The Nerdy Dozen Read Free

Sam’s last name was secretly Scott, and he’d be at the sleepover, too.
    â€œLet’s go have some fun!” cheered Neil’s mother as the Andertols’ station wagon turned onto Tommy’s driveway.
    Dejected, Neil grabbed his bag and shuffled out of the car behind his mother. They walked over fake stones in a sea of aromatic fresh mulch. He turned to watch the shiny rims of the same black SUV he’d seen earlier slowly roll by, this time in the opposite direction. They must be lost , Neil thought. His housing development was seriously hard to navigate. Neil’s mom turned his face toward her and rubbed a smudge of Doritos from the corner of his mouth and then rang the doorbell.
    â€œ Mooom ,” Neil whined as the front door opened.
    â€œJenny, good to see you!” Tommy’s mom exclaimed, stepping back through the doorway. “Maggie’s putting on her shoes, and then we’ll be ready to go. Neil, the guys are downstairs—my oldest, Ted, will be in charge for this wacky boys’ weekend! You like pizza?”
    â€œWay more than your son,” Neil mumbled.
    â€œWhat was that, honey?” Mrs. Scott asked.
    â€œWay more than some. I love pizza,” Neal said sarcastically after getting an elbow from his mother.
    â€œWell, it should be here pretty soon.” She shut the door and headed toward the kitchen, chatting with Mrs. Andertol as she went.
    Even though Neil had never been in Tommy’s house, it felt familiar. The houses in their neighborhood were all built simultaneously, so everything—from the clean white kitchen floors to the cherry cabinets and soft tan carpet—was identical. Some houses even had the same layout.
    Neil paused at the basement door, his hand on the brass knob, then took a deep breath and pushed it open. The faint sound of laughter and explosions crept up the staircase. He slowly plodded downstairs, the thick carpet absorbing the sound of his footsteps.
    In the basement, a group of boys was huddled on couches, facing a massive flat-screen TV. The light from the TV flickered over Tommy, who was standing in front, clutching the controller for dear life and frowning in concentration. The other boys shoveled cheesy orange popcorn into their mouths as they watched him play.
    Neil quietly inched along the back wall, noting the faces illuminated by flashes of blue and red. Two of them happened to be the same face: the Stephens twins, neighborhood kids who did whatever Tommy told them. Next to them sat Jake Smith and Ron Goode, athletes with buzz cuts who had stolen upward of eighty-five dollars in lunch money from Neil over the past few years.
    None of them noticed Neil come in. Their collective focus was on Tommy, all watching as he flew a jet fighter over vast mountains and lush forests, shooting floating pinecones for extra points.
    Neil recognized the landscape instantly. Tommy was playing Chameleon, the very game Neil’s mom had unplugged earlier that day. A wave of shock flooded through Neil. How had Tommy passed Reboot’s entry exams to the site? Maybe he’d bullied someone else into passing them for him. After all, his skills looked pretty unimpressive.
    â€œNice shot,” said one of the twins.
    â€œYeah, nice shot,” followed the next.
    It was, in fact, an awful shot. The ever-present threat of Tommy’s thick fists tended to make his friends complimentary.
    Neil’s fingers grasped at an invisible controller, instinctively correcting Tommy’s mistakes. He inched toward the television. Suddenly the overhead track lighting burst on, illuminating the basement in a wash of hundred-watt bulbs.
    Squinting like video-game vampires, Tommy and company looked up at the lights, then directly at Neil.
    â€œI didn’t know you allowed cavemen in your house, Tommy,” said Ron. The Stephens twins high-fived.
    Neil looked down at the floor, biting his tongue on a comeback and hoping for some sort