Chapter Two
The Secret Geek

If ignorance is bliss, Cameron Rush should have been sitting contentedly at his desk, but he wasn’t.

He squirmed in his seat and glanced at the clock above the classroom door. Even though sophomore history was his favorite class, Cameron couldn’t concentrate this Friday afternoon. He shook his head, trying to focus on the teacher’s words. He peeked at the clock again. Only thirty seconds had passed since his last look.

Mr. Fitzsimmons’ words faded into background noise and the classroom was nothing more than a blur as Cameron became lost in thoughts of the previous night.

“Admit it, Cheese Boy,” Rosa taunted. “You’re a geek.” Cameron didn’t want to be a geek, but his only reply to Rosa was a feeble, “Am not.”

“Well, if you’re not a geek, why do you want to watch the GundTech news conference so bad tomorrow afternoon?”

“Duh, because it’s news.”

“No, Cheese Boy, because it’s computer news. You are a geek.”

“I am not a geek!”

“Are too.”

“Am not. Am not.”

“AM NOT!” He was startled into awareness as he heard the last “am not” assault his ears. The classroom zoomed into sharp focus as Cameron’s mind snapped back to reality. Cameron looked about and saw that every face in the class was pointed in his direction.

“Dang,” he said.

“Dang?” shot back Chet Ames. “Dang? No one says dang any more, Rush. What century are you from?”

The class erupted with laughter.

“That’s enough, Mr. Ames,” said the teacher.

“But golly-gosh, Mr. Fitzsimmons,” said Chet mocking, Cameron, “he’s such a dweeb!”

“I said, that’s enough.” Mr. Fitzsimmons glared at Chet.

“Dang,” said someone else towards the back of the class, causing another round of laughter.

“Quiet, class!” When the laughing subsided, Mr. Fitzsimmons turned his gaze upon Cameron. “You aren’t what, Mr. Rush?”

Cameron buried his flushed face in his hands. “Sorry, Mr. Fitzsimmons.”

Mr. Fitzsimmons didn’t press the issue. “Well then, where were we? Ah yes, daily life for the commoner in Medieval Europe was tough…”

The minutes dragged on like hours.

When the bell sounded at 3:00, Cameron bolted from his desk.

“What’s the hurry, Rush?” Mr. Fitzsimmons called out.

Cameron stopped dead in his tracks, his back to the teacher, his eyes cast down to the floor.

“Please step aside and let your classmates pass.”

Without turning, Cameron took one step to his left, his eyes still focused on the floor. He watched impatiently as the pairs of sneakered feet tramped by. His face flushed once again as he endured the snickers and whispered jibes of his passing classmates. Chet Ames made sure to step on Cameron’s toes as he passed and whispered, “Spring practice is coming up, Rush, and you’re going to be my personal tackling dummy.” Finally the last of the students left the room.

“Okay, Mr. Rush, you can go now.” Cameron started quickly towards the door but checked himself when Mr. Fitzsimmons cautioned, “Slowly, Mr. Rush! Slowly.”

After ten controlled paces — three out the classroom door and seven down the hall to his right — Cameron knew he was out of sight. He dashed down the hallway, hung a left and screeched to a halt in front of his locker, where he fumbled frantically with the combination.

When he finally flung the locker door open, an avalanche of books, notepads, pens, pencils, and plastic food containers cascaded to the floor. He shoveled the mess into the bottom of his locker, slammed the metal door shut, spun the dial on his lock, and raced back toward the front of the school.

Three strides before he reached Mr. Fitzsimmons’ classroom door, Cameron braked to a leisurely walk. Five paces past the door he began sprinting down the hallway. He burst through the front doors of the school, hurtled down the steps, and dashed up the street.

I’m going to be late. I know it!The news conference started at 3:30. Of course, Sam would record it for him, but Cameron wanted to watch it live. He looked up at the sun, which was already to the west of the town water tower. It must be at least 3:15 by now. He wished he had gotten around to fixing that flat tire on his bike.

Cameron rushed down the street past kids who were enjoying a leisurely walk home on this beautiful late-spring day. As he ran, he tried to push the bad thoughts from his mind — thoughts of the myriad of embarrassing moments through which he had suffered in his short life.

Football practice is the absolute worst, he thought. There’s no end to the humiliation during practice. How many times had he heard someone like Chet Ames say, “Oh, Dang, Cam! Did I knock you on your ass… I beg your pardon, your keester?” or something to that effect? Even now he could hear the coach chiding him, “Ya gotta talk tough and act tough to be tough, Rush! If you wanna doh-si-doh around, take dance class!” He could hear the entire team laughing at him just like the class had laughed today.

His mind drifted back to the previous night. He was fretting about Spring practice to Rosa. “I’m no more than a tackling dummy for football practice. Someone for Chet to knock around. And basketball! I don’t play more than three or four minutes a game. Why do I do this to myself?”

Rosa was less than sympathetic. “You’re trying to hide the fact that you’re a geek, estúpido.”

“No, it’s because I’m competitive.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you’re also timid. Being competitive and timid is not a good combination.”

“I’m not timid. Shy maybe…”

“You’re just playing word games, Cameron. Just ask yourself, when are you the happiest? Huh? When? When you’re alone in your room on the multiCom, that’s when!

“I’m not alone when I’m on the multiCom. I’m with Sam and you.”

“¿Hola, cualquiera allí?” She rapped her knuckles against her skull. “Geek Alert!”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Hello, anyone there?’ Sam’s your multiCom’s AI. He isn’t alive. He’s just an artificial intelligence personality. And me? Puh-leeze! We’ve never even met in person, so I barely count. I’m stuck here in Boondocks, New Mexico, and you live in Podunk, Wisconsin!”

Cameron’s thoughts came to a halt when Billy Parker pulled up beside him on a bike. Billy rode silently a few moments, staring at Cameron through the very thick lenses of his glasses.

“Still haven’t fixed yer tire, huh Cam?”

“No,” said Cameron. He hated being called “Cam.”

“What’s da hurry?” asked Billy a few hundred yards further down the street.

“Uh… I… just… have… stuff I… need to… get done…” Cameron was gasping for breath.

Seventy-five yards later Billy said, “Then I reckon ya won’t be playin’ ball s’afternoon, huh?”

“Reckon not.”

It was another fifty yards before Billy said, “Well then, see ya!” He gave a wave then veered off down a side street.

“See ya.” Cameron was starting to get a side ache, but at least the pain kept his mind off other thoughts. A minute later, Cameron’s heart leapt to his throat when he was startled by the sudden squeak of a bike horn from behind. He glanced to his left and saw his ten-year-old sister, Jenny, riding next to him on her pink bike with a banana seat and white streamers fluttering from the handgrips.

“Dad told you,” she said.

“Did not,” Cameron shot back.

“Did too.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Did too, three, four and five!”

“He… only asked… if I’d fixed it.” Cameron was well aware that he was treading on thin ice when he said this because everyone in the family knew that when Dad asked if you had done something, he was really saying, “Get it done.”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Whatever! Anyway, remind Dad I’m eating dinner at Ruth’s tonight.” With that, Jenny crossed the street and headed back in the other direction. “You’re not going to make it in time,” she goaded as she sped away.
Half a block farther on, a car drove by, slowed to an idle, then kept pace with Cameron. “Mr. Rush,” a voice came from within the vehicle.

Without stopping, Cameron crunched down to see inside the car. It was Mr. Fitzsimmons. “You are in a hurry for something. Need a lift?”

“No… thank you… Mr. Fitzsimmons. I… live down… Lark Lane… just a little ways.”

“Whatever it is, I hope you make it on time,” said Mr. Fitzsimmons before accelerating off down the road.

When he finally rounded the corner of Lark Lane, Cameron’s heart was pounding. He had every intention of bounding up the porch steps two at a time, but he was exhausted. He slowed to a walk and dragged himself up the flight of stairs to the front door. The Rush family home was just that — the family home. It was built in the 1890s by his great-great-grandfather. It had a large porch that wrapped around the side of the house, gingerbread trim, and a turret. Cameron loved the circular turret, which formed part of his bedroom on the second floor.

“Dad! I’m home,” he shouted as he swung the screen door open. He could hear his father moving in the kitchen.

“How was school, son?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you all about it at dinner. I’m in a hurry right now… Oh, yeah,” he said as he started up the stairs to his bedroom, “Jen’s eating at Ruth’s tonight.” When Cameron was halfway up the steps he called out, “Power!” After a second’s pause he continued, “Sam, connect please!”

“I’m already connected, Cameron,” replied a not-quite-male, not-quite-female voice from Cameron’s bedroom. “It started just one minute, thirty-eight seconds ago.”

“Thanks,” Cameron replied as he entered his room. He removed his backpack and slung it onto the curved window seat, which skirted the 3/4 circle of the turret in his room. He then turned his attention to the large, flat screen on the wall above his desk. The image of a man with perfectly groomed gray hair and a pearly white smile was on the video display. It was Howard Nash, the senior news anchor for WBN.

Good, it hasn’t really started yet. The network anchor was talking to Meagan Fletcher, the WBN technology correspondent. She seemed to be in a nearly empty room containing only a table and two chairs. I thought this was going to be a big-deal news conference. Cameron was puzzled and disappointed. The really big news always came from GundTech headquarters in Oslo, Norway, but this was only a reporter in a room set up for a one-on-one interview. The caption read: Live from the WBN Studios, Phoenix. Howard Nash reappeared on screen and announced in his deep, authoritative, anchor voice, “We’ll be right back after these words from our sponsors.”

“Sam?”

“Yes, Cameron?”

“Is Rosa online?

“Need I remind you that Ms. Costas resides in New Mexico, Cameron? New Mexico is in the Mountain Time Zone. It is only 2:33 there.”

“Oh, right. She’s still in school.”

“Wait a second, Cameron. You have an incoming transmission from…” If a computer could sound surprised, Sam sounded surprised, “…from Rosa Costas. I am connecting.”

“Inset the call please, Sam.”

The inset picture didn’t show Rosa, only one word and some letter tiles from one of their favorite games.

It was one of Rosa’s anagram passwords.

“Dang it, Rosa, we don’t have time for this.”

“Would you like my assistance?” asked Sam.

“Nah! I mean, no thanks, Sam. I’ll get it.” Cameron began shuffling the tiles around on the screen. His only clue was that it would be a name of a scientist. It was only a matter of seconds before he got the answer.

Rosa appeared in the lower right corner of the multiCom screen. “About time, you slacker. I thought you were going to miss the news conference.”

“It’s a long story, but it seems I made it in time. Hey, what are you doing home? You’re an hour earlier than us and I thought you told me that it was a forty-minute bus ride from school to the ranch.”

“Oh, can’t you tell? Cough, cough! I’m deathly ill. I couldn’t go to school today.”

Cameron grinned. “You should be ashamed of yourself!”

“Well, just call me ‘Geek Girl!’”

“So, Geek Girl, what’s going on? Has the news conference been cancelled?”

“No, the reporter said it would take place live from the room she was in.”

“I didn’t see a screen of any sort.”

“Pretty observant of you, Cheese Boy! Yeah, I noticed that too... Wait, it’s back on. Let’s stay connected.”

“Great. We’ll watch together.”

Cameron suspected that not another kid in his school, city, or even the entire state of Wisconsin had hurried home to see what was about to happen. Cameron shook his head at the thought and finally embraced a basic reality of his life.

“Yep,” he admitted to himself, “I am a geek!”

– End Chapter Two –