Gwen against the Nerd

By G.A. Jahn

Back when nerds were easily recognized by their slide rules and pocket protectors, a pretty girl discovers that not all of them should be laughed at.

• Language: English
• Publisher: G.A. Jahn
• Release date: Dec 3, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463896594

Book preview

GWEN AGAINST

THE NERD

G A Jahn

Smashwords edition ©2018 G.A.Jahn

GWEN AGAINST

THE NERD

It was Friday morning, English class. Gwen Kramer re-crossed her legs, giving her flashy cheerleader skirt a tug, and kept on laughing.

Her boyfriend, Mark, who was turned around in the desk ahead of hers, had just finished telling his locker room joke — only slightly cleansed for this general audience — and was sniggering behind a raised fist.

"God that’s sick! Gwen sighed as soon as her own laughter had diminished. She tapped the side of his slacks with her elevated sneaker. You’re gonna be late." Her thumb was pointing at the clock.

Screw it, he said as he glanced around, then leaned closer to her. In a lowered voice he added: Guess what we’re doin’ this weekend.

We, as in you and me, or you and the guys.

Us. Dick’n Pam too.

What.

"It’s time to rattle the old nerd cage again."

Gwen’s face immediately stiffened, and she nodded her head toward the boy in the desk across the aisle. Mark’s eyes drifted to the sight of a pale, scrawny kid bent over a battered notebook. The boy was wearing black framed glasses, and even though this was English class he had a slide rule in one hand.

Mark looked back at Gwen and gave her a big smile. Tell ya at the game, he said, standing up. Just call your boss’n say y’have to leave early tomorrow. Noon. I’ll pick ya up.

Gwen nodded, although she threw a cautious glance at the boy across the aisle; he had set down the slide rule and was circling something in his notebook.

As the tardy bell began to ring Gwen saw her boyfriend dashing out the door of the room, and she smiled to see several of her female classmates, books clutched to their bosoms, gazing after him. She clicked her tongue as Janet, the girl in whose desk Mark had been sitting, hurried to sit down, but, before doing so, touched her fingertips to the warm wooden seat and giggled.

At lunch that day Gwen complained to her friends while stabbing at the colored things on her tray. "… and Howard was right there! She exhaled. Mark is such a dingbat sometimes."

Pam laughed. If you’re Mark, you don’t have to care what you say. What’s Howie gonna do? Stand up really tall and squeak at his belt buckle?

The girls laughed.

So, what’s the plan this time? Gwen asked the others. You guys hear anything?

Terry raised her shoulders. Something about a science fair.

Nerds have one every year, said Pam.

All three of the girls were attired in their bright yellow and brown cheerleader uniforms and had matching brunette ponytails.

Sighing, Terry added. You guys are gonna get caught sooner or later. You know that.

Oh lighten up, said Pam, shaking a noisy bracelet. It’s only high school.

Gwen had bent down to sip the straw of her tiny milk carton.

"Well I know you could care less, but … Gwendolyn, you’re trying to get into Wellesley for godsakes!"

I know, I know. Gwen was pushing the vegetables around their little compartment. "It’s the last time, I swear. And, by the way? I’m not trying to get in. I’m in! she squealed. The letter came yesterday."

Oh, Gwen! her friends cried.

Then Pam looked narrowly at her. "And you’re just now telling us? You said you’d call me the instant you found out!"

Sorry, said Gwen, But, anyway, the bad thing is, they said I’m not needy enough for financial aid, so my folks’ll have to fork over, like, five grand a year for the next four years.

Jeez! How can it cost so much?

Gwen shook her head. "Maybe it’d be a blessing if we did get caught, hopefully before any of that money’s spent."

Terry tilted her head at Gwen. You’re scared, aren’t’cha.

Other than turning a trifle pink, Gwen did not answer.

Oh look! cried Pam, there’s a whole flock of’em! She pointed down the aisle at a lunch table containing half a dozen, mostly bespectacled, young men, some too thin, some too fat, their arms waving, their earnest, reedy voices competing for one another’s attention.

God. Nerds. Pam shook her head. Sounds like feeding time at the zoo.

Every one with their neck button buttoned, said Terry, you’d think they’d choke.

"If only!" said Gwen and all the girls laughed.

Pam leaned toward her friends and whispered, Ever notice how, y’know, they’re never with any girls?

What do they need girls for? said Terry, "They’re already sopranos!"

No, I mean … they’re always with just themselves … don’t’cha think that’s, like … queer, or something?

Terry cackled, nodding vigorously.

Pam continued, "You can just bet how much science gets done in chem lab after school!"

Either that, said Gwen, "or they really do like girls but haven’t theorized yet on what exactly you do with them."

Impotence to the nth power! said Terry.

Or … picture this: Gwen’s fingers went wide. "A nerd rapist — wouldn’t you just die of fright!"

"Die laughing maybe!"

Pam was turned around again, bracelet jingling. Just look at’em. They filled up the whole table when they first sat down. Now they’re all crammed up at one end. In each other’s laps practically.

"Sick!" said Terry.

Gwen noticed that Howard Ott, the quiet boy whose desk was next to hers in English class, was not seated at that table. Looking around, she spotted him at a vacant table against the windows. He was sitting at one end, by himself, his lunch sack and waxed papers crowded close around him, and he was holding the remainder of his sandwich in both hands as he chewed. Like a chipmunk with an acorn, she thought, smiling, then looked back at the other boys huddled noisily together and at all the unused space at their table. She looked again at Howard. Both he and his dim reflection tilted toward one another as he stared out at the cold gray day.

I’m not kidding, said Pam, delicately slurping the last of her milk and dropping the empty carton on her tray, "those creeps deserve whatever happens to’em."

Amen, her friends agreed.

At home that afternoon, after dashing from the bus stop, Gwen imprisoned herself in her room with paper, pen and textbooks, knowing that these few hours before the game would be the only part of the weekend she could spare time, or incentive, for doing homework. Her mother had to call several times for supper.

Still in her cheerleader outfit, though sock-footed and bibbed with a large napkin protecting her cinnamon brown sweater, Gwen was idly chewing a slice of roast beef. Occasionally she gazed at the upside-down headlines on the newspaper her father and his big shoulders were huddled over.

The mother, tall and weary-looking, stirred a pat of butter into a bowl of green beans and sat down as well. She smiled at her daughter’s pensive face. So, where are you and Mark — dear — you and Mark. Are you two doing anything special after the game?

Gwen shook her head. Somebody said something about a party, we might go to that, otherwise a movie I suppose.

Mrs Kramer had bunched her eyebrows at her husband. "Jim. Would you put that away! Khrushchev’ll keep for at least a few minutes while you talk to your family."

She looked back to share smiles with her daughter, but Gwen, her head now tipped to one side, was gazing at the autumn-leaved trees outside the window, their bright colors barely visible in the dimming overcast.

The father sighed and chucked the newspaper onto a countertop, then turned to the cooling food he had placed on his plate some time