7

I'm nervous, but not because of the interrogation. I'm standing in front of everyone and everybody is staring at me…

I take a deep breath. "Scalar multiplication is a formula that we use to do exercises with vectors. This formula is-" I take a piece of chalk and write on the blackboard. "Vector a times vector b equals the length of a times the length of b times the cosine of alpha." I dictate. "Most of the time we use this formula to find the alpha, so an angle formed by two vectors." I try to add something else to say, but I don't remember anything else. I look at the teacher. She's staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

"Is there something wrong?" I ask.

"No… no…" she says. "I just… didn't expect you to be able to answer."

"Uh… okay. Thanks."

"No! I mean, we haven't talked about this. I was trying to see if someone would tell me that we didn't do this theory yet." she glares at the rest of the class, then looks back at me. "How do you know this?"

"Uh… I guess I read it." I answer. I actually did read it, but I didn't want to sound too eager to read.

"Okay. Well, good job, Emma." she says, a smile returning to her face.

I walk back to my seat and Karen is gaping at me. "How?"

I chuckle. "I read it in a book."

"Yeah, no shit." she comments.

After Pre-Calculus we have Art. During the last few weeks, we've been doing a weird project: make up a story and then show it with pictures. Like, if the story were Jimmy went to the park but broke his leg after tripping of a twig, you would take a picture of the actor (Jimmy) walking in a park, then him about to trip, him tripping and then the last picture would be him holding his leg crying. Or something like that.

But we finished that assignment last week, so today our teacher will give us our grades and then introduce us to the new project.

After waiting a while, the professor calls my name. I walk over to her and she tells me my grade. "B+" she says. "The story is good, it's well constructed and the meaning is clear, but the pictures are a little unfocused. What did you use?"

"My phone." I answer.

"Oh, that must be why." she says. "Next time maybe you should use a digital camera. The quality is better. Otherwise, good job!"

"Thank you." I walk back to my seat.

A few minutes later, after having assigned the marks to everyone, she teacher presents us the new task: graffiti.

She says we have to make images of a message you want to transmit. For instance, if you want to complain about poverty, you can draw an image of a poor kid asking for money. I don't know.

After drawing our idea, we have to color the black parts and cut them out with a cutter. Next, we go outside and spray the sheet of paper. Finally, we scan it and, using Photoshop, we place it on a wall.

I'm not sure you understood, dear reader, but it's not really important.

I have a vague idea of what to do, so I get to work.

Last morning period: English. Karen and I walk in together and sit in our usual seats in the middle row. I'm pulling out my things when Tom walks in, already smirking. He glances at me for a second before going to his seat in the last row. Of course, it's in the last row: he's one of the troublemakers.

I know he's in this class, but I've always tried to avoid him. Why? Well, because the last time I saw him, before the party, was at the bus stop when he pushed me.

So, yeah, I didn't really want to face him.

Fortunately, he doesn't speak to me. Instead, he starts to pull out his stuff and talks to his friends.

Shortly after, the teacher walks in and the lesson begins.

"Good morning, class." the professor says. "We have one hour today, so let's start immediately, so we don't lose any time."

The students start looking at each other in questioning looks.

"We recently finished reading Shakespeare's Hamlet, so I thought that today we – or better yet, you – could write a page on your opinion and comment on the tragedy." she told us. "Dictionaries are in the cupboard if you need them. I would like to have all of your papers on my desk by the end of the hour."

And with that, we begin.

I start writing, but I get stuck after a few sentences. I'm racking my brain trying to think of something to write, but nothing comes to my mind.

"Why nerds?" someone whispers directly into my ear.

I jump. "What the-" I turn to see Tom sitting next to me. I put a hand on my chest and take a deep breath. "Jeez, Tom. You scared me."

"Am I that ugly?" he asks.

I pout. "That's not what I meant."

"Are you saying I'm handsome?" he asks wittily.

I sigh. "What do you want?"

"Why do you like nerds?" he asks again.

"What kind of question is that? The heart wants what the heart wants!" I exclaim, a little too loudly.

"Excuse me?" the teacher interrupted. "Am I disturbing your chit chat?" she asks. "Would you care to share with us?"

"No!" I say.

"Okay." Tom answers at the same time.

The professor decides to ignore my reply. "Please." she offers.

Tom responds for me. "We were talking about nerds."

Small laughter fills the classroom. I'm most likely blushing like crazy right now, so I cover my face with my hands, trying to lock out the embarrassment. It doesn't work.

The teacher looks surprised. "Nerds? Why were you talking about nerds?"

My eyes widen as I realize that Tom will probably tell the truth in front of the whole class. I'm thinking of an excuse to make, but I find out that I don't have to.

"Just, you know, daily discussions. General information." Tom says.

Mrs. Keeve, the professor, chuckles. "Well, if you're interested…" she says. "Who knows what the exact definition of 'nerd' is?" she asks the class, who had already put down their pens and started listening to our conversation.

"No one?" she asks again. "A 'nerd' is defined as a person who lacks social skills, is introverted, obsessed over something and overly intellectual. Sometimes a 'nerd' is even described as shy, strange and unattractive."

I hear a snicker coming from Tom. I turn and glare at him, but he stares back with a smirk. God, why does he keep smirking?

"Aren't nerds people who read a lot and play videogames?" one of the classmates asks.

"Partly, yes. But those are more defined by the word 'geek'. Geeks read a lot, play videogames and are obsessed over their hobby. Is anyone here a nerd or a geek? And I don't mean that as in insult." she asks the class.

I am! I am! I want to yell. But – you guessed it – I don't want to be the weirdo. But who cares? I am who I am, and I can't be me if I don't show my real self. The sentence is a little weird, but you get the idea. I have to conquer my fears and embrace the fact that I'm different: I read, I write and I play videogames. So, what?

Determined to do this, I raise my hand. "I am, Mrs. Keeve."

Tom looks at me, stunned. Yeah, I guess he wasn't expecting that.

"Really? A nerd or a geek?" she asks.

"I think I'm more geek than a nerd, but definitely a little bit of both."

"And what makes you a geek slash nerd?" she asks.

I hesitate a bit. Why is she asking all these questions? Maybe because it interests her? But I answer anyway. "Well, I read, a lot. This year I've read seventy-four books and now I'm reading the seventy-fifth." Gasps escape from my classmates' mouths. Mrs. Keeve also looks surprised. I'm not sure why I'm telling these people my personal things, but I strangely got the feeling that I had to keep talking, almost to make them know how weird I am. "I also play video games a little, although I'm not that great at it. I'm usually overly obsessed over character in movies or books, and I'm also actually very shy." I finish.

"And, like nerds, you're unattractive," Tom says.

"What was that Mr. Polson?" the professor asks.

"Nothing, Mrs. Keeve," he answers, but then turns to me and winks.

It's a punch in the gut. I always like to be aware of my looks. I have light acne, so I don't take it well when someone points it out, even my parents. A now, at school, someone is telling me that I'm ugly. Tom probably meant it as a joke, but it didn't seem like it. It really hurt.

"Well, it's been a while since I had a geek in my class. I'm happy to know that there still are some around," she says with a smile. I smile back, trying to forget about Tom's insult.