Twelve-year-old Jo Rivetti knows three things for sure: geniuses still have to go to school, being a triplet doesn’t make her cool, and perfection is her pillar of strength. So when Jo gets her first ever B+ from her favorite teacher, Ms. Blooms, there is nothing more important than correcting this blight on her spotless record.

But then Ms. Blooms suddenly goes missing leaving only a cryptic note for Jo to find. When deciphering the note leads to a late night recon mission, Jo, her brother Justin, and her BFF Ronnie discover a mysterious math website connected to a hidden inheritance. Unfortunately, they aren’t the only ones who know about this website and if Jo wants her teacher back alive, she’ll have to leave perfection in her past and prioritize people. So not optimal.

After the recon mission goes awry, Jo, Justin, and Ronnie are in trouble with the law, with their parents, and with the bad guys. They only have one move left to rescue Ms. Blooms—solve the clues and find the treasure first, never mind that they’re grounded with a looming court date and no internet access. Luckily, Jo has never met a puzzle she couldn’t solve. And honestly, she does have a reputation to maintain (she is a genius after all). But as the clues unravel, Jo finds the kidnappers will stop at nothing to get that treasure, even if it means Jo, her friends and family, and Ms. Blooms might all sum to zero. 

NO GEEKS, NO GLORY is a 45,000 word MG STEM Adventure novel with series potential. Fans of Book Scavenger by Jennifer Chambliss Bertman and The Wollstonecraft Detective Agency by Jordan Stratford may enjoy this story.

This novel was recently announced as a top five finalist in the YA/MG category for Colorado Gold Writing Contest and chosen for mentorship by #Writementor. I have a Bachelor’s of Science Degree in Mathematics and I am a member of the Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers. I live in Denver, Colorado. Thank you so much for your time and participation in this showcase.

Warm regards,

Meagan Dallner

 

 

CHAPTER ONE

Holy. Einstein.

Jo Rivetti’s hands trembled as she walked down the hallway of Crest Middle School to her teacher’s office. She’d never received a B in her entire life. Not one. Not until this morning when Ms. Blooms handed back her math test with a B+ bleeding from the corner.

It had to be a mistake.

Pale blue lockers slid past in her peripheral vision. Tears balanced precariously on her lower lashes. She would not cry. Not at school. Not when word might echo back to her brother and sister, the other two thirds of the Rivetti triplets. She’d never hear the end of it.

Her lungs short circuited. Her heart accelerated. Panic protocol commenced.

She needed to calm down before she got to Ms. Blooms. She had to be rational.

Jo turned her attention to physics, her personal version of zen. If she used the white tiles on the floor, which looked to be approximately equal to one square foot a piece, and given an error of plus or minus one inch due to the grout, Jo calculated her own velocity to be 1.5ft per second, or 90ft per minute, or 1.02 miles per hour, which was practically the lowest speed on a treadmill. Slow was good. Slow was rational. 

Ms. Blooms office door was— she studied the tiles between her feet and the light spilling into the hall— sixty feet. She’d be there in under a minute if she didn’t go even slower, but as she’d be walking right past the giant school trophy case, which was more like a “Jessica Rivetti, the perfect sister, does all the sporty things better than everyone else” case, Jo didn’t feel like lingering. Stalling tactic denied.

With five feet remaining, Jo stopped.

Voices emanating from the office punctured the quiet hallway. What in the name of Newton was she supposed to do now? Knock? She didn’t have enough information to determine her correct course of action. She needed more data.

Jo leaned against one of the lockers and inched closer. Solely in the interest in data, she peered around the doorjamb as a voice, robotic and distorted, erupted from the speakers on her teacher’s desk. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Bloomers.”

Ms. Blooms faced away and Jo quickly spun out of sight before her teacher turned around. Jo checked up and down the hallway in alarm. Everyone was at lunch, the hallways abandoned. There was no one to advise her. But this—whatever this was—sounded private.

Butting into personal conversations was not going to score Jo any extra credit, and for the first time in her life, she might actually need some extra credit. Jo dropped her face to her hands and made to walk a safe distance from the door when Ms. Bloom’s voice made Jo stop cold.