Free The Clueless Girl's Guide to Being a Genius by Janice Repka Page A

to kiss me?
    â€œSo, what’s she like?” Adam asked.
    â€œMy mother, Tiffany?”
    â€œOf course not.” Even his laugh was cute. “I know she’s tutored you a lot. You probably know her better than any of us.”
    It hit me like a bare foot in a cold puddle. “Professor Wigglesmith?”
    Adam fumbled with his backpack. “Yeah.”
    If my eyelids had opened any wider, the eyeballs would have popped out and rolled down the street. “Do you like her or something?”
    â€œNo,” said Adam. “I mean, yes. I mean, not like that. I’m just really glad that she’s my teacher.”
    â€œBecause if you like her, that would be gross, maybe even illegal. I don’t think you’re allowed to like your teacher, even if she is your age.”
    â€œDon’t make a major deal out of it,” he said. “I just think it’s cool that she believes in us. That’s all. What’s wrong with that?”
    â€œBesides, she’s not even pretty.”
    â€œShe’s not?”
    I was getting really heated. Why was he going on about Professor Wigglesmith when I was standing there waiting for him to kiss me? “You’re completely clueless,” I told him.
    â€œWhere did that come from?”
    â€œYou want to know what I think of Professor Wigglesmith?” I asked. “Here’s what I think: she’s a total egghead and a complete geek. She thinks she’s so smart, running around doing equations like a head with its chicken cut off. But she must be stupid, because only a total idiot would waste her time teaching bonehead math.”
    â€œThe expression is ‘a chicken with its head cut off,’ ” Adam said. “And that’s the difference between her and you; she would never call you stupid.”
    He turned and walked away. My big mouth had done it again. I wished someone would invent a vacuum cleaner that people could turn on to suck back words that they said in anger but didn’t really mean. They could call it the Mindy-Did-It-Again-Vac, since I would be its number-one customer.
    â€œWait!” I said. “I can explain. Come back!”
    He kept walking.
    â€œOkay.” I yelled. “I’ve got to go in now. See you tomorrow.”
    I reached for the doorknob while keeping my gaze on him. I wanted to see if he would steal a glance back to make sure I was okay, but he didn’t.

11
    Aphrodite Takes Aim at the Problem
    J ust because a person is a rocket scientist, that doesn’t mean he knows how to sew a button on his underwear. Yet there are people who think geniuses always know what they’re doing. Principal DeGuy was like that with me. I could wear a kangaroo on my head and he’d assume the extra pocket made it a wise fashion choice. No matter what my suggestion, he always gave me thumbs up.
    â€œDid I hear right?” Miss Snipal asked. “You’re taking your math class on a field trip to a pool hall?”
    I nodded. I was working on mathematical theory for the Navier-Stokes problems in my diary over lunch. But there were so many teachers in the lounge it was hard to concentrate.
    â€œLetting those students go on a field trip is a big mistake,” said Mr. Green.
    â€œYou’d better bring plenty of chaperones,” added Mrs. Underwood. “And make sure the school’s liability insurance will cover it, too.”
    â€œHave you ever been to a pool hall?” asked Mr. Ripple from his stuffed chair near the door. “Do you know what kind of people frequent pool halls?”
    As usual, he’d brought potato chips and was making a crunchy mess. Romeo and Juliet, the tarantulas, hadn’t been caught, and I couldn’t help imagining that they were living off Mr. Ripple’s droppings.
    â€œA field trip should relate to what students are learning,” said Mrs. Underwood. “Whatever do you hope to accomplish at a pool hall?”
    I