Assured Destruction (7 page)

Chapter 12

I
hunker down in the front seat of my car in the school parking lot. As I wait for the bell, the tape deck (you heard right) is playing one of my mom’s old The Who tapes:
Who are you? Who, who, who who.
I’m avoiding everyone. I don’t want to hear the rumors. The snide remarks. I now know why I have a hundred Facebook notifications. Someone impersonated me and posted the link to the blog on my own page. Another space of mine hacked, and I use pretty strong passwords. At least I’d thought so.

@JFlyTrap You’re kinda like a boulder rolling down a mountain causing an avalanche that crushes all the innocents in a village, aren’t ya?
Heckleena tweets.

It’s not your fault @JFlyTrap, it’s the bad peoples’
, Frannie replies.

Would any of it have happened if not for @JFlyTrap?
Hairy asks.

No more Facebook, no more Twitter, no blogging, I’m offline,
JanusFlyTrap tweets.

Who are you? Give us back our @JFlyTrap!
Heckleena demands.

“We’ll see how long it lasts,” I say aloud. The bell rings and I kick open the car door.

English is my first class. I run from my car to the classroom. Despite my best efforts to avoid people, I still catch whispers as I jog through the hallway.

In class, my teacher stands at the white board, surveying the few stragglers.

“Please place late essays in the pile at the front.”

I open my mouth to protest, to tell her that my computer crashed, then the server, and that someone is maliciously targeting me, but it all sounds crazed. Janus the computer nerd loses her data? Besides, it doesn’t matter. My mom said, “Pass your courses or bye-bye computers.” Well, Shadownet is offline. The only thing I can do is send tweets and posts over my iPhone and respond to email. It’s like Shadownet has arms and legs, but no heart.

It’s ironic that my backpack holds the only copy of my essay—if you don’t count where it came from. I reach inside and leave “Hullabaloo” with the few other late essays, including Karl’s; he smiles at me as I lay mine on top of his. After I sit, I concentrate on them as hard as I can, but unfortunately they don’t spontaneously combust.

I don’t take English with Jonny, so instead I spend the class doodling about him and Karl. I can’t participate in the class discussion because they’re going over what the essay should have contained and I haven’t read the book beyond a Wikipedia plot summary. Instead, I draw Jonny brandishing a huge paint brush and Karl wielding a baseball bat. They duel until Jonny sticks the paintbrush into Karl’s eye socket, but in a final swing of the bat, Karl wallops Jonny in the side of his head staving in his skull. By the end of class, they’re both bleeding out on the ground, dying for their love of me.

“Janus, the principal would like to speak with you.”

I look up. Mrs. French’s lips are pursed. Class is over. I’m one of a half-dozen kids lingering. I’m not worried about the principal; I can guess what he wants to talk about. I shrug my courier bag over my shoulder and walk out. When I reach the offices, the school admin assistant waves me behind the desk.

Chippy is leaving the office ahead of me. My concern ratchets higher, but then, maybe he has been caught. The school takes bullying seriously.

I knock on the door.

“Enter.”

I turn the knob and walk into the room. My breath catches in my throat. It takes a lot to force my mom to drive, and here she is, sitting on the principal’s big couch.

“Mom?”

She stares at me. The principal points to the couch with its free seat right next to the police officer, the same one who came poking around Assured Destruction about the health clinic. Constable Williams.

“Hello, Janus,” she says. “I’m with the cyber crime unit in the police force.”

I clear my throat without saying hello.

“Are you familiar with a website where anonymous posters are making comments about other students, including you?” the principal asks.

I nod.

“It’s quite clever of you, Janus.” He smiles and grunts appreciatively.

I look to my mom in confusion, but she’s giving nothing away. Stone faced.

Principal Wolzowski checks a file and then shuts it. “We know you’re intelligent, but you’re failing several courses, including computer science.”

I start in, but my mom cuts me off.

“No, Janus,” she says. “Listen.”

“It’s come to our attention that you created the website that allows anonymous respondents to make posts and reply to posts regarding other students. Including one that suggests a student die.”

“But—” In my head I’m screaming,
I die
. It suggests I die.

This time it’s Wolzowski who holds up his hand. “Someone posted a picture of Ellie Wise and inserted a piece of malicious code, a virus that takes over the computer creating what Chipp—what Mr. MacLean calls a zombie and uses the inbox to propagate—”

“It sends an email, one email,” I blurt.

My mom looks at me and shakes her head. I’ve just handed the principal all the proof he needs.

“I didn’t make the website,” I add. “Mr. MacLean did. I saw him surfing it yesterday.”

“We find that hard to believe. Mr. MacLean brought the site to our attention when he realized it dealt with Hopewell students. That only occurred when you posted Ellie’s picture. We think you made yourself the focus to distract people from its real purpose.”

My mind is whirling ... how convenient of Mr. MacLean to tell them about the site. It keeps his hands clean.

“Janus,” my mom begins with a warning glare to not interrupt, “when the principal called, I was worried for you. I had Rogers Communications take down the site and track the IP addresses of the users to see if any used its services. It did. A Frannie Mouthwater. Does that name ring any bells? Because all of the mail is going to that account. It
is
yours, isn’t it? It’s the same name you gave one of your dolls when you were little. The one that vomits when you squeeze it.”

“I don’t know how to explain,” I say. And I don’t. Not without getting into Shadownet and confiding that I’ve been stealing the hard drives of customers. Maybe if the cop wasn’t here, I would have told, but she’s wearing handcuffs and a sidearm.

“I bet you don’t.” There’s sarcasm in my mom’s tone, which hurts more than anything that’s been said so far. “Your relationship with Ellie Wise is no secret, dear. Just because she told on you about this Hannah incident doesn’t give you the right to—” She cuts herself off, red faced and head shaking.

So she knows about Hannah—great. It was dumb of me to use Ellie’s picture; I really should know better. Wolzowski opens his mouth to speak, and I feel like a ball being kicked around the school yard. “This site could have done a lot of damage, Janus. Ellie Wise is not happy, but luckily it appears the only person you have really hurt is yourself. She’s not going to press charges.” He nods at the constable. “This time.”

I lower my chin. If I did tell them about everything else, I’m not sure it would help. And this has grown very personal. Chippy, or not, I will find out who is doing this to me and I will destroy them.

“Given that you don’t appear to have learned your lesson from yesterday, and considering there isn’t even anything beautiful in my inbox due to your altercation with Ellie. I have no other option but to suspend you until further notice.” The principal folds his hands on the desk. He passes the ball.

“And grounded,” my mom says. She shoots—“
And
you will still send something beautiful to the principal every morning”—and scores. So much for the team.

The meeting ends with a lot of dark glowering. I’m escorted by my mother through the hallways. We stop at my locker and I collect the rest of my books. Teachers will send on homework via email. I spy Jonny at the end of the hall and I don’t know what to do. His hair is back in a short ponytail. I give him a pained expression, but I’m sure I just look constipated.

“Help me,” I mouth, but don’t know if he catches it.

“I’ll see you at home.” My mom pushes the button to open the atrium door and rolls smoothly outside and down the ramp. We’ll be driving home separately. It’ll be my last few minutes of freedom. I turn back for Jonny, but he’s gone.

Would I have had my face pressed up against the window?

I shake my head and stroll to the parking lot, balancing the stack of books in my arms. I open the trunk of the car, let loose the landslide of books, and flop my bag on top. Once I’m sitting in the front seat, I heave a sigh.

“Can I come?”

I cry out, and Jonny’s head pops up from the back seat.

“Sorry,” he says. “I guessed where you would be headed and had to hide when a teacher walked past. The door was unlocked …”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried about someone stealing the sound system.” I twist in my seat. “What are you doing here?”

“When a friend of mine says
help me
, I help.”

I nearly break into tears. I’m not much of a weeper, and here I am, twice in twenty-four hours. He reaches out and touches my shoulder.

“You better go,” I say. “Here comes another teacher.”

“I’ll walk back from your place.” He ducks. “Drive.”

I start the car and ease out of the parking lot. Once moving I keep well below the posted speed limit, wanting the drive to last as long as possible.

“So what’s happening?” comes the disembodied voice.

And I make the decision to tell him. To tell him everything. It feels so good to offload the guilt, the fear, the confusion, to have someone I can trust who knows. The only thing I don’t mention is that I’ve been poking around in his hard drive—that would end our budding relationship and I’m not ready for that.

After I’m done, there’s nothing but silence in the back for a full minute.

“So what you’re saying is that you’re taking people’s private files and using them to recreate them online?”

“Yes.”

“And now someone is targeting the real people behind the profiles?”

“You got it. And me, I think the real target is me,” I add.

I can’t see his expression, but I can tell he isn’t too impressed.

“How could you think this whole thing was a good idea?”

“I—listen; I’m not the one attacking them! Okay?” My voice cracks, and his head bobs up.

“Why
do
you need imaginary friends?” he asks.

“Whoever is attacking Shadownet isn’t imaginary, and the people he’s hurting
aren’t
imaginary.”

We’re almost at Assured Destruction and I don’t want to end our conversation on a sour note.

“Maybe you should think about that?” he says.

If he hadn’t phrased it as a question, I might have blown up, but he had. “I have. I do care,” I say. “But if I go to the cops, my mom will lose the business and we’ll be on the street.”

He’s quiet again for a moment. “So, Ellie has been hit. Harry. This clinic. You with the website. Who does that leave on this Shadownet?” he asks.

I swallow, annoyed with myself that I hadn’t considered who might be next. “Gumps, who is dead—but that computer doesn’t count, it’s pre–Web. Heckleena, who was one of my first, and Frannie, who would be twelve or thirteen by now.”

“Are they okay? Do you think it might be one of them?” There’s a pause. “That would make sense. I’d be pissed if you turned me into one of your Internet minions. That would give motivation.”

I bite my lip. The fierce look in his eyes tells me that he’d throw me to the wolves if he knew he was part of Shadownet. Here he is, skipping class and walking back four miles in order to have this brainstorming session, and I can’t tell him the whole truth. I like Jonny, but I always feel guilty around him.

“Chippy has motivation too,” I say.

“Yeah, but you have no proof.”

“I could hack his computer ...”

“If you think you’re in trouble now, try breaking into a teacher’s files,” he sniggers. “Geez, you’re a magnet for this stuff.”

“All right, the other Shadownet profiles at least give me something to focus on.” I pull into a parking spot well away from the front entry and turn the engine off. My mom’s van, thankfully empty, is parked at the other side.

“This isn’t good,” Jonny says. “You need help.”

I agree with him, but don’t know what to say.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the website?” I ask. He looks surprised. “I could tell you were on it once you downloaded Ellie’s picture.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “I’m no good with computers. I didn’t know the site was about you. You’re the one who posted the link on Facebook. Why would you do that if the site was about you?”

“But that wasn’t me, that was just someone who hacked my account!”

“I know that now, but didn’t last night,” he says and opens the side door. “Be careful. Someone is out to get you.”

“Jonny?” I say, and he pauses. “Come see me later? Just send a text and I’ll let you in back. No one’s downstairs after eight o’clock but me.”

He nods and skulks off to the side of the parking lot before circling back.

“It’s not like a date,” I say to myself.