Super Con-Nerd Page 3

  We all crack up. ‘Why not?’

  ‘But we all like different things,’ Vinh says.

  I take out my sketchbook and turn to a fresh page. ‘That’s the point. We’re just normal nerds, doing nerdy things.’

  He squeezes his chin. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Irene sighs. ‘Well, it’s better than being alone.’ She stares at my drawings. ‘Just don’t drop any more pencils.’

  Vinh’s jaw drops down to my page. ‘You draw your own comics?’

  ‘Yeah, they’re based on my primary school friends . . .’

  I flick over to my last Fireproof Knights drawings, the ones I haven’t touched since we all saw the movie together. I introduce the characters to Vinh and Irene.

  ‘Wow, you’re going to be famous someday,’ Irene says.

  I smile. ‘You think so?’

  Vinh slaps me on the back. ‘Yeah, I want to read your comics, man.’

  ‘Can you draw something for us?’ Irene asks.

  For the first time at Kentsworth, I start to draw out in the open, and Irene and Vinh go crazy over it. It’s like when superheroes reveal their powers to ordinary people. Maybe high school won’t be so bad if I can be myself.

  I spend the rest of the week hanging out with the nerdy rejects. I sit next to them in all our classes, so it’s a lot more fun. But everything we’re learning still zooms past my head at warp speed. I walk away feeling dizzy after each lesson.

  It’s Thursday morning, and Mrs Cheney is piloting our English class. I’m struggling to hang off the wings. We’re having a discussion about our class novel called Note Perfect, a story about a boy named Gerald, taking piano lessons from Mr Heinrich, a grumpy old man. We only got the book on Monday, and Mrs Cheney already expects us to have read the whole book. Andrew told everyone that he read it last year. Is he a cyborg from the future or something?

  Mrs Cheney reads out a question that’s on the smartboard. ‘What is Gerald’s mood when he sees Mr Heinrich for his third piano lesson?’

  The whole room falls silent and everybody turns to Andrew. It’s only been two weeks but we all know the routine. We all wait for Andrew to tell us the answer. Andrew is the co-pilot who likes to steer the discussion around his potato-shaped head. There’s no point saying something first because Andrew will just morph into a fighter pilot and shoot you down in flames. He’s already put bullet holes into Wilson in Geography and Vinh in Maths today. Irene has her book up and is hiding behind it.

  Mrs Cheney folds her arms. ‘Looks like everyone’s asleep, except for Andrew.’

  Andrew has a smirk tattooed on his face. ‘Well, he was eager to show off.’

  Irene blows her book down. ‘There he goes, talking about himself again,’ she says from the side of her mouth.

  ‘Did you say something, Irene Lee?’ Andrew says. He likes using surnames too, as if he’s some mini teacher.

  Irene straightens up like she’s in trouble. Maybe Andrew is a teacher in disguise. ‘Gerald hated going to those piano lessons,’ Irene says. ‘That’s why he never practised at home.’

  Andrew’s head snaps up and his eyes lock on to Irene. He’s got her in his sights. ‘Wrong! Gerald didn’t need to practise because he thought Mr Heinrich’s lessons were babyish.’

  Irene’s lips are trembling. ‘Yeah, but . . .’

  Andrew glares at Irene. ‘He needed a challenge because he was so bored.’ Each word hits her like a bullet.

  ‘Oh, okay . . .’ Irene’s voice straps on a parachute and jumps off.

  I look at Irene and clear my throat. Andrew’s not going to get away with this. I raise my hand. ‘My mum used to take me to piano lessons and I didn’t want to go.’

  Andrew scoffs. ‘So what?’

  ‘I’m just saying, maybe Irene was right,’ I say. ‘He was only there because his parents forced him.’

  ‘But his family begged Mr Heinrich to take Gerald on because he was good at piano,’ Andrew says.

  ‘Yeah, Mr Heinrich was a famous pianist,’ Naveed adds.

  Andrew nods. ‘That’s right, Gerald was just being pretentious.’

  ‘Pretending to be what?’ I say.

  ‘Huh?’ Andrew nearly leaps out of his chair. ‘Don’t you know what pretentious means?’

  My glasses fog up. ‘Um.’

  ‘Oh wow, you have no idea, do you?’ Andrew turns around. ‘Unbelievable,’ he mutters. ‘They’ll let anyone into this school.’

  My bottom is burning a hole through my chair. Maybe this is how Stephen felt last year when he was struggling with Maths.

  But Mrs Cheney is applauding, looking at Andrew and I. ‘Bravo! It’s wonderful to finally hear a proper class discussion.’

  Andrew raises his hand. ‘So who was right?’

  ‘I can see where you and Connor are coming from, so both answers are right,’ Mrs Cheney says.

  ‘But who’s more right?’ Andrew asks. ‘There has to be one correct answer.’

  Mrs Cheney sighs. ‘Andrew, this isn’t Maths. You can all be correct if you can argue your case.’ She smiles at me. ‘I’d like to hear more from you, Connor. Nice work.’

  I sit up straight. ‘Thanks, Miss.’

  Mrs Cheney takes back control of the class and flies it out of the storm. It’s cool to know that she liked my answer, but I still feel shaken up by Andrew.

  The bell rings and Irene touches my arm. ‘Thanks for backing me up.’

  ‘Nerdy rejects have to stick together,’ I say.

  ‘Hey, Connor.’ Andrew steps in front of my desk. ‘Your tutor needs to do some more vocab work with you.’

  ‘Tutor?’

  Andrew drops his briefcase on my table. ‘Yeah, where do you go after school?’

  ‘I go home.’

  Andrew’s takes a dramatic step back then he leans in towards me. ‘Seriously . . . who coaches you? A-Plus Tutoring? Success Academy?’

  ‘I haven’t been to tutoring since I did the selective school entrance exam.’ I look at his shirt, buttoned up to his neck. No wonder his head looks like a ripe cherry.

  ‘Ah, it all makes sense now.’ Andrew takes out a business card holder and hands me a shiny card that says Master Class College. ‘My uncle runs a tutoring place. I’ve been going there since I was four.’

  I hope Mama’s ears didn’t pick that up. He’s beaten my record by three years. I shake my head.

  ‘Is it because you can’t afford it?’ Andrew sighs. ‘The first month is free.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ I say.

  ‘Look, you’re practically coming dead last in every class,’ Andrew says. ‘This isn’t primary school any more, everybody needs extra help to stay on top . . . or in your case, stay afloat.’ He smirks at me. ‘Oh, and pretentious means someone who tries to impress other people with fancy words.’

  ‘Takes one to know one,’ I mutter.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ I bite my upper lip in case another word slips out.

  ‘Hey, I’m only trying to help.’ Andrew takes his briefcase away. ‘I won’t be so nice to you next time.’

  Andrew’s helping to make things worse. I grab the business card and cram it into my pocket. I wonder if Andrew’s right. Do I need extra help? And how would he know that I’m coming dead last in class? Maybe he sees something that I don’t.

  I meet up with Mama at the hospital after school. She finishes at five, so I do some homework at the hospital cafe. I text Mandy, Stephen and Dazza and see how they’re going. I stare at my screen for a reply. How come Mandy can text someone and get a response before she even finishes? I start on some Maths questions but my brain is like a rusty calculator. I yawn and take out my sketchbook. I poke around in my pockets for a pencil and Andrew’s business card slips out. I stuff it back in there. There’s no way I’m ever going back to tutoring classes and have to crawl through all that boring extra work. I was in Mr Van’s tutoring class for five years, and my mind spent a lot of time in a different universe.r />
  I flip over to a fresh page and sketch Andrew’s face in Japanese anime style, with his short curly hair and fluffy brown eyebrows. He looks like a fancy character named Squire from a manga I used to read. I draw his pear-shaped body. He really does look like a duck with a giant bottom.

  ‘Connor.’ Mama touches my shoulder.

  I jump, snapping my pencil lead on the page.

  Mama eyes my drawing of Andrew. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Um, it’s for a Visual Arts assignment,’ I say.

  ‘You’re drawing a lot these days,’ Mama says. ‘I hope you’ve been doing your homework first.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ I can feel Mama’s tiger claws digging into my back. ‘Why are you out here, Mama. It’s only four-thirty.’

  ‘I got an early mark.’ Mama smiles. ‘Come on, let’s go before my supervisor changes his mind.’

  We walk through the foyer, past the artwork from last year’s Bright Lives competition. Tori’s artwork is still up near the lifts. I wonder if she’s still in Korea. Or if she’s back in Australia and didn’t tell me. No matter where she is, I bet she’s popular just like Dazza, Stephen and Mandy. I’m the odd one out.

  We stop in front of the lift. My dragon artwork is hanging above the lift doors, his eyes and claws pointed down, as if he’s ready to strike down his next victim.

  Mama snaps her neck back and I hear it creak. ‘I love this picture.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, I always tell patients that my son drew it.’ Mama beams at me. ‘It either gives them a heart attack or wakes them up.’

  I love it when Mama’s proud of my drawings. I really need to be at Cosmic Smash as an artist. That would give our Wong family honour points for sure.

  A young nurse comes out of the lift and waves at Mama. ‘Oh, Zoe, you’re still here,’ she says.

  It’s so weird hearing Mama’s first name. ‘I’m about to leave now,’ Mama says, wrapping her arm around my shoulder. ‘Aspen, this is my son, Connor.’

  Aspen freezes on the spot with her mouth wide open. ‘Oh, wow! So you’re the artist who created that dragon?’

  I nod. ‘His name is Fragor, from my comic, Fireproof Knights.’

  ‘Nice,’ Aspen says. ‘My husband loves comics.’

  ‘Maybe I can give him one,’ I say.

  She smiles. ‘He would love that. He’s an accountant, so he needs some excitement.’

  We all laugh. An accountant was in Mama’s top five jobs for me.

  Mama and I leave the hospital and hop on a bus.

  ‘How’s high school?’ she asks.

  I rub my hands together. ‘Yeah, it’s all right.’

  Mama sighs heavily. ‘Come on, Connor, you’re in a selective school now. You need to tell me more than that.’

  I can’t stand it when Mama’s nosy. What does she want? A five-hundred-word essay?

  ‘How are the kids there?’ Mama asks. ‘Is everybody smart?’

  I have a vision of Andrew’s smirk burnt behind my eyeballs. I slowly nod. ‘The school has so many pretentious kids there.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘They think they’re so smart and show off.’ I kick the back of the seat. ‘Some are even worse than Ryan.’

  ‘There will always be people like that, not just in high school.’ Mama leans in to me. ‘Just focus on your own work. You don’t need to be number one any more . . .’

  That’s a relief because Andrew has that spot reserved for the next six years.

  ‘. . . but I do want you to be near the top.’

  The bus comes to a halt and I lunge forward. ‘You mean, like, in the top five?’

  Mama squeezes my shoulder. ‘Why not? You’ve worked so hard to get into Kentsworth. You can’t slack off now.’

  I pull out my phone and Andrew’s business card slips out onto the seat between us.

  Mama picks it up. ‘Master Class College? Do you need help?’

  I take the card from her. ‘It’s from this kid at school. Um, he gave them to everybody.’

  ‘Everybody needs help?’

  ‘Just forget about it, Mama.’

  Mama plays with the straps of her handbag. ‘Maybe you could go back to tutoring . . .’

  I groan and wake up half the people on the bus. I thought we spoke about this last year. ‘Never.’

  ‘Please, just for Maths and English.’

  ‘I’m going to be an artist, Mama, remember?’

  ‘Well, maybe you need a Plan B,’ Mama says. ‘Your father knew that he could work at your grandfather’s fruit shop if he didn’t make it in badminton.’

  ‘But he became a champion,’ I say. ‘If I only have a Plan A, then I’ll have to make it work. You need to trust me.’

  Mama huffs. ‘Never mind, Connor. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.’

  We sit there in silence for the rest of the trip. I look down at my phone again and there’s still nothing from the original C gang. All I hear is a faint growl. It might be my stomach. Or the bus engine underneath us. But it could also be from my tiger mother beside me, ready to pounce if I slip up. As if I don’t have enough pressure at school already.

  The next day, I’m on the train to Kentsworth, staring at my phone’s screen. Nobody’s replied to my last message, so I text them again.

  Hey original C gang, did you all get my last message? I have so much to tell you.

  There are so many things that I can’t squeeze into a message. The nerdy rejects. Andrew and Mama’s Plan B for me. The B stands for bossy. I thought Mama would never bring up tutoring again. I thought she’d let me be free to do what I want. I already have enough homework from school and I have a new comic to draw for the Cosmic Smash audition.

  I get to school and Vinh and Irene aren’t at the bench yet. Maybe their bus is running late. I walk around the quadrangle, checking my phone every few seconds. Maybe they all bought new phones that don’t work with mine. I feel like I’m being left behind again.

  I wander over to the art studios and the lights are on. I see a kid, with his back turned to me. I think he’s painting something. Wow, someone is actually doing art in there. I sneak into the room. ‘Hey, what are you doing?’

  A tubby kid spins around in his stool. ‘I’m painting a Panzer.’

  ‘A Panzer dragon?’ Panzer dragons are the fastest in Dragon Wings. I rush over, hoping to see a pointy snout but find a gun point at my face instead. ‘Huh? That’s a Panzer?’

  ‘A Panzer Four to be exact.’ The kid dabs some creamy white paint into a tiny jar and strokes carefully along its sides. ‘It’s a German tank used in World War Two.’

  The tank is about the size of my smartphone. ‘You build these models?’

  ‘Yeah and then I paint them.’ He puts his paintbrush down and holds out his hand. ‘I’m Matthew Galway, but you can just call me Galway.’

  ‘I’m Connor, but you can call me Con-nerd.’ I shake his hand. ‘So, who let you in here?’

  ‘Mrs Rycroft,’ Galway says. ‘She’s the other Year Seven Visual Arts teacher. She saw one of my tanks in class and said I can paint them in here in the mornings.’

  ‘You’re lucky,’ I say. ‘I’m stuck with Mr Gardner.’

  Mrs Rycroft comes into the studio.

  ‘Hello, Matthew. Who’s your friend?’

  ‘This is Con-nerd, but you can call him Connor.’ He scratches his head. ‘Is that right?’

  Mrs Rycroft glances at the clock. ‘The bell’s about to go.’

  Galway hops off the stool. ‘Kay, Miss.’

  Mrs Rycroft smiles at us. ‘It’s nice to see you share your models with someone else,’ she says as she walks off.

  ‘What was that supposed to mean?’ Galway says, as he brings out a glass case and rolls the tank inside.

  ‘It means that she wants you to have more friends.’ I dig my hands in my pockets. ‘I used to hear it all the time back in primary school.’

  Galway shrugs. ‘I tried starting a tanks
group in the library but nobody signed up.’

  ‘You might get more interest in a nursing home,’ I say.

  ‘Nobody cared over there either, except for my nan who lives there.’ Galway packs away his paints. ‘She reckons everyone’s into yoga these days.’

  We walk outside and head to our rollcall classes. ‘Hey, Galway, you can hang with my friends at recess, if you like.’

  ‘Are they into tanks?’

  I shake my head. ‘But we do need a tanks expert.’

  Galway grins. ‘Where do you guys hang out?’

  ‘A picnic bench near the basketball courts.’

  ‘Okay, see you later, Con-nerd.’

  We split up in the corridor and I take one last look at my phone before I switch it off for class. Still no messages. I’ve picked up another new friend but it feels like I’m losing my old ones. Maybe I’m only allowed to have three friends at a time.

  Andrew bumps into me in Maths. ‘I hope you’ve brushed up on your algebra, Connor. We have a surprise test today.’

  ‘Pfft, yeah right,’ I say.

  Mr Metwally walks in with a stack of papers and the whole class groans. I stuff my fist into my mouth. He slams the tests on the table, facedown. ‘Something wrong?’

  I take my hand out of my mouth. ‘You could have given us some warning.’

  Mr Metwally smiles. ‘Then it wouldn’t be a surprise.’

  This test wasn’t a surprise to Andrew. I stare at the back of his head. I wish I had some shears to shave off his curls. Maybe then he’d get a real shock.

  I wipe away the sweat dripping down my face, and think about Mama. I just need to do my best. I don’t want to let her down. I certainly don’t want to go back to tutoring. And I don’t want the old tiger Mama back.

  I get through the test, trying to answer every question. Each page seems to get heavier to turn over. After the test, I meet up with Irene and Vinh at recess. We sit on top of the picnic bench. I take out my sketchbook, ready to draw and let my frustration loose on the page, but I can’t get my mind off the Maths test. ‘Andrew knew about that surprise test.’

  ‘We have to get used to it,’ Irene says. ‘My tutor says teachers at Kentswood drop surprise tests and assignments all the time.’