An Ode to Nerdom,

the short story

by Spencer McCall

I The golden leaves liked to fall upon the earth slowly, a hazel snow hugging the asphalt like a blanket tucked in by a close friend. Inaudible breezes whispered gently, and inarticulate gusts swept the leaves from the cracked streets. Clouds skipped across the sky like a rock across water. Particles of light, suspended in the air, sparkled of ideals and clung to the fine hairs of fair maidens. And as the celestial bodies moved, the brilliant blue sky would fade to purple streaks amongst a black canvas. Sometimes the world would pause and gaze up to the stars, extending their fingers to grab the light; but much more often would the stars watch the world, lapping at the space in between with fiery appendages, trying to touch the life. Because, despite the multitudes of powers burning within the stars, life was but a glimpse into a universe even they did not truly understand.

II It was the beginning of the end of the world, and I had forgotten to set my alarm clock. My neighbors little red lines flashed and beeped, while I slept with one arm being drooled upon and the other bent at an awkward angle against my bedpost. I woke up three hours, seven minutes, and two seconds later, with the two arms having switched positions. Now both arms were bent out of shape and covered in my own saliva. But then again, facing my own mortality, and the deaths of everyone I knew, a little spittle on my hand was no big deal. I skipped breakfast, brushed my teeth (in twenty-seven years, and thirteen days, I had never once forgotten to brush my teeth; armageddon wasnt going to stop that), left my apartment and took the stairs three at a time. I landed on the first floor landing with a slight hop to one side, crashing into the familiar white plaster. Corea, my high school girlfriend, was waiting for me in the lobby. Nice landing, greeted me. Once, in ninth grade, our French teacher mistook her name for the neurological disorder, Chorea. She prefers, now, to be addressed as Yelena, taking her new name from the last female cosmonaut to fly in space. I never understood why she loathed her name so; at least it isnt Ebola, or Bubonic Plague. Not like you could do better. Never said I could. This would often go on for hours; today, however, an omnipresent sense of urgency would drastically shorten all conversations. As we walked outside, it was evident that the Hollywood clich apocalypse hadnt come to fruition. If people we panicking, it was without mass hysteria. Maybe they didnt want to inconvenience each other with the truth. Maybe they thought their souls would save them. Whichever the case, the streets were quiet, metaphorically of course. Save for the brief moments of relief, New York was a cacophony of engines and pedestrian chatter, pierced constantly with the blare of car horns. Like fish, Corea and I found a stream of people moving eastward and slipped in line. I asked Corea, on our way, if shed ever consider getting back together. No. Just as my confidence was slowly burying itself in my chest, tucked somewhere deep in my wallet was a sheet of lined paper; on it was written all of my unfulfilled goals. As Corea stopped for a smoke, I groped for the single sheet amidst my wad of money (I wasnt rich, in fact I was quite poor. I just prefered to keep all my cash in ones, to appear rich). I finally extracted my hopes and dreams from their monetary prison. Corea didnt know about it. I didnt want to tell her that I was waiting for the end of the world to follow my dreams. Shed just scold me for procrastination. I tucked it away hurriedly as she returned. When I was in first grade I wanted to watch the entire Lord of the Rings series without pause, sans to use the restroom or refill my coke. I figured today was as good a day as any. Corea didnt object to my plan, but stealing a glance back to my list, I figured that I wouldnt have time for anything else. I told her wed watch them tomorrow. The list had shrunk from eleven to ten, with the first eternally unfulfilled. Numbers four and seven, visit Paris and have sex with Emma Stone, I deemed unreasonable: the latter was a drunken wet dream, and I doubted I could fly to Paris before we all died. I crossed them out. Hey Corea,

Yelena, Fine. Yelena. Do you want to head down to the community pool? I thought you couldnt swim. That was, unbeknownst to her, the point. I never learned to swim, and didnt want to die unable to swim across the River of Styx. She shook her head; Id just have to look up how to swim on the internet, and pray that experience in water wasnt necessary. Corea, similarly, had no interest in taking up cross country, fencing, or archery. We had decided to try food from every continent, until Corea remembered that Asian food, French food, and Latin food gave her cramps. Slowly my choice of a companion was hindering my ability to cram the life I shouldve lived for the last twenty years, in a single day. In retrospect, there were a plethora of factors prohibiting my procrastinated living. Time being the key one. I mean, time was the problem in the first place, right? If we all had more time, we wouldnt be in this predicament. If I had more time between homework and bed every night during high school, maybe I wouldve tried out for cross country. If I was five years old just a little longer, my dad wouldve taught me to swim. If my vacations days were more numerous, I would be dining on French breads every other year. Or, knowing me, I wouldve spent the time sleeping, and accomplishing all of these things (including the fantasy with Emma Stone) behind my eyelids. But maybe, given enough time, Id change. I can always hope that eventually I wouldve been a more productive person. At some point in my life, I wouldve lived. Or so I could pretend. I snuck a peek at my dwindling list. One had been cried upon and was now illegible. I crossed it out. Just Do It (obviously taking inspiration from Nike) was too vague. So I circled the last on the list, frowning a bit. Answer the age-old question: who am I? Who knows, maybe I, with my imposing deadline, could accomplish what the greatest minds of their time could not. And maybe after, Corea and I could start Lord of the Rings.

III There was an english teacher who once said that the only real story in literature, and in life, was the constant question: who am I? I was never much of a writer, but I figured a little introspection wouldnt be too hard. Corea laughed at this assumption. I decided to start with my childhood. I should clarify: I decided to start with the period in my life in which most people have a childhood. My parents told me to play with my building blocks like my sister; I told them maybe later. Instead I watched Batman cartoons every day at four-thirty, pretending I was Robin. Even in my own fantasies, I couldnt handle the pressure of the cowl. But, being perfectly content as the boy-wonder, I would jump around the house in a red shirt and my sisters ballet tights. It wasnt the outfit of a crime-fighting hero, but itd do. When I turned eight, my mom bought me a Robin halloween costume, despite my fathers protest. Hes going to live his whole life pretending if you let him start now, hed say, as if pretending was such a bad thing. When he died, we pretended Jesus loved him. In third grade, two years into my superhero obsession, my friend Han (he was from China) took a Sharpie to a flashlight, creating a makeshift batsignal. On the playground, hed be Commissioner Gordon, our batsignal shining on the play-structures. My sister mocked us, while she and her sophisticated friends wasted their recesses contemplating the dating habits of fifth grader Zac Jones. Hed have made a good Superman, and we told him as such. Unfortunately his mother disallowed him a television, and Zac never had the luxury of watching Clark Kent. Sometimes I pitied him; what did you believe in if not superheroes? He said he believed in Santa, and that was close enough. I pointed out that Santa never fought crime, and he shrugged. Han and I never found a Batman. I suggest he assume the role; Han declined, instead playing the villains in addition to Gordon. In retrospect, I probably should have accepted the cape and cowl, figuratively of course. Han and his family returned to China upon graduation of fifth grade; his mother said that the education was better over there. I didnt disagree. I spent junior high involved with as little as possible. I met Corea in the library sometime near the end of eighth grade; she was trying to find a novelization of the latest Star Wars movie. I told her it wasnt worth it; the originals were better. Ive never seen the originals. So I lent them to her, planning to ask her out. I never did. She thanked me for the movie, and pecked my cheek. She was happy back then, and more likely to do something like that. Maybe we can go see the next one together, when it comes out, I offered. You said the old ones were better. Doesnt mean the new ones arent good also. She smiled. Its a date. Zac and I occasionally wrote to Han. By then hed been given the nickname Han Solo, and I had dubbed myself Chewbacca. Zac wouldve made a good Luke, but his mother was unrelenting in her war on television. Han replied to our letters using quotes from his favorite superheroes. You can take the boy from the Western idealism, but you cant the the Western idealism from the boy, Id always say. Zac would chuckle. When we were kids, Han and I believed in superheroes.

We didnt need proof. Somewhere, somehow, there was the epitome of good, just waiting for the desperate call from an innocent in need to spring into action. Flying, running, and jumping to the rescue, even when we didnt deserve it. They were always there, because they always cared. Unfortunately, as we grew older, someone would die on the news, or a building would collapse with people still inside. And wed realize, our superman was never coming. Well, we were supposed to realize it. I always held onto that small part of me still praying not for God to save us, but for a man in bright colored tights who spoke in cheesy catch-phrases. Somewhere, deep in my heart, superheroes still bide their time in fortresses of solitude. I maintain faith, even it wont lead me to pulp fiction heaven.

IV I entered freshman year during the latter half of 1999. It was the transition between junior high and senior high wherein I resolved to do something beyond what was expected. Maybe Id join the academic league team; I always thought I was smart. The room the team practiced in, room 42, seemed to close in around me, as more and more teenagers clad in Star Trek merchandise filed in. One, Rachel, stood right next to me, having no more room to navigate to the buzzers. The buzzers were similar to the ones that had been used on Jeopardy, a decade or so earlier. Duct tape held them together in several places. The Varsity captain, an awkwardly tall and lanky senior, introduced himself as a level sixty-seven sorcerer on the original Diablo computer game. Our junior varsity captain, a significantly shorter young woman, simply waved and told us her name was Courtney. She was reading the new Star Wars novelization. If Corea had been there, shed have smiled. The Varsity captain, who had an odd preference to be addressed as Byron the Conqueror, his Diablo screen name, handed us all a NASA lanyard, apparently an academic league tradition. He assured us that it was significant of something, but he wasnt quite sure what. I always thought that it was supposed to be worn proudly, as if defiantly shouting that one is indeed a nerd. Most people just shoved theirs in their backpacks. I used mine as a belt. Halfway through my freshman year, Han excitedly wrote that he would be visiting America. I told him to come watch one of my academic league matches, and afterwards we could get ice cream and watch reruns of Batman on my moms old television. Han replied: That would be an honor. I bought him Detective Comics #38, the first appearance of Robin in the Batman series. His plane was delayed, and he missed the first half of the match. Rachel and I were nervously shaking our legs on the ends of the table, while Courtney sat in the middle, her head buried in her hands during a time-out. I didnt want to even glance at the score. As Han finally peeked his head through the doorway, I resolved not to disappoint my oldest friend. Craning my neck to see the scoreboard, I calculated that we need thirty-six points to tie it, thirty-seven to win. The game clock mocked me; if only I had more time. But that was always the problem wasnt it? The time-out was almost over. I stood up and walked to our captain leaning over to whisper in her ear. I quoted The Counte of Monte Cristo, telling her to beckon to the world: Do your worst, for Ill do mine! Courtney smiled, and removed her palms from her face. I returned to my seat as the game clock resumed. A smile crept on Hans face as I answered a volley of questions, narrowing the gap. Courtney then answered the subsequent salvo. The two of us inspired the rest of the team. Soon Ben, Charlie, and Sarah were buzzing in as well; thirty-four of the thirty-six needed points had been acquired, but the clock was ticking dangerously close to the end of the match. The moderator cleared his throat, Last question, for three points: who is known as the Father of the Atom Bomb? Rachels hand tensed and her little green light lit up. Joseph Oppenheimer. An eerie silence.

Im sorry, that is incorrect. It is Robert Oppenheimer. My lips pursed. No. It was indeed Joseph Robert Oppenheimer. Robert was his middle name; Rachel had it correct. And it cost us the game. Ben and Charlie shrugged in a fatalistic way. Sarah sighed, and slouched in her chair. Courtney visibly wanted to shoot the moderator. Rachels eyes were dams, fighting back water. Corea, in the audience, looked apologetically towards me. I mouthed that it wasnt her fault. Even the opposing team was sympathetic. Byron the Conqueror patted Rachel on the shoulder. I wanted to make it up to her; it had been the first time she answered a question all season. Maybe Id explain how the world was just out to make her feel miserable. Byron bought us all smoothies anyways, just as if we had won. Rachel took her straw and stirred the strawberry-banana amalgamation around unenthusiastically. Han, Zac and Corea were waiting for me at the ice cream parlor. Zac had already introduced Corea to Han, although under the name Yelena. So, Miss Yelena, how do you like America? I like it. Do you? I wish I were here rather than in China. But if my mother asks, America is simply the breeding ground for ignorant pigs. We all laughed. I presented Han with my gift. His eyes widened, but could not accept. My mother began burning all of my comic books. I could not allow one of this significance to meet the flame. He then turned to Zac, and handed him the comic. Its a shame you stopped believing in Santa. Again we laughed, but this was more uneasy. Being teenagers, we were aware of some philosophic meaning, but unable to comprehend what. In retrospect, maybe we were just hyped up on rocky-mountain fudge. Zacs eyes mimicked Rachels, but his watered from gratitude, rather than disappointment. Thanks Solo. Enjoy Luke. From that point onward, Han and I had found our Batman. Corea, being a girl, could tell that there were emotions Zac was holding back. She kissed Han on the cheek, Hes never going to forget this, you know? Han blushed.

V Rachel moved. She didnt say goodbye or anything. She just left her NASA lanyard on doorknob to room 42. Ben and Charlie shrugged in their fatalistic way. Sarah was sick that day. Courtney began looking for a replacement. I was the only one even slightly perturbed. Byron resigned himself to playing Diablo II, which had just been released, on the school computers during practice; I wasnt sure if this was due to Rachels departure, or the varsity teams recent loss. Maybe he was just escaping life in general. Courtney checked out stacks of books from the library and gave us a three week deadline to become familiar with them all. Another loss was not an option. I spent the majority of my free time reading. Byron told me that Courtney had a tendency to go overboard, and would usually forgive if a member neglected to follow her more outrageous orders. I told him that I wasnt studying for her, I was studying to become a better teammate. We finished the season without defeat, our final record being 7-1. Zac, newly introduced to comics, found a way to hide them from his anti-pop-culture mother. Apparently, television wasnt the only thing she despised. Regardless, Zac refused to let his newfound hope in humanity fall apart. I went over to his house once, and found comics under his bed, stuff in books, and behind his computer. Freshman ended without much of a change in the status quo. I was eternally Robin. Corea at that time was still content with life, although she had grown slightly resentful of her name. Byron was as obsessed with Diablo II as he was with the original, and our 7-1 record wasnt acceptable, according to Courtney. To hopefully quench Zacs pulp fiction thirst, I took him and Corea to see the X-Men movie over summer. Corea enjoyed it; Zac was still more of a DC fan. I fell asleep halfway through, seeing as I had stayed up until twelve the night before finishing my english summer project. I enjoyed the first half though. Hans letters grew less frequent. I often wondered if he still had the old batsignal. Eventually he stopped writing altogether. This disturbed me more than Rachel; he had been my best friend back when we still called it bestest friend. Zac, approaching his senior year hadnt the time to think about it. Corea, however, expressed her sympathies. I buried myself in classic rock, Star Wars, and comics. I would dream unsettling scenes involving Rachel; sometimes she was blaming me, sometimes herself. For what, I wasnt sure. Occasionally, Rachel was replaced with Han, Zac, or Corea. But a majority of my midsummer nights dreams were of Rachel. I tried contacting Byron. Courtney had said hed in state for college. Eventually extracting his number from his younger brother, I called Byron at his new dorm. The Conqueror was a only thirty minute drive away. Zac reluctantly drove me; I bribed him with some old comics. Corea tagged along, just to get out of the city sometime during the summer. Our old varsity captain was microwaving a Hot Pocket when we entered the dorm. Do I wait in hunger for it to cool, or suffer the burns as I satiate my growling stomach? he asked, more to himself than any of us. Byron contemplated this for a few moments, while Zac, Corea and I stood partially across the threshold. I shall consume the Hot Pocket then, reaching some conclusion with silent argumentation. He began eating his spoils of an unseen war.

Byron? Yes little one? I had a question for you. Ask away, although I should point out that this conversation could have taken place on the phone, rather than you driving half an hour both ways. I know. But it means more hearing it in person. What do you think your biggest accomplishment in life is? Biggest? That supposes Ive had any. Surely- Have you had any young one? Not that I, I mean, not significant...or...no. Then is it fair to assume I have achieved any of significance? Yes. Because you are a better man than I. We paused as he finished his Hot Pocket. Does progress mean anything if our progeny does not uphold it? No. Therefore, none of our achievements can truly be so unless our posterity nurture them and cultivate them into their own achievements, where the process continues. Youre being difficult Byron. Yes, quite. Let me rephrase then: what action do you find has the potential to change the world the most? Eating this Hot Pocket. I furrowed my brow. You dont understand; Ive set a precedent. The ongoing debate on whether or not to endure the fiery pain of an overly-microwaved Hot Pocket will be moot: the devilishly warm snack will prevail. Now, if youll excuse me, I have a game to return to. We left Byrons, Zac and Corea determined never to return. The long drive hadnt been justified by the enigmatic philosophy the Conqueror had thrust upon us. Corea fell asleep on my shoulder during the car ride back.

VI My sophomore year began slowly. Without Hans letters, or Zacs company, I was dependant on Corea to keep me sane. For third and fifth period, I was safe. First, second, and fourth, however, she was in different classes than me. A desire to be with her, just laughing a talking, burned under my skin. Courtney had been promoted to varsity captain, and Charlie was offered the position of JV captain. He declined, however. Charlie wanted to try out for the wrestling team, and if he made the team, his practices would interfere with academic league. So the position was given to me. Our first match, as a result, was a disaster. Unlike Courtney, I hadnt the boldness to assign vast quantities of study material, leaving the new members on the team unprepared. In copulation with this, my anxiety was contagious. Everyones legs were shaking, except Bens. He continued to shrug fatalistically as their lead grew and grew. Our first loss of the season came quickly. Courtney cornered me in the hallway. What was that last night? There were four other people up there. Why are you blaming me? Because everyone is blaming themselves; I thought Id do you the favor, so you can focus on winning next weeks match. I didnt ask to be captain. You know me Courtney, I dont do well under pressure. Thats a load of horse manure. You did splendidly under pressure last year. You do poorly well when people expect something from you. You try so hard not to let them down, you dont take the chances you would otherwise. So just tell me what to do, if you know me so well. Do your worst, for Ill do mine. I went home and buried myself in chocolate ice cream and comics. I showed up for practice the next day, enduring the disappointment from my fellow JV members, and the catcalls from the varsity team. Courtney just looked at me with a mixture of pity, and intrigue. Alright guys, how many of your read Arthur C. Clarke, like I asked you to? Hopefully, Courtney was proud. Thats good. Finish the series by Monday. I also want everyone to come in with some background knowledge on physics. I know the freshman havent taken the course yet, so check some books out from the library. Ben and Sarah, the two returning teammates asides me, smiled. Charlie had made the wrestling team, forgoing his nerdy ways, and Rachels replacement last year, Harvey, couldnt handle the stress, or so said his psychiatrist. In their absence, we had recruited two freshman, whose names at the time I had neglected to learn. Harvey would still come visit every once and awhile. He still wore his NASA lanyard. Hey guys, hed begin, nasally and quiet, whatre you studying this week? Harvey would usually study along with us, despite not being on the team. I offered him his old spot back. Its alright; Im happier without the stress, Harvey would then lie. Do you at least want to hang out with us at practice? Just for fun? Room 42 is too crowded as it is. You guys have fun. And hed leave. Fifth period was second year French. The school only required one year of a foreign language, so, naturally, Corea, a Belgian exchange student and I were the only ones in the class. But this was back before the budget cuts, so the school felt it acceptable to pay for three students to learn an unpopular subject.

Our french teacher apologized profusely to Corea for the mishap with her name the previous year. Corea grimaced slightly. The Belgian student, Almeus, spoke french better than english, and used the class to learn enough english to hold simple conversation with the rest of the sophomore class. It was in fifth period French class, where I asked Corea out. I tried to do so in french, but mis-conjugated, turning my romantic gesture into an awkward wave. It couldve gone worse, I suppose. It was similar to a marriage proposal, but replacing the ring was two ComicCon tickets; Corea had never been, and I thought shed enjoy it. If she said yes, we would go together. If not, she was free to take whomever she wished. It took a few moments to register when she nodded with a smile too wide to speak with. As it processed, I began to smile too. Thankfully, like my anxiety, my happiness and confidence was contagious. We swept our next three academic league matches, winning by thirty or more points. Courtney smiled proudly, and I continued delegating out study material. Zac was looking forward to graduation, and, finally having some time to relax, joined my little group of friends once more. I introduced him to Harvey. Numb in my own euphoria, the next few weeks passed in a blur. We ended the season without a loss, and Courtney expressed an interest in moving me up to varsity co-captain, alongside her, for my Junior year. Happiness, I found, was dancing in the light precipitation with friends, watching sci-fi movies without abandon, and singing as if we could actually sing well. But like a narcotic, the numbness would eventually subside to the harsh pain of feeling, and the once cold wash of the rain would become a prickling upon the skin. Hey, Harvey, how many fingers am I holding up? John Brown had, once again, stolen Harveys glasses. I contemplated doing something; somewhere, I imagined, Han was shining the batsignal, but I wasnt answering. It was okay though, because I wasnt Batman, I was Robin. Corea shifted uneasily. Unfortunately, I knew someone who was Batman. Zac rose from his seat, and strolled over the the scene. Hey man! Its me, from Mexico City remember? If it werent for you, Id probably still be in a Mexican prison, he called out to John, who looked plainly confused. Harvey snatched his glasses back and ran behind Zac. Oh, no? You look just like this one guy. As far as I knew, Zac had never left the state, let alone the country. Corea gripped my hand. Well either way, I just came over to give you some friendly advice: if you want to look like a peanut-brained brute, go ahead. Continue. Compensating for a lack of human decency with an equally as inbred entourage is in vogue these days, or so I hear. Johns hand tightened into a fist. But, Zac continued, most people dont like it when you mess with their friends. This, John spat out, and Harvey flinched, doesnt have any friends. You sure about that? Corea gripped my arm, as if to say dont do anything stupid. I glared at her, nonverbally arguing, but Zacs foolishly being heroic, why cant I help him? She just gripped tighter; I couldnt stand seeing you hurt. What about Zac and Harvey? Someone has to help them; someone has to be the hero. But then I remembered, I wasnt the hero. I was the guy in his sisters tights. The behemoth linebacker that was John Brown, akin to Bane, brutalized Zac. My good friend, and my sisters elementary school crush, hobbled onto the stage for his high school diploma on crutches. I wrote to Han, trying to explain the situation, but his response never came.

VII Corea wanted to see the Marvel booth first at ComicCon, but I was inching towards the DC equivalent. We compromised and visited the Star Wars booth first, then headed to the Marvel and DC booths second and third, respectively. After this, I indulged her, mostly, seeing as it was her first ComicCon. We passed the food area, and we each got hamburgers. A man dressed as Captain America was sitting, casually eating a sandwich as Thor sat next to him. I saw a man dressed as Batman walk by, and respectfully polished my batsignal belt buckle with my sleeve. Corea smiled, and fixed my red tie. It was a tradition started by Han, to dress formally to ComicCon, as to honor the convergence of all the American Superheroes, the american gods. My choice of attire included black slacks, a black dress shirt, and a black vest. Corea wore a scarlet dress, matching my tie. I began counting all of the little kids in Spiderman costumes, walking hand in hand with their nerdy fathers, who themselves often wore the iconic red and blue spandex. One five or so year-old, wearing a Flash costume, was pacing in circles by the Mile-High Comics booth. Have you seen my daddy? he asked a passing Red Shirt. The young boy asked again as Corea and I walked by. I half paused, then thought, what could I possibly do to help? Knowing me, Id just make matters worse. I looked at Corea, who seemed to be having the same thoughts as I. Have you seen my daddy? I shook my head, and shrugged sympathetically. A few step later, I looked over, but the boy was already invisible behind a wall of people. A ComicCon security official walked by, and I immediately motioned to point the official toward the lost boy. But the child was already gone, and a pang of regret twisted my stomach. The official just looked at me, as though I were lost myself. We stopped for dinner, this time getting sandwiches similar to the one we had seen Captain America eating. I had taken a single bite, as Corea finished hers. Mayo dripped out the back, and onto the aluminum foil in which it was previously wrapped. You okay? We did the right thing, about the kid back there, right? What kid? Another blob of mayo had leaked from my sandwich before I realized that she hadnt noticed. Blinded by the happiness that is the Convention, Corea had pushed all conflict from her mind, undoubtedly blocking out the questioning of the youngest fastest-man-alive. She used her finger to wipe some mayo from the corner of my mouth. Was there a kid? No, I muttered, and took another bite of my sandwich. As she turned around, I tossed the rest in the nearby trashcan, and pretended to have finished it. Are you ready to head back down to the exhibit hall? Sure, we only have another hour before it closes, right? she smiled. I nodded. The last hour passed tediously and painfully slowly, as I soon experienced numbness of another kind: self-loathing. The world around me glanced off my skin, with little more than a whisper of a touch. Underneath my skin, however, it felt as though my blood was devouring Byrons scorching Hot Pockets. Fire erupted across my muscles, which twitched and convulsed beneath the pacific lake of my skin. My brain simultaneously shut down and detonated into thought. My volatile emotions wrung my stomach. But Corea was having fun.

Corea was happy. Luckily, my anger and regret was unlike my anxiety and confidence, and would not seep into those near me. Not as long as, when they asked, I would respond, Im fine, arent I always fine? And Corea would chuckle. Next year, I resolved, I would skip ComicCon. Id take Corea to the movies instead. Anxiously anticipating Junior year, and my first match on the varsity academic league team, I spent the rest of my summer researching philosophy. My favorite was always Nietzsche, one of the major contributors to both existentialism, and nihilism. According to him, as well as Sren Kierkegaard, there was not inherent meaning to life; it was the act of existing that imbued life with meaning. I attempted to figure out what, based on my life prior, was the meaning I had created for myself. It vexed me, being unable to wrangle some kind of purpose in my existence. I prayed (which for me, being an atheist, is rare) to be given the chance to better myself. Hey, god, I know you and I dont usually get along, but if you exist, I think you would appreciate my goal here. Im not asking for a sign, just an opportunity to help someone else. Thats all. An opportunity to prove to myself that Im a good person.

VIII Junior year, and the added perks of being an upperclassman, did not come without initial unease. Courtney, now a senior, was juggling the most advanced classes our school offered and being the varsity captain. I wonder how Byron ever had the time to play Diablo. As Courtney was so busy, I gave all the new members their lanyards, again offering Harvey a spot on the JV team. He, again, declined, and asked how Zac was doing. Truthfully, I hadnt the opportunity to speak with Zac since graduation. Rather, I spent my time daydreaming about John and Harvey, about pulling the same heroic feat Zac had, which had solidified his good guy status. I had even mentally scripted out the scenario, in which I would throw myself in front of Harvey, protecting him and sacrificing myself in the process. I did not tell Corea, for obvious reasons. Instead I continually called Byron, who was surprisingly supportful. He encouraged my delusions, as I suspect he cultivated his own within the fantasy realm awaiting him on desktop. This didnt occur to me then, however. Then, I was merely looking for anyone who would support my dreams, and dwindling hopes. If god did exist, he was the alarm clock that shattered them; it was not out of malevolence, but rather to awaken my still sleeping conscience from the lies within my head, to reality, and my place in the real world. It was not Harvey who was the victim, nor John the aggressor. It was two people who I had never met prior to the incident. One, whose sanity seemed precariously balanced, began attacking the other. The latter began to cry as his face was punched, and hair pulled. I was no more than six feet away, eating a rather tasty sandwich. I looked down, wondering what, if anything, I could do. A blob of mayo dripped from the back of my lunch. Harvey was sitting across from me, waiting for me to move. I didnt. Harvey almost looked disappointed. He stood, walked between the two, and put his hands out toward the aggressor. Hey, relax, alright? That was all it took. And I didnt have it. I bitterly finished my sandwich. Star Wars: Attack of the Clones was released as my junior year was reaching its end. As summer came, Corea held me to my eighth grade offer. Im sorry, Im not going to see it. Thats silly, why not? Why would I? You love Star Wars, dont you? Yes. And you love me dont you? Yes. Then what would be better than you and me seeing the new Star Wars? And dont you dare say us seeing the old Star Wars. She glared at me. Im busy. Doing what? Not going to see Star Wars. Corea went without me, and I, once again, sent a letter to Han. Senior year was approaching, and, like the dreaded winters of old, brought with it an unnerving chill. Returning to school would mean returning to disappointment in myself. At least over summer, I could pretend I was productive. ComicCon was drawing near, although I hadnt purchased tickets.

Corea frowned when I told her, but she shrugged in a way that reminded me of Ben. Byron summoned me up to his place one weekend. We mostly played Diablo II, and talked about Courtney. Apparently she was planning on attending the same college as he. How was she when you saw her last? She was fine, still overworked and stressed. Did she ever talk about me? No, sorry. I didnt expect her to. The only sound came from the ring of steel against demonic armor. Byron paused a moment, then continued fighting his way through the end of the game, something I presume he has done many a-time. What about you and Corea? How did- Do you still doubt me young one, after all I have taught you? No. The truth, however reluctant I was to admit it, was that Corea and I were falling apart. I just sat there, awkwardly. Can I ask you something? Of course. What did the lanyards mean? The lanyards? The NASA ones, you mean? The lanyards were like football uniforms, they created a team. You cannot win unless you are a team. Academic league, contrary to popular belief, isnt a test of knowledge. It isnt about what you know, how much you know, or even why you know it. Its a test of confidence. It tests how confident you are that you know it; how confident are you in your team? I was confident in my new team, most definitely. Just not myself. I returned home around midnight, leaving Byron to study for his psychology final. Corea was swinging on the tire swing in my front lawn. I waved to her under the illumination from the headlights. We sat together until on the porch, until the sun came up. I tried not to start conversation, because then wed just end up fighting. Corea apparently had the same thought. Until, Why didnt you want to go see Star Wars with me? I just want to think about life on this planet before I try and understand life on another planet. I think I know more about what its like to be an elf in middle earth, than a boy in suburbia; no more nerd-stuff until I figure out reality. Then dont be a boy in suburbia, be something more. I dare you.

IX Corea broke up with me. I didnt focus much on it through, instead I spent my time solely dedicated to the varsity academic league team, bearing in mind what Byron had told me. Courtney had left me both the honor and the responsibilities as captain. I pushed the team, which now consisted of me, Sarah, James, Cassie, and, despite his psychiatrists disapproval, Harvey, further and harder than Courtney had dared. We began the season lossless, dominating our first two opponents, exceeding their scores by upwards of sixty points each time. It was the first time our high school had been included in invitationals, with Courtney having put us on the radar, so to speak, the year prior. We too, dominated these. Our season, which with the invitationals had been lengthened to twelve matches, rocketed to a ten-zero record coming into the latter half of January. I want Sarah and Harvey studying influential bands of the nineties, and James and Cassie working on the eighties. Next practice we will be reviewing these, as well as all of the study material from the last month, so brush up on your Greek mythology Cassie, I know you struggled with the Titans last time. Captain, we already went over influential bands. Oh thats right, last Tuesday. Come in with, I consulted my study schedule, wait, we already did contemporary computer history, right? They nodded. What about influential movies of the latter nineties? Again, they nodded. What havent we done? Serial killers, Harvey mumbled. There was a question on one last week; none of us knew it. Only point the other school scored, I believe. I anxiously flipped through the pages of the planner before sighing, Youre right, I dont have anything here on serial killers. Well, everyone, just kind of wing it and well talk next practice. Harvey half smiled, sensing his usefulness. I dismissed the group, and they filed out. Swinging my back over my shoulder, I stepped out into the sunlight. I half expected to see Corea there, waiting for me. Our penultimate match, an invitational, was held against a smaller, and far less competitive school. I felt slightly guilty during the first time-out, where we led them seventy-four to thirteen. They substituted some players, and a young woman, with her hair in her eyes took the seat to the right of the captain. She smiled at me. I hadnt noticed, initially, having my attention elsewhere. Cassie tapped my shoulder, and pointed across the stage. Hey Rachel, I mumbled. I wasnt intending to mumble it, but confusion choked the words at my throat. Embarrassed, I turned to James and made a quip regarding the Manhattan project. He looked at me with the pursed lips and furrowed brow of confusion. You know, the Manhattan project. I know of it; now that I think about it, Im surprised you hadnt made us research it. What do you mean? Of course I did. Ben was- and I realized Ben hadnt been on the team in two years. I had the other team study it, back on junior varsity, sophomore year. I never had you guys-? Nope. My heart sank, to be dissolved and digested in my stomach acids. I glanced hopelessly at Sarah, who was the only, asides me, to have read the Manhattan project material. I prayed that she had remembered at least half as much as I. The match resumed with Rachel fidgeting uneasily, while I hoped that this would not be the first time all season they asked a question on the atomic bomb.

Who was the author of Loves Labours Lost; when was the Treaty of Versaille signed; who first successfully used vacuum tubes in what was known then as a supercomputer? They went on like this, a surprising amount being answered by the other teams substitute. He explained afterward that he was usually the captain, but arrived late to the match. Our lead narrowed, but held steadily, until we arrived to a string of mythology questions. Cassie emotionally broke down in frustration, and we substituted her with one of our jv players, who was not familiar with much of the information. James buzzer broke, which he didnt realize until after missing a salvo of questions due to the faulty equipment. We requested a technical time-out to fix the buzzer, but our lead had shrunk considerably. Harvey Im sorry but they havent asked that many political questions, which I know are your strong suit but keep your hand on the buzzer, you never know. I refrained from pointing out that his negligence had cost us several questions. Sarah, its ok, were still up by fifteen, and the clocks almost out. We were up by sixty-one; what happened to that? James questioned, as maintenance adjusted his buzzer. Howd we fall so low? Confidence, I told everyone, attempting to remember Byrons speech to me. You need to remain confident. Maintenance gave the thumbs-up and the match resumed. Another couple of mythology questions, and our lead dropped to seven. This is the last open question of the match, for three points, open question meaning available to all players; the team who answered this correctly then had the opportunity for a bonus question, worth five. By securing this last open point, we would have won the match. Who is known as the Father of the Atomic Bomb? Rachel paused, clearly immersed in a sudden memory of when we shared a common team, school, and lanyard. I glanced at Sarah. She shrugged. Rachel, sure of her answer but unsure of herself, refused to break the silence. The rest of her team stared blankly forward. I rested my hand to the side of my buzzer, and nodded slightly. She mouthed something to me before buzzing; it might have been thank-you, or possibly, what are you doing? Joseph Robert Oppenheimer, she announced, trying to read the moderators face. That is correct, for you bonus question, and the match- You have to hand it to them, they came back from a sixty-one point deficit.

X High school ended nonchalantly. Maybe college held the answers, although I doubted it. I had already studied all of human knowledge and yet was still woefully ignorant in my search for an understanding of my existence. If I wouldve guessed then, that I would still be asking myself now, maybe I wouldnt have procrastinated as much. I returned to my junior high ways in college, involved in as little as was possible. Han began returning my letters, apologizing profusely. China implemented certain new international policies that allowed the government to confiscate letters received from the US, or any other capitalist nation. The policy was removed, and redacted from the records. His dream was to return to America for his secondary education. Maybe MIT, or something. I told him wherever he went, made sure there were at least decent costume parties; he had built a fully-electronic Iron Man costume, which he never exhibited elsewise. Han asked how Corea was. I dont know. He then inquired after Zac. I dont know. Han asked why. I dont know. His letters grew less frequent, but all carried the same sentiment: You used to know so much, maybe not about school, but about your friends. Now, you know everything about school, but cant even tell me where your ex-girlfriend is. What happened to you? I went from being a warrior-elf to a human. Metaphorically, of course. I am no longer Chewbacca; I dont need your approval. Im done, Solo. I told Corea this, but she wont listen. Thats why we arent together anymore. Maybe you and Luke should get together and do whatever with Leia in the Millenium Falcon, but Im out. Au revoir, adieu, etcetera. What is so good about being a human? Humans die. Humans live thinking that life is something that needs to be accomplished; they lose, they regret, they dwell on their own inability to accomplish life. Then, they die. Chewbacca lived, found friends, learned from his friends, and became a better man -no, Wookie- in order to shape a better world. Are you going to have a family you resent, to help you live a life you wont enjoy, to impress people youve always hated, and eventually die leaving assets youve never wanted to children youve neglected? Or are you going to find, not someone you can live with, but rather someone you cannot live without, to help you enjoy every single day? It was then when I decided that I was never pretending to Robin. I was pretending to be a normal, suburban kid, pretending to be Robin. And I would much rather spend the rest of my time living in Azeroth, than on Maple St., USA.

XI I attempted to mend things with Corea, but her heart had already exiled me to the proverbial Elba, where I shall reside, scratching the rest of my days into the cell walls. Maybe shed forgive me for forsaking my old ways, although I doubted it. We spent several years without talking, using Han as the occasional middleman. He would refuse, naturally, but Corea would guilt him into it. I told her I had changed, but she replied, Thats what the problem was in the first place. I mean, I unchanged, although Im not sure if thats a word. Lets assume it is. Im sorry, you had your chance. So did Vader, and he blew it. But he turned out to be good in the end. If anything the old academic league team says is accurate, Vader was less of a dictator than you. And this conversation should be wrapped up, Han isnt handling the stress well. Or we could just grab a bite to eat, and talk about it in person. She declined my offer. To soothe myself, I bought tickets to ComicCon three years straight. The last of the years, while standing in line for a panel, I noticed Captain America, the same guy from when Corea and I went together, standing behind me. Azeroth was a small world, I guess. I know Ive gone as the Captain seven years running; he just embodies something that I respect, I heard him tell a nearby Red Shirt. People tell you superheroes are unrealistic because of their powers, but I alway say they just dont believe a guy will just go around helping people. Our society is afraid to embrace goodness. A few people further down the line, and a Yellow Shirt was mocking the Red Shirt. Next Generation fan, as though there was something inherently wrong with Picard. Suddenly a few Stormtroopers joined in, berating the Trekkies, collectively. Before long the line had dissolved into Tenth Doctors assaulting Eleventh, Star Wars characters dueling with their prequel counterparts, and Marvel fighting DC. The Captain and I stood there, appalled, as Iron Man pulled Batmans cape over his head. You had it right, I told him, people are afraid to be good. Even disguising their human faults with spandex and capes, people are naturally antagonistic. People dont want to believe in helping each other. But why not? I dont need laser vision to complement your suit, which Im sure you worked hard on. And you dont need an everything-resistant shield to break up the fight. He looked over. Go ahead. If anyone here deserves this, its you. Needless to say I wished I were to be the mediator here, as both Zac and Harvey were before. But Byron had told me its about confidence: how confident you were in other people, and yourself. I knew, now, that I could be Robin, so I allowed Captain America, who believed avidly that people could be good, to prove to himself that he was correct. He walked toward the mosh of conflict, he looked over his shoulder to me, and I nodded. He smiled, and stepped into the fray. I wanted to call Corea afterward, but felt as though it would amount to little, if anything. So I wrote Zac. He was initially pleased to hear from me, but began questioning why it had taken so long for me to contact him. I told him I was busy. We planned something for my birthday, which I usually refuse to celebrate, on the promise that both Han and Corea would be there. People laughed because I was born the same day Back to the Future was released: July 3, 1985. To celebrate, Han rented the entire series. We watched in silence, save for the occasional pass the popcorn, or do you have any more Dr. Peppers? The

answers, respectively, being, get it yourself, which would usually result in angry mumbling, and as long as Im alive, Ill have more Dr. Peppers. Hey after this who want to watch Lord of the Rings? Nah, Im too tired, Corea rejected my idea. You can always stay here. Ill sleep on the couch. Zac excused himself, and Han went to refill the popcorn. Not everything can be remedied with Lord of the Rings and sodapop. No, but maybe it can be remedied with sincere, heartfelt apologies. Maybe. When it came time to open presents, I left Coreas until the end. Han had delicately wrapped a model Millenium Falcon in shiny wrapping paper, which I felt guilty ripping off. Zac sheepishly handed me a stack of comics, and verbally hoped I hadnt any of them already. I lied and said I didnt. Corea unceremoniously dumped a small bag in my lap. A piece of paper? A list of all the things we ever talked about accomplishing together. Maybe you can still finish it by yourself. There were two things written down: Watch all the Lord of the Rings movies back to back, and, Answer the age-old question: who am I? I added to it over the years, mostly in retrospect, eventually inflating the original two to eleven. Somehow I always knew it would eventually return to these.

XII In movies, it was always raining during the protagonists funeral. During Zacs, it was snowing. Corea reluctantly held onto my arm, both for warmth and emotional support. Han was the only one out of us with an umbrella. Corea didnt mind the snow, having grown up in Colorado. I needed to feel the cold to prove I could feel anything at all. Even detached numbness was a feeling compared to the complete abyss of my soul. I thought about all of the things Zac had done with his life, and wondered why it was all gone. I thought about all the things I never did, the growing list Corea had given me, and wondered why I was still here. I wasted my life, but it kept giving me second chances, and third and fourth. Despite all of this, I didnt feel the need to cry. Despite the anger and sadness, the agony of being left here in this world, my eyes remained dry. As Zacs family concluded their tearful speeches, Corea, Han and I stood beside his grave, opened three Dr. Peppers, and toasted him. To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, Han exclaimed, for in his eyes Zac embodied the American spirit. To pursuing happiness in liberty, Corea added, Han nodding his consent. And, she continued, to living not for yourself, but those around you, she glanced at Harvey, who was crying and using his inhaler. Everyone turned to me. I raised my red can, unsure of what I was about to say. I inhaled deeply. Confidence. To the friend we never deserved. To the brother we never had. To the hero weve always chased after our whole lives, without realizing he was chasing us just as much. To Zac. Han tilted his head back and drank thirstily, and Corea and I followed. When everyone else had left, I stopped, took off my belt, and threw my belt buckle into the open grave, where the silver batsignal would forever accompany our deceased comrade. Han was shining the old black flashlight on the side of his mini-van. The nocturnal silhouette danced like a tattered rag on the side of the vehicle, twisting in the danse macabre, reminding all of us of our impending mortality, whether young or old, heroes or admiring civilians, fans of Star Wars or Star Trek, Marvel or DC. Whether one lives in Narnia, or Middle Earth, we all die here, on Maple Street.

XIII One day, everyone who is currently on the Earth, will have died, possibly to have been replaced by the subsequent generation, possibly not. All those deaths, as with all things, must have a beginning. Early this morning, twelve people were shot at a movie theater. Truly, then, today was the beginning of the end. Today was the day we all began to die. The golden leaves liked to fall upon the earth slowly, a hazel snow hugging the asphalt like a blanket tucked in by a close friend. Inaudible breezes whispered gently, and inarticulate gusts swept the leaves from the cracked streets. Clouds skipped across the sky like a rock across water. Particles of light, suspended in the air, sparkled of ideals and clung to the fine hairs of fair maidens. And as the celestial bodies moved, the brilliant blue sky would fade to purple streaks amongst a black canvas. Sometimes the world would pause and gaze up to the stars, extending their fingers to grab the light; but much more often would the stars watch the world, lapping at the space in between with fiery appendages, trying to touch the life. I woke up, three hours late, to the sound of my phone vibrating. Turn on the news. Any channel. -Corea. So I did. Han texted similarly. I wanted to vomit. But I maintain faith. Retrieving my list from my closet, I met my rendezvous with Corea. I pretended to be confident; Byron would have been proud. I looked at my list, and decided to start with my childhood: when Han and I were kids, thinking ourselves brave, we would never refuse a dare, or similar test of courage. Corea had dared me to be something more than a suburban boy. Maybe nerds were just kids who never grew up.

When people call people nerds, mostly what theyre saying is you like stuff. Which is just not a good insult at all. Like, you are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness. John Green

About the Author~ An Ode to Nerdom is Spencer McCalls second major work, following his novel, Waiting for Summer. An avid fan of both Star Wars trilogies, the original Star Trek and Next Generation, Lord of the Rings as well as Narnia, DC and Marvel, and both David Tennant and Matt Smith as The Doctor, Spencer owes his nerdom to Rowan Rozanski, who showed him around his first ComicCon.