Holly Black Read online

  COPYRIGHT

  Editors’ Note and Compilation copyright © 2009

  by Holly Black and Cecil Castellucci

  “Once You’re a Jedi, You’re a Jedi All the Way” copyright © 2009 by Holly Black and

  Cecil Castellucci

  “One of Us” copyright © 2009 by Tracy Lynn

  “Defi nitional Chaos” copyright © 2009 by Scott Westerfeld

  “I Never” copyright © 2009 by Cassandra Clare, LLC

  “The King of Pelinesse” copyright © 2009 by M. T. Anderson

  “The Wrath of Dawn” copyright © 2009 by Cynthia and Greg Leitich Smith

  “Quiz Bowl Antichrist” copyright © 2009 by David Levithan

  “The Quiet Knight” copyright © 2009 by Garth Nix

  “Everyone But You” copyright © 2009 by Lisa Yee

  “Secret Identity” copyright © 2009 by Kelly Link

  “Freak the Geek” copyright © 2009 by John Green

  “The Truth About Dino Girl” copyright © 2009 by Barry Lyga

  “This Is My Audition Monologue” copyright © 2009 by Sara Zarr

  “The Stars at the Finish Line” copyright © 2009 by Wendy Mass

  “It’s Just a Jump to the Left” copyright © 2009 by Libba Bray

  “How to Tell If Your Dice Are Lucky or Unlucky”

  “I Totally Shouldn’t Post This, But . . .”

  “The Best Ways to Stay Awake for Gaming”

  “How to Identify . . .”

  “What to Remember When Going to a Convention”

  “How to Look Cool and Not Drool in Front of Your Favorite Author”

  “What Kind of Geek Are You?”

  Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Hope Larson

  Text copyright © 2009 by Holly Black and Cecil Castellucci

  “Top Five Words or Phrases You Need to Know in Klingon”

  “How to Cheat Like a Nerd”

  “How to Cosplay with Common Household Objects”

  “What Your Instrument Says About You”

  “What Your Lunch Table Status Means”

  “How to Hook Up at the Science Fair”

  “Theater Types”

  Illustrations copyright © 2009 by Bryan Lee O’Malley

  Text copyright © 2009 by Holly Black and Cecil Castellucci

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  www.twitter.com/littlebrown

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: August 2009

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-05262-7

  “The Song of the Stars” quotation in “The Stars at the Finish Line” on pages 352–353, Stars of the First People: Native American Star Myths and Constellations by –Dorcas S. Miller, published in 1997 by Pruett Publishing Company, PO Box 2140, Boulder, Colorado, 80306, p. 43, reprinted from The Algonquin Legends of New England; or, Myths and Folk Lore of the Micmac, Passamaquoddy, and Penobscot Tribes by Charles Godfrey Leland, p. 379.

  Contents

  Copyright

  Editors’ Note

  Once You’re a Jedi, You’re a Jedi All the Way

  Comic: Top Five Words or Phrases You Need to Know in Klingon

  One of Us

  Comic: How to Tell If Your Dice Are Lucky or Unlucky

  Definitional Chaos

  Comic: I Totally Shouldn't Post This, But . . .

  I Never

  Comic: How to Look Cool and Not Drool in Front of Your Favorite Author

  The King of Pelinesse

  Comic: How to Identify . . .

  The Wrath of Dawn

  Comic: How to Cheat Like a Nerd

  Quiz Bowl Antichrist

  Comic: How to Cosplay with Common Household Objects

  The Quiet Knight

  Comic: What Your Instrument Says About You

  Everyone But You

  Comic: What to Remember When Going to a Convention

  Secret Identity

  Comic: What Your Lunch Table Status Means

  Freak the Geek

  Comic: How to Hook Up at the Science Fair

  The Truth About Dino Girl

  Comic: Theater Types

  This Is My Audition Monologue

  Comic: The Best Ways to Stay Awake for Gaming

  The Stars At The Finish Line

  Comic: What Kind of Geek Are You?

  It’s Just a Jump to the Left

  About the Illustrators

  All text for comic interstitials by Holly Black and Cecil Castellucci. Comics marked by illustrated by Bryan Lee O’Malley, comics marked by illustrated by Hope Larson.

  EDITORS’ NOTE

  It didn’t matter which one of us had married a rival Dungeon Master (that would be Holly) or lived for six weeks in the line for Star Wars (that would be Cecil), the moment that we met one another, we knew instantly that we were of the same tribe.

  And so, while hanging out at Comic-Con in 2007, or as Cecil likes to call it, “the nerd prom,” waiting in line for what we were promised was “the best burrito in San Diego,” we spoke giddily of the amazing costumes we’d seen, books we’d read, comics we picked up.

  Cecil told Holly about breakfast, where while eating eggs, she noticed that the table next to her was filled with a bunch of Jedi in full Jedi outfits. We remarked how we had noticed a lot of Jedi. And we had noticed a lot of Klingons. Personally, we’d been looking for Slave Leias, because we’d been told there would be a bunch, but actually there weren’t that many. There were just a lot of Jedi and Klingons.

  Holly mentioned that she had noticed that there was a panel on how to live your day-to-day life as a Klingon. We kind of wanted to go to that. We thought it sounded kind of cool. We wondered what kind of domestic clues we could get from learning to live Klingon.

  So there we were, in line for this burrito. The line was really long. We stood there swapping Comic-Con stories while we waited, because probably we’d been waiting for a table for about an hour already. And we both kind of said at the same time, “What would happen if you were a Jedi and you woke up with a Klingon in your bed?” “Would it be like Romeo and Juliet?” “Could you even tell your friends?”

  We decided then and there that we needed to write that story. The story of a Jedi and a Klingon and true love. We thought we could write it and sell it and it would be awesome.

  Only then we realized that no one would publish that story.

  Later, while Cecil was walking the floor looking for Gama-go T-shirts, standing between Wonder Woman and Phoenix and getting a crush on Scott Pilgrim, Holly called and left this message:

  “Cecil! No one will publish our story! That is why we need to create an anthology that is geektastic so that we can have a home for our story.”

  “Oh! And we have the geekiest friends!” Cecil said.

  “Yes! An anthology about the geek and the geek observed,” Holly said.

  And thus an idea was born.

  We hope that you enjoy the stories within.

  They sing to our geek heart.

  AMHERST, June 4, 2008

  a cognizant original v5 release october 10 2010

/>   ONCE YOU’RE A JEDI, YOU’RE A JEDI ALL THE WAY

  by holly black and cecil castellucci

  I. Klingon

  I awake tangled up in scratchy sheets with my head pounding and the taste of cheap alcohol and Tabasco still in my mouth. The spirit gum I used to attach my nose ridge and eyebrows sticks to the sheets as I roll over. Immediately, a wave of nausea makes me regret moving and I try to lie as still as I can until it passes.

  The thing about advancing in the Klingon ranks is that you have to be badass. So when Kadi and D’ghor decided last night that we had to make blood wine with Everclear instead of tequila, and twice as much Tabasco as the recipe called for, I had to drink it or be a wimp.

  I open my eyes and reason with myself that if I can crawl into the hotel bathroom, I can get some ibuprofen from my bag and stop my head from hurting quite so much. Also, water. Water would definitely help.

  Pushing off the sheets, I realize that I’m still wearing my uniform and that my bra is still on. My pants and boots are missing.

  “Arizhel?” someone says from the other side of the bed as I stagger toward a door I hope isn’t a closet. The voice has an accent that might be Irish. I don’t know anyone Irish.

  I also don’t know this room. It must be in the same hotel, but none of my stuff is here and there is only one single big bed instead of the two doubles that Kadi, D’ghor, and Noggra were sharing with me. The only thing that’s familiar is my bat’leH leaning against the wall, the curved blade gleaming in the little bit of sun sneaking through the drawn shades. The glare hurts my eyes.

  In the bathroom, I turn the lock and go over the night before. I think back on how we sang rousing battle songs in our hotel room, accompanied by swigs of that horrible blood wine. Then we rode the escalator, raising our weapons in the air with a single shout, to the party that was happening on the main floor. A party seething with costumed people for us to growl at: Peacekeepers, Cobra Command, Stormtroopers, Browncoats.

  I splash water on my face and chew up a couple of aspirins. Whoever is in the bedroom is really tidy; his toiletries are still in a little bag. There’s even aftershave. I don’t see any pots of makeup or prosthetics, so I figure he’s not a Klingon.

  Maybe he’s a member of Starfleet. There were a couple of cute guys with really proper costumes and phasers that glowed a little bit when they were fired. I remember arm-wrestling a cadet, but I can’t believe I would have gone back to his room. For one thing, I won way too easily. For another, he had a Vulcan girlfriend who was watching us both like she wanted to have some kind of pon-farr excuse to kick my ass.

  I remember hoping she was going to try.

  Maybe it was that guy. I groan and rub my face.

  I pull off the braided wig that’s twisted around anyway, peel off my ridge and bald cap, and wash off as much of the makeup and adhesive as I can without cold cream or Bond-Off. Blinking at my own face in the mirror, I realize how different I look. Tame. Like I used to be.

  “Are you okay?” comes a voice from beyond the door. He definitely has an accent.

  “Yeah,” I yell.

  “I ordered coffees and some food,” he says. “Grease will fix us right up.”

  I’ve never ordered room service. Only rich people order room service.

  “Uh, thanks.” I fill a water glass from the sink and guzzle it. I feel better, like the aspirin is kicking in, and I take a deep breath.

  I wish I had my pants, but I pull down my pleather tunic as low as it can go and walk out of the bathroom.

  There, sitting on the bed, is a thin guy with blond hair and a cute, lopsided smile. He’s still wearing his uniform, too. His Jedi uniform.

  I know I look completely stupid, but I just stand there in the doorway. The buzzer on the door rings, but I’m still staring. Tall riding boots, outer tunic, tabard, obi. Jedi.

  No. I couldn’t have. Not with an Ewok-cuddling, Force-feeling, Padawan-braid-wearing, lightsaber-rammed-up-his-ass Jedi.

  He gets up and I fumble around in the covers until I discover my pants. Pulling them up and shoving my feet into my boots, I turn around as he opens the door. He signs something and comes back with the tray of dishes in metal domes.

  “I feel totally thrashed,” he says as though we haven’t committed a terrible crime. As though we haven’t totally betrayed the stupid uniforms we’re standing around in. Everyone knows that trekkers and whatever starwarsians call themselves aren’t supposed to have anything to do with one another.

  He pours coffee into two cups and asks me how I take it.

  “Black,” I say.

  He smirks. “I should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

  “And you take your raktajino with milk and sugar.”

  “Ouch,” he says, but he’s laughing. Maybe at what I said, maybe at the Klingon word. I want to know how we met, but I don’t want him to know that I don’t remember. I don’t even know his name.

  It turns out he does take his coffee with milk and sugar. “Makes it more like tea,” he says.

  I eat some toast with raspberry jelly and a sausage. After that and three cups of coffee, I start to feel a lot better. I feel good enough to realize that the room service receipt has his name on it. Leaning over, I take a quick glance. There it is. Thomas.

  He sees me looking. “Thomas,” I say.

  “I told you it was my real name. Unlike Arizhel.”

  At least he didn’t seem to realize that I don’t remember him at all.

  “So,” I say, “are you here at the con with a lot of other…,” I hesitate on the word, “…Jedi?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I already know what you think about Star Wars.”

  “Oh, you mean that it’s lame that Star Wars worships monarchical, secretive, and monastic systems and tries to tell you that anger is evil?”

  “It’s pretty funny that a tough, angry girl like you is all about a goody-goody idealistic show like Star Trek.”

  “It’s pretty funny that you find that kind of girl attractive.” I can’t help smiling. I take another sausage.

  “Oh, come on!” he says. “Like your attraction to me is any less screwed up?”

  “I’m a Klingon,” I say. “Of course I’m attracted to my enemy.”

  II. Jedi

  A Jedi is never supposed to give over to his passions; he is always supposed to be in control. But last night, at some point between Coke Pluses, Master Sven must have spiked mine with a little bit of rum. My being such a lightweight might be a contributing factor in the mess I find myself in this morning.

  I know that most of my Order don’t go for anything outside of the Star Wars universe. It’s all Star Wars all the time with them. Which is cool. I get it.

  There is something about the Jedi in Star Wars that feels more right to me than any other made-up alien life code. It’s the Force, really. I have this thing inside of me that is light and wants to do good, but I struggle with my own dark side. I try to keep it in balance, but it’s hard. I like the idea of there being something larger than yourself that guides you. The Jedi code.

  I am not adverse to liking a bit of this and that from other universes, though. Heck, I like Star Trek. I even own all the original series on DVD. And this Klingon girl, Arizhel, whose real name I still don’t know, isn’t like any girl I’ve met before.

  “Careful there, you might break something,” I say.

  I’m watching her wolf down some breakfast and I’m trying to act all cool and all that in front of her, because she’s witty.

  “You are in more danger of being broken,” she says. “I am a Klingon. I could break you with a roar.”

  And funny. God, she’s funny. That’s what I liked about her at the party last night, the way she made me laugh when she came over to my Master and me.

  “So you’re a Jedi Knight,” she said, brandishing her scary sword. I lifted my lightsaber and parried with her.

  “Apprentice,” I said. “An
honorable start, for a human,” she said.

  “I’ve mastered many levels since I’ve started my training,” I said.

  “Have you done battle?” she asked.

  “Well, we do fight exhibitions,” I said.

  “So you are a dancer,” she said. “No wonder you wear a skirt.”

  “It’s a tunic,” I said.

  And then I blushed and felt embarrassed. I was worried that she wouldn’t think much of a Jedi Apprentice.

  Master Sven just handed me another Coke Plus with rum and left me alone with her. He told me he’d find another place to crash, and I took that as encouragement that I was doing well.

  “Every dog has his day,” Master Sven said.

  I make sure my clip-on braid is in place while she pushes the button to call the elevator. I am wearing my Jedi uniform and she is wearing her Klingon costume, but not her ridges or wig piece, nor her makeup. She’s very different from what I remember about last night.

  I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye as we enter the hotel elevator.

  First off, she’s Asian. And not dark and orange. She’s tried washing off most of her makeup but it’s still a little streaky. Still, she’s pretty. She also looks soft, almost shy for someone who seems so commanding. She’s got a great body. Really curvy and she’s an inch or two smaller than me, but I notice that she walks with a swagger that makes her seem taller. Her walk makes me want to get a little attitude in my step.

  It makes the idea of turning to the dark side a little bit sexier.

  I can’t believe I just thought that. Annakin went to the dark side for love and look what happened to him. I don’t care how cool this girl is. I’m not about to let that happen to me.

  I’m a Jedi.

  To become a Jedi requires a serious mind and a deep commitment, and here I am, feeling kind of giddy standing next to a Klingon.

  She turns to face me.

  “I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” she asks. “Klingon mating rituals can be violent. It’s not unknown for there to be bruises, or broken bones.”

  “Oh, no!” I say. “We Jedi are tough. I just used the Force.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she says. “Good.”