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“If it isn’t P. Nerdy in his gangsta pants.”
“It’s just Nerdy now,” Frankie says. “He dropped the P.”
“God, you guys,” I say, glaring at my friends. Then I
squint and look up at the boy I’m inexplicably ga-ga over.
The only boy who’s seen me topless and knows all my
secrets. Perry bobs his head to the hip-hop music in his ears.
He wears a gigantic white T-shirt over huge, hem-frayed
jeans. Admittedly, it is a tad lame. Especially the wool hat
when it’s, like, ninety degrees. But Perry will try anything
not to look like the science nerd he is—even fronting like a
rapster.
“You’re not fooling anyone,” I told him a million times.
Perry looks smart eating corn flakes in the morning. He’s
going to be an astronaut. The astronomy class at Liberty
High was created for him and the other brains who are so
far beyond ninth grade science it’s not even funny. Perry’s
idea of the perfect vacation is a shuttle flight to the Space
Station. I mean, come on.
At school, though, Perry pretends he’s a boy from the
’hood without a stratospheric GPA. I used to think he was
out of his mind. Now, when I look at him, I feel like I’m
going out of mine.
“We’re busy,” Celeste says to Perry, all snotty. “Try not
to trip on your pants when you leave, Bozo.”
“Try not to confuse your age with your I.Q.,” Perry says
to Celeste, nodding at me again, then pimp-walking away.
“Later!” I say to Perry, wincing at how desperate I
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