Everyone loves KJ Miller, especially the geeks. She’s pretty, smart, and super nice to everyone, which has made her the geek pied piper of Washington High. If only Cameron, the star of the basketball team, would follow her around and worship her the way her dorky entourage does.

As the stage manager of the spring musical, Grease, KJ has to deal with a few geeks, but she also gets to hang out with Tama, queen of the popular crowd and star of the play. Tama has the solution to all of KJ’s problems: get cruel. After all, the nice girl never gets the guy. Can KJ actually pull off a transformation into a mean girl?

OKAY, SO I WAS DIZZY WITH POWER. CAN YOU BLAME ME? IT WAS the first day of rehearsals for the spring musical, Grease, at Washington High and I, KJ Miller, was the stage manager. The woman in charge. The first junior ever to be granted this most prestigious position. So when I walked into the auditorium after the final bell that afternoon, I’ll admit it: I sort of felt like I was surveying my territory. Those two hyper drama guys up on stage parrying with old, plastic French bread props? I was in charge of them. Tama Gold chatting illegally on her cell in the front row? I was in charge of her, too (though she’d never admit it). Theater diva Ashley Brown and her two sidekicks Cory and Carrie Danes (a.k.a. the Drama Twins), who were singing select songs from Dreamgirls at the piano? You guessed it. I was even in charge of Stephanie Shumer, my best friend in the entire world. But I had to be sensitive to her. She had so wanted the part of Rizzo, but Riz went to the indomitable Ashley, who had actually wanted to play Sandy. Meanwhile, Stephanie was stuck playing the principal, Miss Lynch. Ugh.

Before anyone could spot me, I took a long, deep breath and let that very particular auditorium aroma fill my senses. It was like moldy, old stage curtain, mixed with dust and chased by Sour Apple Blow Pop. I loved that scent. It was the scent of the best part of the year.

Musical season. It was finally here. And it was the only time of year that a girl like me—a short, red-haired, flying-below-the-social-radar girl like me—could suddenly become one big blip on the radar screen. Basically, it was magic.

“All right, people!” I announced, my heart pounding with wild anticipation. “Let’s—”

“KJ!”

So much for my moment. Fred Frontz, my neighbor and eternal stalker, materialized as if by magic. Not that it was that much of a surprise. Fred was everywhere, all the time.

“KJ! KJ! KJ!” Fred hustled over to me, his T-shirt riding up and exposing more and more of his wide, pale stomach with each step. His blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his face was blotchy and red. Like always. Even on freezing cold mornings when I took pity on him walking to school alone and offered him a ride, he was always blotchy and red. “How cool is this? I still can’t believe I’m gonna have a solo. Can you believe it? Me! With a solo!”

“Um, Fred? Your shirt’s kind of . . .” I pointed at his Buddha belly. Fred yanked the shirt down and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Thanks,” he said. “So listen. I got you something.”

He reached into his overly large burlap backpack and came out with a Hostess cupcake, half mushed on one side. “To celebrate your first day.”

“Thanks, Fred,” I said, touched. Considering Fred’s sugar addiction, I knew that refraining from eating this must have taken gargantuan effort.

“She doesn’t need that right now.”

Andy Terrero, my assistant stage manager, stepped in and snatched away the snack. Andy was a health and science nut, so skinny he must have weighed less than I did. His brown hair stuck straight out from the crown of his head like he had a tiny propeller up there, and his glasses were constantly sliding down his nose. “Refined sugar just gives you a super-high high followed by a major crash. You don’t want to crash on your first day, do you, KJ?”

Andy’s brown eyes were wide with hope. So were Fred’s blue ones. To take the cupcake or not to take the cupcake? That was the question. If I took it, I would crush Andy. If I didn’t take it, I would crush Fred. And although it might seem like a teeny tiny thing to a normal person, it wasn’t to them. They would be crushed. Just like that, I was going to have to let somebody down. My heart squeezed at the thought. Why me?

“You know what? I’m gonna save this for later,” I said. I took the cupcake back from Andy and shoved it inside my messenger bag.

“Okay, but you are gonna eat it,” Fred tried to confirm.

“But after rehearsal,” Andy clarified, glancing at Fred. “Right?”

“You can’t tell her when to eat something, Terrero,” Fred complained.

“Do you realize how many preservatives are in that thing? You’re basically giving her poison.”

Okay. They were starting to make a scene.

“You guys? You know what? I really have to go, uh . . . get -everyone out of the dressing rooms before they, you know, stain . . . something!” I improvised, inching away. “I’ll be back in a sec!”

“I can do that for you, KJ!” Andy shouted after me.

“It’s okay! I got it!” I shouted back. I tore up the stairs and into the cool darkness of the wings. Deep breath. Okay. I was safe. Now all I had to do was—

Oh crap.

A sudden chill raced down my spine. I was not alone. I could feel it. And I knew exactly who was watching me. I had to get to safety, like, now. I turned on my heel and walked directly into the concave chest of Glenn Marlowe.

He took a slug of his Yoo-hoo, his Adam’s apple bobbing above a curl of chest fuzz sticking out of the V-neck of his velour pullover. A chocolate moustache clung to his pathetic attempt at an actual moustache. Meet Glenn “All-Hands” Marlowe. The bane of my existence. If Fred and Andy were semi-irritating gnats, Glenn was one big-old, soul-sucking mosquito.

“Hey, KJ.” He licked his teeth. “You’re looking mighty . . . fetching this afternoon.”

His eyes trailed down to my breasts. My stupid, mongo, mega-breasts. This whole thing was their fault, really. Glenn Marlowe had been stalking me for exactly six years—longer than Andy, but not as long as Fred—and I can remember the exact day it started. It was the first warm day of fifth grade—before I was even aware of the effect that boobs had on boys—when I’d worn that stupid white T-shirt that I hadn’t realized I’d grown out of. Glenn had walked into homeroom right when I was stretching my arms over my head and his bug eyes had practically catapulted out of his head. He hadn’t stopped looking at my chest since.

“Congrats on being stage manager,” he told my left boob.

“Thanks, Glenn,” I said. I tried to move past him. Like he had ever let that happen.

“What’s the rush?” he asked, blocking my path. “I mean, look around. You. Me. The dark. What do you think the universe is trying to tell us?” He reached out and squeezed my upper arm. Hard. And suddenly I was not only boiling, but could hardly breathe.

Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? And why couldn’t I bring myself to tell him off? Tama Gold would have. She would have told him to back the f-word off and probably would have kicked him in the groin for good measure. But me? No. I was a good girl. Ask anyone. I was incapable of making people feel bad. Even if they were in the process of torturing me.

“Glenn? I really have to get the table read started. Why don’t you go check on the sound system? That would be such a big help.”

His lascivious grin widened. “Really know how to crack the whip, don’t you, KJ? Well, don’t worry. I like it.”

Ew.

“I have to go.”

I faked left, then dodged right, and somehow got around him. Maybe somebody on stage would save me. Please let Mr. Katz be here so we can start rehearsal. Or let Steph be here so we can run to the bathroom together. Something. Anything to get me away from—

“So, KJ, when are you gonna quit playing games and go out with me already?” Glenn asked.

The entire cast, whom Andy had gathered on the stage by now, fell silent.

“What?” Andy blurted, his clipboard dropping.

“You’re gonna go out with him?” Fred asked.

A few people laughed. A few people whispered. I looked up at the pink light above us and willed it to fall on my head.

Welcome to my life. The life of a Geek Magnet.

I am the geek pied piper, drum major in the geek parade. Ever since I can remember, a steady stream of unsavory guys has been following me around like I was God’s gift to geekdom and I have no idea why. Stephanie was always telling me that I shouldn’t complain. That at least someone was crushing on me. And she had a point. She did. But at times like these, that logic really did nothing for me. I mean, this was what my days were like. Embarrassing ambushes, awkward conversations, horrible letdowns, me feeling like this evil, superficial person who couldn’t see past face value. But it wasn’t my fault. I would have gladly fallen in love with one of these guys. My life would have been so much easier. But I couldn’t do it. My heart already belonged to another. And besides, these guys really did make it so damn hard. I mean, it wasn’t like they were funny-cute dorks (no Andy Sandbergs here), or even semi-hot dorks (Jimmy Fallons don’t actually exist). Each one of these guys had at least ten strikes. And I’d been through this so many times before that really, all I wanted was for that stupid light to fall and flatten me. I would have gladly taken one on the head if it would have gotten me out of this mortification.

“Glenn, I thought you were going to go check on the sound,” I said finally.

“I will. As soon as you give me an answer.”

He looked around at our audience gleefully. He was enjoying this. And so were they. Which meant no one was going to help me. Stephanie would have, but she hadn’t arrived yet. I was going to have to kill her later.

“KJ? What’s going on?” Fred said, his expression pathetic.

And suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. Epiphany!

“Glenn, you . . . you know I can’t date anyone in the cast,” I improvised. “I’m the stage manager. How would that look?”

Ha! Now I couldn’t date Glenn or Andy or Fred! Three geeks down with one blow! Genius!

“I’m not in the cast. I’m in charge of AV,” Glenn said, all proud.

Damn these geeks and their quick minds.

“Well, I’m still in charge of you,” I said with a shrug. “And we all know how messy on-set romances can be. Sorry.”

“Tough break, Marlowe,” one of the ubiquitous drama guys said as he walked by. He slapped Glenn on the back at the exact same moment that Glenn was taking another slug from his Yoo-hoo bottle. There was a gross choking sound. His eyes widened. And suddenly, I was on the receiving end of a cool, refreshing chocolate shower.

The Drama Twins screeched. Nobody moved. I looked down at my new light blue sweater. A constellation of brown droplets. Everywhere. All the heat in my body rushed up my neck and into my face.

It’s fine. It’s fine. Do. Not. Panic.

“Are you okay, KJ? Are you okay?” Fred asked, loping over.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, God, KJ. Your sweater!” Glenn cried. He looked around the stage, searching for God knows what. “Here! Take this.”

He pulled his velour shirt off over his head, momentarily exposing his prominent ribs before the white T-shirt underneath fell back into place.

“No! Take this!” Fred yanked his hooded sweatshirt off the back of a chair, knocking the chair over in the process.

All around us, people started to chuckle. My skin burned so hot it was going to incinerate my clothes. Then Glenn would really get a show to remember.

“I’m fine, you guys, really.” I walked over to the pile of unclaimed scripts that were left on the stage, turning my back to them and willing them to go away. Couldn’t they see they were embarrassing me?

“No. Really. I want you to have it,” Glenn said, following me. “Please. Take it.”

“No, take mine,” Fred said.

“It’s my fault. You want mine.”

“I’ve got a cardigan!” Andy announced helpfully.

“No, you want mine, KJ. Don’t you? KJ? KJ?”

I looked down at the stains on my new sweater as laughter filled my ears. I was going to cry. I was actually going to cry. So much for being dizzy with power. If anything, I was suffering a serious power outage.

Go away! Please just go away!

“Holy crap!” Robbie Delano, the tall, emo-cute, drummer/actor/class cutup who was playing Danny Zuko, looked up and shoved his chair back suddenly. He put his hand on Glenn’s chest, effectively pushing him away from me. “Glenn, buddy, I think I see smoke in the AV booth.”

“What?” Glenn’s jaw dropped. He was gone in a flash. The air around me cooled slightly.

“Hey, Freddy. You wanna go over some lines?” Robbie crooked his arm around Fred’s neck and basically yanked him away. “Andy! Where’s my script, man? I thought you were on top of things around here. Chop chop.”

Andy dropped to the pile of scripts at my feet to find it. Suddenly I could breathe again. I was still covered in chocolate, but Robbie Delano had saved me. Why? We’d barely ever spoken two words to each other. Robbie was one of those guys who functioned in his own little world, outside the crazy clique society of our school. Back in middle school he had been one of the jocks, one of the blessed ones, bff with Cameron Richardson, who ruled our class to this day. But somewhere along the line, all that had changed. Now Robbie was sports-team free and instead, played drums in the marching band, sang in the choir, and was always in the musicals. Yet he never hung out with the drama crowd or the band geeks or anyone else, really. He’d been in my class since kindergarten, but other than that, I knew next to nothing about him.

“Thanks,” I mouthed to him.

He smirked in response. “No big.”

My body heat returned to sub-nuclear levels. Okay, so I knew one thing about him. I now owed him one big, fat favor.