The Nerds Strike Back

By Rebecca van den Ham

Bang!

My shoulders slammed into their favorite indentations on my locker, and I gazed up into Rex Norman’s baby blues for the fourth time since second period. What does Dino King want this time? He’d already taken all my money, my math homework, and my secret snack.

“Hey, dweeb, homecoming pep rally is Friday. Guess who’s gonna make the varsity football team look really good?”

Rex and his fellow nerd-pummelers are not the people I, personally, want to come home to. I wriggled, feet still dangling. “But it’s Tuesday. How am I supposed to…”

Rex’s fist connected with my gut.

“What did you have in mind?” I croaked.

“A laser show. Like prom. Only better.”

“Sure, Rex. Meet me in the computer lab after school.”

Rex left me in a crumpled heap beside my locker. For the health and safety of all nerds, I had to find a way to produce a fabulous laser light display in the next three days.

The Nerd Squad huddled in the lab for an emergency Tech Club meeting. After I explained the dire situation, Reed said, “Barry, it has to be you and Peter. You guys know that equipment better than any of us. You did the whole lights-and-fog thing for prom last year.”

“Sure. We had no other reason to go to prom.” Peter flourished his phone. “Remember the superhero memes?”

“Yeah.” Billy nodded eagerly. “You can create more memes.”

Richard stood. “I move that Barry and Peter handle this. All in favor?”

The ayes were unanimous, except for Hal, who sat terrorized, biting his nails.

Our lily-livered friends made a speedy exit, leaving us to wait for Rex. At least Mr. Banner, our physics teacher and Tech Club sponsor, was nearby setting up an experiment for class tomorrow. Rex would have to keep his fists to himself.

Rex strolled in, chest fully puffed. “I’ve been thinking. I want something extra for my part on Friday. Since I’m the quarterback.”

Not quarter brain?

“I want something they won’t forget, so I look really good.”

“Like a hologram?” said Peter.

I almost snorted. So smooth. Such genius.

“You can do that?” Rex’s eyes went wide. “Like on Star Track?”

“Of course,” Peter smiled. “We’ll project an image over you so you look like…” Peter glanced at me for help. I shrugged. Neither of us could name a famous football player to literally save our lives.

“Like Tom Brady?” Awe and utter admiration shone in Rex’s eyes when he spoke the revered name. His look would’ve stirred softer hearts than ours, but it in no way deterred us from the path of Peter’s brilliance.

“Yes,” said poker-faced Peter. “You will appear on stage as the legendary Tom Brady.”

My poker face broke. I had to fake choking on my own saliva.

Wednesday, Rex caught us coming out of AP Lit. “It’s got to be perfect.” He smacked my head. “The holo-thing. Brady.”

I’d never been threatened so… anxiously. Rex stayed for hours after school, overseeing all the details as we built the 3-D image: huge muscles, correct colors and number on the uniform, eye color, shoe size, exact height and weight. There was no convincing him holograms don’t weigh anything. When we were done, we could rotate it on the computer screen and view it from every angle. Rex acknowledged our success by confiscating our granola bars on his way out.

Thursday, Rex met us in the gym. Giggling cheerleaders, stringing up balloons and streamers, ignored us setting up our equipment and rigging a spotlight over the stage.

“Okay, Rex,” Peter said, turning on the spotlight.  “We need you to stand in the light and show us the poses you plan to use.”

We made him run through the poses about fifty times, while we hid behind our laptops watching YouTube and working on our Moby Dick essays.

“Once more, so we can get the timing right for the image.” Peter tapped some keys. “Hold it, I’m adjusting the helmet.” He added a caption about our heroics to a superhero meme. I texted Peter a string of death-by-laughter emojis.

“I’m ready,” said Rex. “Turn on the hologram.”

My thumbs locked, and I stared hard at my phone, but Peter managed to look up innocently. “Um, it’s on. It’s been on the whole time.”

“How come I can’t see it?” Rex’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

That I could answer. “It’s just the angle. The image projects onto you, but all you can see is the light. You can’t see what everyone else does.”

“Oh.”

Rex waved his arms through the light. He stepped out of the glow and put his foot back in. Sweat beaded on my forehead as I watched the nerve-wracking hokey-pokey.

“Okay.” Rex shrugged, and I softly released the breath I was holding.

Peter tapped his finger against pursed lips. “Um, Rex, you know how Brady’s pants are pretty skin tight? Well, like right now, we can see all your clothes sticking out where the hologram doesn’t cover them. So, for tomorrow…”

It went better than I could possibly have imagined.

Friday, we had everything ready in the gym. The entire student body attended. Fog wafted from our trusty fog machine while orange and blue lasers flashed in an intricate pattern to the thrilling strains of the Rocky theme. First came the cheerleaders. Yelling, screaming, thunderous applause. Next, the varsity football team. Yelling, screaming, thunderous applause. And finally, in perfect sync with the music, Rex bounded onto the stage—wearing only a jock strap.

He jumped from the shadows right into the “hologram” spotlight and ran through his whole routine to yelling, screaming, and resounding laughter. Assistant Principal Phelps stalked to the microphone, her fingers twitching to write up a suspension. “Mr. Norman, please! Go put some clothes on!”

I just hope we can transfer to another school by Monday. The Wrath of Rex is not a dish I want to taste, cold or otherwise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rebecca van den Ham loves anything that begins with “Once upon a time.” She raises butterflies, dresses up for any and all occasions, and crafts things from words, paper, and fabric. She has been creating stories since she was four, is in the final stages of homeschooling her three children, and lives with her family in Southern California. 

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