be just as useful as you?” Zach asks him in a casual voice. “Useful?” The artist says as if the concept of an athlete having any use is world shattering; and I can’t really blame him. “How could any one of those morons be useful? What do they do for society?” the artist says. Zach causally responds with “What do artist do for society?” The artist face goes bright red and he raises his voice. “We inspire people, we create works of beauty, and we’ve been doing it since the dawn of time.” Zach motions us to him and all of us, even the red faced artist come to him. “Look at the basketball players” he says. I look out of the small spaces in between the bleacher’s seats, anyone on the team could have seen us if they had bothered to look our way, but they all seemed so into a scrimmage with some no name high school that we could have been part of the seats for all they cared. Zach had probably calculated this somehow, the basketball team not noticing us all, our compliance to his command to come here, even the artist responses were probably thought out by Zach.
“Look at them,” Zach begins as our eyes become glued to the ongoing scrimmage, racking our brains to see what Zach sees. “You’re not that different from them you know. You create beautiful works of art with simple brush strokes, movements of pencils, and the like. Look at their simple commands of run, jump, and throw; get turned into complex plays and strategies. The precision of it all is rather mind blowing, a little too much force into the throw can be like being too heavy handed while drawing a line; it makes it distorted, illegible, and all together worthless. ” I found myself not working my mind more to understand Zach, but relaxing it to see what he was talking about. My mind’s eye see’s the basketball players in bullet time running, passing, and throwing a single ball of rubber through a small ring of steel. The strange thing is I get Zach’s point. When you break it down, it all has certain elegance to it, like a beautiful painting or a well made statue.
“I know it’s so little made out of so much. I know that the countless brush strokes to a simple piece of canvas or the thousand delicate chizzles to a block of marble to create things that can inspire those of all fields, those of all cultures, and all those who follow you, cannot compare to this simple art. But do they inspire people any less? Do thousands of people not cheer for them for every new piece they make? Are there not men of knowledge among those fans as there are of yours? Do they not push the limits of what’s possible with new shots, forms of dunking, and underdog teams that become champions? Does this not all have a use to it as art does?”Zach’s lecture stuns the artist into complete brain racking silence.
“Does anyone else have any complaints about the team?” Zach asks us. A math geek pipes up after a quick calculation about the ramifications of his words. “They took away the math teams funding when we were about to go to regional’s.” he says with the confidence that only probability equations and TAG can give a man.
Zach walks back to where we were originally and crush’s the math geek’s probability calculations of his responses leaving Zach speechless with another set of swift lectures that packed all the power of a round house kick from Chuck Norris. “It’s something of a math, if you think about it. They’re all making carelessly calculated equations functional with every shot they take.” The math geek’s face turns bright red as the face of the artist before him did. “We calculate equations that affect the lives of thousands. WE made the theory of relativity. WE made the freaking laws of physics. You know, the laws that society’s used to create all of the marvels that people take for granted.” Zach simply stares at him and calmly waits for him to cool down.
Several long uncomfortable minutes of silence pass. I can feel all the vices of the basketball team as though they were tangible; it sticks to my skin like leeches with microscopic teeth bearing into the blood of my being. It’s not the game of basketball itself that makes this horrible aura; it’s the people that play it and their vices, their horrible attitudes, their arrogance, and their irrational hatred of the kids attending this sermon of Nerdom, their irrational hatred of me. There’s no comparison to any great field of the world that could make me change my mind about that, nay, no comparison to any field in the universe that could make me change my mind.
Yet, I still relish listening to Zach’s lecture on it all. His bewildering reasoning of it all seemed to motivate me enough to stand the feel of this stained aura. “Of course you made the rules of physics. Of course the discoveries of mathematicians create the wonders of this world, but it also turns those same discoveries into mundane things. Into simple equations that people forget to appreciate. Look out at the players again.” Zach finally says in his now seemingly monotone like calm voice. We do as he says looking at all the player’s running back and forth through the court that I now look at as some sort of live action painting with a thousand words told in the looks of triumph and defeat in the player’s faces, in the pass’s given and the shots taken, and in the scoreboard in the background reading home: 42 away: 12. “Look at all of those equations playing out. Look at the laws you’ve found in use. They don’t need calculators to create the vast amount of equations you see before you, to get them right every time. Do these equations have to always follow your laws to be amazing? Aren’t miracles simply answers that defy their equation?” The math geek’s mouth doesn’t drop; his silence is not of amazement, his reaction of no strong emotion what so ever. He simply stands there looking at the basketball court with the intensity I imagine he’d look at a math equation with.
Zach turns back to the rest of us and I’m half expecting him to say “and for my next trick...” as though he were some sort of magician, because I don’t think Harry Potter could have pulled off making anyone with a shred of nerd pride think that an athlete could be of any use to anyone. I find myself trying to guess who he’s going to lecture next as though I’m somewhere between a detective from a good mystery novel and a mathematician trying to pick a winning team to bet on with probability. Of course all the detective skills of Sherlock Holmes and the math skills of John Nash couldn’t help me in guessing his next move. He turns to me, yes me; the outcast who can’t even be classed in with any of the nerd groups standing in this very room. He looks at me and says “and why do you hate the basketball team?” Scratch my earlier remark about a great combination of detective and probability skills not being able to predict what he does next; I don’t think full fledged telepathy could have prepared me for this.
Of course I’ve found myself at a loss for words. Despite Zach’s undertaking of the stupid task of trying to make the basketball team appear as though they have any actual use, he’s still doing a pretty good job of it. If I didn’t have such a good head on my shoulders, I might be agreeing with him. “Because they suck,” I say meekly after what feels like a long silence. “Why do they suck?” Zach asks me with the same calm voice that just cut through the reasoning of two people with in a space of ten minutes. “Why do they suck?” He asks again after a short pause. I remind myself that it wasn’t Zach’s voice that destroyed the reasoning of the last two nerds who tried to argue with him, it his mind that did that and I know that I’m right, which means that I can’t fail, no matter what Zach’s mind can throw at my logic.“You’ve practically said why. People like us have built the society that makes the game that those morons out there enjoy so much possible; and yet they all act like they’re better than us. They torture and humiliate us on the daily basis and we’ve never done anything to them.”Part of me is expecting Zach to be awed into silence, to admit that I am right and crown me the new kind of nerds. Of course I know otherwise.
“True they’ve abused having the upper end of the social ladder, but have you ever thought of why they do this? I think it’s because they see our intellectual talent the same way we see their athletic talent, useless. The only real difference between us and them is the physical prowess that allows them to assume a dominate position of us. Do you really think that you wouldn’t torture them if had the opportunity to do so?” I have to think about this for a few seconds, the teams point guard had tortured me ever since he saw me attempt and fail playing basketball, but I had silently laughed at him when he failed a history test that I had gotten a hundred on. Perhaps if I was bigger, I would have tortured him for his lack of intellectual prowess as he tortured me for my lack of athletic prowess; but even if I would, neither of us have a right to torture the other like he had me, and Zach doesn’t have a right to try and justify it.
“Of course I’m not saying that the pursuit of knowledge has less worth then the game of basketball, or any game for that matter; but you’ve all limited yourselves in that pursuit by labeling things like sports as useless. You may not have chosen your side of the social line, but you have chosen to limit yourselves to your side of the line. You’re not allowing yourselves to look onto the other side of the line to see what it has to offer. How can you not expect for your pursuit to not end at a brick wall when you’re not looking at all of the paths that can be taken?” Zach says not waiting to see if I’m awe struck by his arguments or not. ... He’s right, I have limited myself by not bothering to look at the basketball team as anything but useless and I have nothing to respond to Zach with; so all I can do is listen to Zach say, “Well that’s everything, so with that the lecture is over. Thank you all for coming, hope you all learned something.” and with that he went abruptly to the door, the sound of his steps drown out by the sound of a game being played by people who didn’t have the slightest understanding of their affects on us, or of our affects on them. Leaving without being noticed by the very people he used to expand our minds.
By-Kevin M. Berry
- Intelligence is like water, it’s everywhere you look. Whether you see it or not.