Good Nerd Hunting (Nerds, Inc. Book 1) Read online

  Kaila Glass

  Good Nerd Hunting

  Copyright © Kaila Glass, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  To all the staff at Covenant House Georgia.

  Thanks for always having my back.

  Contents

  Nerd Hunting Season

  Pure

  Godfather

  Pop Tarts

  Operation: Find Keira's Baby

  Hope

  It's a Trap!

  Operation: Don't Be an Outcast

  Nerds, Inc.

  Heavy

  Babbling Brooke

  Worth

  Schmidt's

  Seven Hills

  Pressure

  Asian Ginger

  Good TV

  Kami

  Halloween

  Worth Living

  Encore

  Water

  Drama Queen

  The Garage

  Dandruff

  Smoke

  Promise

  Reality

  Doomed

  About the Author

  1

  Nerd Hunting Season

  Blake sat on the chapel’s roof, the merciless sun beating down on his skinny frame, his thin forearms resting on his knees. Rivers of sweat raced down his face and collided with the shingles beneath him, evaporating upon impact. The sweat on his chest adhered his T-shirt to his skin; his chest rose and fell rapidly. His light blue eyes squinted in the bright light, miscellaneous shapes and colors dancing across his vision like whack-a-moles.

  There, on the road in front of the chapel, stood every boy in his seventh-grade class. They jeered as they waved their baseball bats and pocket knives through the humid air, though none of them dared land so much as a toe on the chapel’s front lawn. Through the dense cloud of sweaty, malicious teens, Blake spotted the smug face of Sammy Franklin, his thin blond hair cemented to his forehead with sweat. Their eyes met; Blake glared while Sammy sneered. This was his doing. Sammy Franklin started Nerd Hunting Season early and let in their entire class—all except Blake.

  Blake’s pale face twisted into a scowl. Nerd Hunting Season had always been a cruel game with malicious intent, but this had gone too far. He was exhausted. He hadn’t had time to pack water or food. He hadn’t even had time to bring something to do while he hid. His phone was also near death. Twenty more minutes and he wouldn’t be able to call for help.

  Sammy’s plan was succeeding. Blake could see it in the arrogant smirk etched across his face.

  Blake let out a heavy sigh. Calling his brother was the last thing he wanted to do, but he had no choice. He reached into the back pocket of his shorts and withdrew his phone.

  One ring. Two rings. Three—

  “What’s wrong?”

  “They’ve got me cornered at the chapel. They started early.”

  There was a short pause on the other end. “Wait, you mean they started today?”

  Blake felt on the verge of bursting. “It started right after school. I was just walking, I was planning on going to the bookstore on the way home… and I was almost there when they showed up out of nowhere. I ran the opposite way—I thought I’d cut through the park, y’know?—but there were more of them that came around the corner. Then I thought I’d take a detour down Holly, but they were already there waiting for me. And Phoenix—they have real weapons! Brass knuckles and bats and knives, and one of them has a BB gun. I’ve got cuts and bruises, and I need you to get here now! I’m on the roof. I’m fatigued and hot and—”

  “Okay, just breathe,” said Phoenix. “Just hang on and I’ll borrow Mom’s car.”

  “And Phoenix?”

  “What?”

  “Randy’s coming.”

  Another short pause. “Look, just stay put until I get there, alright?”

  “Okay.”

  “Bye.” Beep.

  Blake slumped over his knees. He raised his head again to check Sammy, when he saw his pet beagle, Rascal, out of the corner of his eye. Rascal stood at the other end of the street, wagging his tail, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Blake stared and for a moment their eyes met. Then, Rascal ran up the street and rounded the corner, vanishing as quickly as he’d appeared.

  What’s he up to? Blake thought.

  Rascal was always up to something. He was unnaturally smart, with eyes that seemed to ‘understand’. Blake shrugged, returning his attention to the nerd hunters, who stirred below.

  2

  Pure

  When Phoenix’s phone screen went blank, the basement’s palpable darkness engulfed him once more. He replaced his hands behind his head, his burly frame sinking into the deflating air mattress beneath him. The last thing he wanted to do was give Randy a chance to gloat about his and Keira’s newborn, but he also couldn’t leave Blake alone on that roof.

  He brought himself up into a sitting position and turned his phone’s flashlight on. He scanned the room: up against a wall was his keyboard, which faced his music stand, upon which lay an untidy stack of staff paper. Balled up pieces of half-finished music made a trail from the foot of the keyboard to the air mattress. He’d been dishing out masterpiece after masterpiece for a week now. It’d been a good two years since he last had an inspirational flow this smooth and swift, and that was counting Kiera’s confession just months ago…

  Phoenix shook his head, swallowing back the bile that rose at the back of his throat. He didn’t want to think about that now, he couldn’t. All these long days and nights in the basement will have gone to waste otherwise. He’d throw things. He’d break down into angry tears. Worst of all, he’d daydream about how things were between him and Keira before Randy Franklin wormed his way into her pants. He’d think about her infectious smile, her irresistible curves, and the long lashes that lined her eyes…

  Phoenix grabbed either side of his head. What was he doing, thinking about that backstabbing bitch? He had a brother to rescue! He stood up and strode across the basement, the concrete cool beneath his bare feet. When he reached the stairs, they creaked under every step he took. He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was dimly lit by the sunlight that failed to break through the curtains of the window at the end of the hall. He found the master bedroom and rapped on the door three times. There was no response. He pushed the door until it was ajar. The room was dark, and he could just make out the outline of his mother, lying in bed. She stirred when the light from the hall landed on her face.

  “Seamus?” she yawned.

  “No, it’s Phoenix,” he answered. “Can I turn on the light?” When his mother nodded, he flicked the light switch beside the door. The sight of his mother—with her tousled brown waves and her tired face free of makeup—forced more bile up his throat, threatening to burn a hole in his esophagus. His mother propped herself up with a cluster of pillows. Through the sheets, he could see her large, round belly protruding from beneath. He was certain that that baby wasn’t his father’s. All those nights she said that she’d spent working on her small bakery business was just a guise
. That pregnancy had come out of nowhere and his father found out by accident. Phoenix couldn’t imagine digging around in the medicine cabinet looking for aspirin and finding prenatal pills instead. His mother was no better than Keira.

  His mother gave a warm smile. “Phoenix, I’ve missed you.” She drew open her arms, prompting him for a hug. He walked across the room and wrapped his arms around his mother, hesitating before kissing her forehead. “Have you written anything?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Is that why you’re back?”

  “Yeah, writer’s block. Hey, Mom, can I borrow your car?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Just for a ride,” Phoenix invented. “Y’know, get some fresh air. I read somewhere that it’s good for writer’s block.”

  His mother stared, and he could tell that she was attempting to read his mind.

  “You’re meeting someone, aren’t you?” she said.

  “Uh… yeah.” Phoenix shifted his weight to his other foot and broke eye contact. How she managed to intimidate him when she stood at a measly five-foot-two and he towered over her at six-foot-four was beyond him.

  “Who are you going to see?”

  Phoenix’s mind worked furiously. He had to think of something quick or Blake was as good as dead. Without thinking at all, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Keira.”

  Then, silence.

  What the hell did I just say?! he thought.

  “You are?” his mother asked.

  “Yeah,” he replied.

  “Why?”

  Phoenix shrugged, not meeting his mother’s piercing gaze.

  “Well, if that’s all, then go right ahead.” She reached for the car keys on the nightstand beside her. She held them out to Phoenix but pulled them away just as his fingertips brushed against the cool metal. “But clean yourself up first.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” she replied in a soft voice, reaching out to caress his cheek, “you look horrible, love. If you’re going to see your ex, you need to look your best. Clean yourself up and the keys are yours.”

  Phoenix closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine, be back soon.”

  He climbed the stairs to the bathroom. When he flicked on the light, a grisly sight greeted him. His mother was wrong. He didn’t look horrible—he looked like shit. Pure, unadulterated shit. His light blue eyes, which stood out against his pale skin, were red and caked with sleep. His shaggy, black hair was tangled, as though he’d been attacked by an angry family of crows. When he ran his fingers through his locks, it felt greasy to the touch. His stubble, coupled with his unkempt hair, gave him the appearance of a hobo. He lifted his arm and brought his head down to his armpit. He grimaced, turning away when the putrid musk hit his nostrils: he smelled as bad as he looked.

  He turned on the shower and stripped, covering himself from head to toe in suds as soon as he stepped inside. As he formed a lather in his thick hair, his mind raced. He could’ve chosen a million lies to tell his mother. He could’ve said that he wanted to drive to the music store for more staff paper, or that he had a piano lesson to give. Why, out of everything else, had he lied about wanting to see Keira?

  Maybe it wasn’t a lie, said his Inner Critic.

  He shook his head. No, that was impossible. He hated Keira. She betrayed him.

  So, his Inner Critic teased. We both know you still love her.

  She should’ve been mine, Phoenix retorted, pounding his fist on the tiled wall in front of him. He took her from me.

  Took who? Keira or the baby?

  Phoenix didn’t answer. Instead, he let the water fall on his face. Nothing would make this any easier.

  He cut off the shower and dried himself off. With his towel wrapped around his hips, he brushed his teeth, removing the thick layer of gunk from the surface. After he’d flossed, gargled, and shaved, he shook out his mane and blow-dried his hair. When it was fully dry, he walked to his bedroom down the hall.

  It was a cramped labyrinth of papers, clothes, and instruments. He stepped over the short piles of dirty laundry that littered the carpet and opened a drawer in his dresser, pulling out a clean pair of boxer briefs. His three guitars—an acoustic, an electric, and a bass, all in their respective cases—leaned against the wall beside him in a neat line. He walked over to his closet and put on his favorite Bloc Party shirt, a black T-shirt that read Zero Flux Given. After he picked out a pair of torn jeans to wear, he pulled out his hair from the collar, allowing it to fall to his shoulders. He reached down for a tattered pair of Converse All Stars and sat on the edge of his undone bed to pull them on, one foot resting on his amp, the other on the carpet. There was minimal space between his bed and crowded bookshelf where his keyboard usually resided. His only regret was that he couldn’t manage to squeeze in his drum set to join the family; it stayed in the attic.

  When he returned to the bathroom, he was pleased to be greeted by his old self. He shook his hair, giving it a tousled look, as though someone had been running their fingers through it. Satisfied, he turned off the light and closed the door behind him. He descended the stairs and knocked on his mother’s door.

  “Mom?” he called. “I don’t look horrible anymore.”

  “Phoenix! Hurry!” came his mother’s frantic voice.

  Phoenix opened the door. “Mom, what’s—?”

  His jaw fell open. His mother stood at her dresser, which she used to support her weight. Her face was pale; it had lost its usual glow. And beneath her nightgown at her feet lay a small puddle. “No way,” he said. “I thought you weren’t due for another month?”

  “Looks like the baby has other ideas.”

  3

  Godfather

  “What do we do?” Phoenix asked, hurrying to his mother and supporting her weight.

  “Call on ambulance,” she said at once.

  “Don’t be stupid. I’ll drive you to the hospital.” He began to guide her to the door.

  “No.” She jerked her hand back. “You need to call an ambulance, wait for them with me, and then go get your brother and call your father.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it!” she said, tightening her grip on his forearm and letting out a low moan.

  Without another word, Phoenix dialed 9-1-1 on his phone with his free hand. He guided her to the bed and held her hand until he heard the doorbell ring minutes later.

  “I’ll be right back,” he told his mother as he made to leave.

  “No, just take the keys and go. Let them in and meet me at the hospital.”

  Phoenix nodded and dashed to the front door. He let in the paramedics, showing them the way to his mother’s room. Then, he skipped down the steps of the front porch and jogged to the driveway. He stopped, his hand gripping the handle of his mother’s red Honda Accord. He felt an ominous chill creep up his spine. There was someone—no, something—watching him. He looked up and saw Rascal, that awful beagle of which his brother was so fond. Rascal stood on the front lawn wagging his tail, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, as though he was eager to play fetch. But Phoenix knew better. That dog was always up to something. He was unnaturally smart, with eyes that always seemed to ‘understand’.

  “What?” Phoenix demanded.

  Rascal closed his mouth and cocked his head.

  “Go away!”

  Without hesitation, Rascal turned and sped off in the opposite direction. Phoenix watched him go. He shook his head, causing his hair to fly in his face.

  Keep your damn head straight! he told himself.

  He hopped in the car and pulled out of the driveway. Whipping out his phone, he dialed his father’s cell.

  “Dammit,” he cursed when it went to voicemail. He dialed his father’s work number instead.

  “Brookshire, Co., Charles speaking. How may I help you?”

  “I need to reach Seamus McCracken. This is his son, Phoenix.”

  “I’m sorry, but he’s in a meeting. Can I t
ake a message?”

  “Yeah, his wife’s in labor.”

  “I see. I’ll let him know when the meeting’s over.”

  “No, you’ll tell him now.”

  “I’m sorry, but they’re meeting a very important client—”

  “I don’t care if he’s meeting with the goddamn queen of England. Just get his ass out of that meeting and straight to Rosewood Medical, or I’ll come down there and kick your ass!” He hung up and tossed his phone aside just as he pulled up to the chapel, where a large crowd had formed. Parked up the road was a Dodge Challenger that was as jet black as Phoenix’s hair. He parked opposite of Randy Franklin’s car. They exited in unison and met in the middle of the road.

  “Arizona!” said Randy, grinning, his arms open wide as though he were greeting an old friend. A sudden wind whipped his thin blond hair. “I haven’t seen you all week. Where’ve you been?”

  “Out of the way,” said Phoenix, glaring. “I’m here for my brother. Nothing more, nothing less.” He made to walk around Randy, but his rival stepped in the way.

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” Randy said, his dark eyes glinting. “Don’t you wanna congratulate me on my baby?”

  Phoenix’s jaw tightened. “No. Out of the way.” He tried stepping out of the way again, but Randy blocked him once more, this time pushing him in the chest. Phoenix’s eyes burned with anger, his fists clenched. Who the hell did this arrogant little shit think he was?

  “Oh, I think you do,” Randy taunted. “She looks just like her mother, and she’s got her daddy’s eyes.”

  “Then why don’t you go home and see her?” Phoenix asked through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, she’s fine, she’s with her mother. Actually, Keira would be here right now if she wasn’t busy playing housewife.”

  “Housewife?”

  “You haven’t heard? Well, I guess that’s what happens when you shut yourself away for an eternity. Keira moved in with me! Isn’t that great?” he laughed.

  Phoenix’s stomach churned; he said nothing.