Geek High by Piper Banks Page A

our students here at the Notting Hill Independent School for Gifted Children.”

Chapter 11
    â€œS o I’ll just go to Hughes and tell him it was me. You’ll be off the hook,” Finn said later that afternoon.
    Finn, Charlie, and I were hanging out at Grounded, a coffee shop located just around the corner from school. The space used to belong to a pizzeria, and there was still a hand-painted mural of Venice along one wall. But the booths with the red vinyl benches that had been there during the pizzeria days were long gone, replaced with sleek round aluminum tables and café chairs. The counter doubled as a display case for the pastries for sale, and behind it there was an enormous hissing espresso machine.
    Charlie and I were sipping iced lattes, and Finn was drinking black coffee. He leaned back in his chair, long legs crossed in front of him, trying to pretend he wasn’t thrilled with the opportunity to get kicked out of school once and for all.
    â€œNo,” I said, shaking my head. “Absolutely not. You’re still on probation for the loudspeaker stunt last year.”
    On the last day of school before summer break, Finn had uploaded a computer program onto the Geek High mainframe that caused Alice Cooper’s “School’s Out” to play at the end of every period instead of the regular bell.
    Finn smiled happily at the memory.
    â€œGood times,” he said. “But they couldn’t prove it was me.”
    â€œWhich is why you didn’t get expelled,” Charlie said. “But remember what the headmaster said—you’re one prank away from being kicked out.”
    â€œThat’s the whole point,” Finn said. “I want to be kicked out, remember?”
    â€œYou can’t drop out of school,” Charlie said.
    â€œAnd why not?” Finn demanded.
    â€œBecause you have to graduate from high school,” she said severely. Charlie may look like she’s alternative, what with the pink hair and the free-to-be-you-and-me parents and all, but she’s surprisingly rigid and narrow-minded when it comes to issues like school and recycling.
    â€œNo, I don’t,” Finn said.
    â€œYes,” Charlie said, “you do!”
    Finn shrugged. “I can always take one of those equivalency test thingies to get my degree.”
    â€œIt’s not the same. If you drop out of school, you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it and feeling like you missed out on something important,” Charlie said. “It’s out of the question.”
    Finn sighed heavily. He obviously didn’t agree with Charlie’s assessment of the situation, but had learned from prior experience—as had I—that arguing with Charlie is a lost cause.
    â€œForget it. I’m already stuck organizing the Snowflake,” I said with a wave of my hand. “And it won’t be that big a deal. Really.”
    â€œFinn will help you,” Charlie said.
    â€œNo, I won’t,” Finn said.
    â€œYes, you will.” Charlie frowned at him.
    â€œAre you crazy? I’m not going to be involved with the Snowflake in any way, shape, or form. I still hope to lose my virginity someday,” Finn said.
    Charlie rolled her eyes. “Lovely,” she said.
    â€œYou think it’s really that bad?” I asked tremulously.
    Finn nodded, his face uncharacteristically solemn. “Everyone hates the Snowflake. You know that. If people think you’re the one responsible for making them come to school on a Saturday night to be bored half to death by speakers, well…” He trailed off ominously and shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes.”
    â€œUmmm,” I said. I’d thought that organizing the Snowflake would just be a huge pain in the butt, but now I was starting to feel a bit panicky. I really didn’t want to alienate large portions of the Geek High student body.
    â€œFinn, you