Authors: Jessie Rosen
Sasha
It was ten o’clock at night before
Sasha finally settled down to her computer and read the words she’d talked
herself into believing she would never see—the ones that made her whole
body shiver.
The first day back had been typically busy, plus she’d
stayed after school to help Mrs. Egenoff finish organizing the computer lab for
extra credit. Sasha didn’t need the extra credit. She could probably teach all
of the computer classes her school offered, but new Design Suite software had
just arrived for the AP engineering class, and Mrs. Egenoff said she could
spend an hour playing with it as thanks for the help. It didn’t hurt that
hiding out in the lab meant she could avoid walking through the first-day
activities fair. The thought of table after table of screaming upperclassmen
hawking a dozen different paths to high school glory was the opposite of
appealing. Sasha made it her goal to talk to as few people as humanly possible
in a given day.
By the time Sasha got home, it was already six o’clock, and
then there was dinner to make and a surprising amount of homework to do. She
didn’t hold out hope that they might eat as a family in honor of the first day
of school. They had never been that kind of unit. Mom would probably labor away
at some ridiculous metal sculpture thing in her studio and Dad would hide out
at the office until at least eight. Sasha was pretty sure that neither of them
even knew school was back in session, but she didn’t mind. The less they paid
attention to her, the more time she could spend online.
Sasha very clearly remembered the day she’d first learned
what hacking meant. It was the spring of her eighth-grade year, and she was
sitting in computer class. Some terrified-looking substitute teacher had been
directed to keep the kids quiet by showing a “20/20” special on people who got
caught cracking the New York Stock Exchange security systems and wound up
serving eight years in a federal prison. It was intended to scare the class
away from any curiosity about the hacking world, but it had the opposite effect
on Sasha. From that point on, she was hooked. It was exactly what she needed to
help with the investigation.
It takes the average baby hacker about a year to develop the
skills to crack a basic office security system. After that, things progress
quickly to the point of figuring out how to monitor a person’s online life.
Sasha tackled all that within her first six months. That’s how she earned the
name “Phenom.” You know you’re finally accepted into the community once another
hacker gives you a handle, and she received hers from Syke, the leader of the
Midnight Kids—one of the top hacking groups online.
Sasha’s skills expanded a thousand-fold once she had the
support of Syke and his crew. They helped her develop an interface to track all
the communication she was monitoring. Sasha knew everything that went on inside
the computers of over three hundred fifty people—emails, chats,
downloads, searches, and more. After that, she built an alert system to let her
know when relevant information was shared. That is,
if
relevant
information was ever shared.
It had been five hundred twenty-one days since the search
terms she’d built her system around popped up in the interface—almost a
year and a half since any of the people she was hacking mentioned the words
she’d been waiting to hear. Those words were the key to building her case.
Sasha still checked in on the feed twice a day, every day,
no matter how useless the act felt. She couldn’t let herself give up yet, if
ever. She’d wake up, shower, get dressed, and then sit down at her computer to
check the feed. At the end of the day, she’d finish her homework, change into
her pajamas, and sit down to check it one more time before bed. Every single
day was the same. No new mentions of the search terms.
They had obviously all forgotten about what happened, and
she hated them for it. Nobody wanted to remember that kind of tragedy, least of
all Sasha. And yet here she was again, as always, sitting before her computer
for the end-of-day check. She refused to let a day go by without honoring the
promise she’d made herself all those months ago, even if no new clues ever
surfaced.
But today, all that patience finally paid off.
Sasha saw the flashing red
S
on the top right of her
screen and a mix of joy and fear rushed through her body.
She clicked on the icon, which opened the master-panel
listing of all the computers she followed. Sasha had built the system to
collect a huge amount of data—enough to give her the greatest chance
possible of finding the one thing she was looking for. But the deluge of
information wouldn’t be a problem today. The problem now was where to begin.
For a second, Sasha just froze. She didn’t know whether to
laugh, cry, jump up and down, or scream. Somehow every emotion available felt
right. Instead, she took a deep breath and clicked on the very first name on
the list: Andrea Adams. An instant-message screen popped open. She noticed that
Andrea Adams had engaged in an online conversation with a Christine Beck at
3:45 p.m., which was almost immediately after school let out for the day. Sasha
would typically do a control+F keyboard search to find mentions of the word
Sarah, but that wouldn’t be necessary. It was the very first thing Andrea Adams
said.
Laura
Laura sat on her bed working on the
latest in her ever-growing collection of infinity scarves. Her mom’s mom, Grandma
Hellen, had taught her to knit the summer that she stayed in her cottage in Santa
Barbara. Laura had been something like ten years old, but the lesson stuck and
knitting became her favorite way to relax—even if it did make her feel
like an old lady.
Laura thought back on her first day at Englewood as she
stared at the needles flying around the bright-pink yarn. “I survived,” she’d
reported at the dinner table earlier, and luckily there was no follow-up
question. Laura didn’t want to talk about the confusing looks, and she
certainly didn’t want to remember what she overheard as she left lunch.
Charlie and his friends were already at the table when
she walked into the room, giving her the chance to observe them from afar. To Charlie’s
left sat a petite blonde wearing a blue-and-white-striped sweater dress. She
had blunt-cut bangs and tiny little panda bears painted on her fingernails, and
she moved like a flitting hummingbird, totally focused on everyone but herself.
To her left was a shorter, stockier version of Charlie. He wore a Varsity
jacket, an attempt at dressy sweat pants, and the only five o’clock shadow
Laura had ever seen at noon. On his lunch tray were two meatball sandwiches and
a giant side of fries, most of which appeared to be from the blond girl’s tray.
And then there was the other girl, the really beautiful one. Her lanky
frame, bone-white skin, and deep-auburn hair made her look like she’d just
stepped out of a magazine fashion spread, and her perfect posture made it clear
that she knew it. She clearly owned the table, if not the whole school.
Just as Laura was about to approach, the beautiful one hit
Charlie with a look like he’d just said something totally shocking.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Laura said as she slipped a tendril of
hair behind her ear. Everyone in the group startled at her
arrival—especially Charlie.
“There she is now!” he said, expertly smoothing over the
awkward moment. “We were just talking about how much it must have sucked to
never have winter on the West Coast.”
Laura smiled. “Seventy-five degrees year-round
is
a
total bummer.” The group forced a laugh. Whatever they had been talking about
was being pushed aside for now.
“Laura, the group—group, Laura.”
The little blond one stuck her hand out first. “Welcome to
Englewood. I’m Katherine Jacobs, but everyone calls me Kit. Your dress is super
cute, but you’re probably going to tell me it’s from some cool shop in L.A.”
Kit seemed sweet and genuine, like she knew just how to make a person feel
comfortable.
“Thank you,” Laura said, “It’s actually from my friend’s
fashion line. Your nails are really fun. Do you get them done in town?”
“Of
course
you have a friend with a fashion line,
and, yes, at Satin Hands. They can do any nail art you could possibly think of.
We’ll have to go sometime.”
“That would be really nice,” Laura said.
“Don’t let Kit morph you into her taller twin,” Varsity Jacket
said. “She makes up for her height with her bossiness.” She fake-shoved him. He
put his arm around her and gave her a rough kiss.
Okay, so these two are a
couple
, Laura thought. Then she said a silent prayer that Charlie and the
perfect one weren’t also a pair. “Sean Miller,” the wrestler said. “But
everyone calls me Miller.”
“Miller,” Laura repeated. “Got it.”
“I’m Amanda.”
She’d said it casually, like she was obligated—not
like she had any real interest in meeting this new person at their table. By
the time Laura had the chance to turn in her direction,
Amanda
appeared
to have shifted her seat closer to Charlie.
“Hi, Amanda,” Laura said, “Thanks for letting me join you
guys.”
“It was Charlie’s idea,” Amanda said, shooting a pageant-queen
smile in his direction. Unlike Kit, Amanda knew just how to make a girl feel
un
comfortable.
Laura got a full rundown of life in Englewood over the
course of lunch:
Yes, the school is cliquey, but people are happy keeping to
their own groups, and don’t worry,
we
get along with everyone. The
football team sucks; the soccer teams reign supreme (and with them Captain Charlie
Sanders). People mostly hang out at house parties over the weekend, and at The
Golden Bell Diner over on Route 9 most weeknights.
She also answered the full barrage of new-girl questions,
most of which she’d prepped for:
Yes, I really miss home, but I’m excited to
be on the East Coast. Yes, I was pissed at my parents for moving me before senior
year, but their new jobs have them traveling a ton, so that’s a plus. No, no
boyfriend back in Cali (and thank you, Kit, for asking in front of Charlie.)
And then the bell rang for fifth period and it was over.
Laura silently patted herself on the back for making what she thought was an
excellent first impression.
“We’re off to Señor Leon,” Kit said, “You guys?”
“Calc for me,” Charlie said.
“Same,” echoed Amanda with a big, wide smile.
“I have AP stats,” Laura said. “Is that in the same
hallway?”
“Whoa. Impressive,” Charlie said, which instantly wiped the smile
off Amanda’s face. “That’s in the same hall as us. Let’s go.”
They only made it a few steps beyond the cafeteria doors together
before Amanda looped her right arm into Charlie’s left and pulled him aside.
“You know what…can I have a word, Carly?” she said.
“Um…sure?” Charlie said, clearly thrown off by the move.
Laura didn’t budge at first. She was testing the situation to gauge whether
what she suspected was true: that Amanda wanted to have a word about
her
.
“Could you excuse us for a moment, Lauren?” And there was
her answer.
“Of course,” Laura said. “I think I forgot something in my
locker anyway. See you guys later.”
Laura chose to overlook the fact that Amanda had
intentionally botched her name, but as the two of them walked away, she
overheard something that she could not ignore.
“The last thing we need is our faces associated with that
face,” Amanda hissed. “Stay away.”
Charlie
The sun was almost completely set as
Charlie huffed up Vista Hill on the final leg of his evening three-miler. Soccer
practice had officially started two weeks ago, and each player was responsible
for logging five additional miles of running per day. Charlie made sure he did
at least seven. These next few weeks of training would be brutal and he was
determined to leave the right impression on every recruiter that came to visit.
But the truth was that he’d always loved pushing his body to its limits. It
made him feel powerful, and it helped him take his mind off life.
Right now, though, it wasn’t working. All he could think
about as he ran was whether or not Laura had overheard what Amanda said outside
the cafeteria—and why he cared so much.
Maybe Amanda was right. Charlie had been too focused on his
instant attraction to Laura to realize that one of the last things he
needed
was to be reminded of
her
. It was all in the past now.
It
had
happened over eighteen months ago. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d
heard her name uttered in the halls of Englewood. Everyone had moved
on—including him. Amanda was right.
By the time he got home from his run, the smell of his mom’s
famous lasagna was wafting out the front door. Charlie should have known she
wouldn’t be able to help herself today, even though she should have been
getting her sleep in before the overnight shift at the hospital call center.
Grandma’s meatball lasagna had always been the first-day-of-school dinner
tradition, and Mom wasn’t about to deny her pride and joy a family tradition.
“Look at you,” she said as he walked into the kitchen.
“Where did my little Choo Choo Charlie go?”
Charlie walked over and smothered her in a sweaty hug. “He
grew into a six-foot monster!”
“That
smells
! Go wash up before we sit down for some
lasagna,” she said.
“You didn’t have to, Mom,” Charlie said.
“I know,” she said. “But I’m proud of you. It’s been a tough
few years, and you’re handling it like a pro—just like you handle
everything.”
Charlie gave his mom a kiss on the forehead. He was tall
enough now to do it just like Gramps always had—way up top where her hair
met her forehead. Grandpa used to say that he did it because his back was too
achy to bend down for a hug. Charlie would never admit that he took over the
tradition because it was often too hard for him to look his mother in the eyes
after all the lies he’d told her.
No more
, he thought as he watched her
grab her famous icebox cake out of the fridge.
This year will be different
.
* * *
It was nine o’clock at night by the
time Charlie grabbed a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and headed into the
apartment building’s garage. He needed to work the heavy meal off so it didn’t
turn him into a slug at practice the next morning.
After his freshman year, Charlie built a small home gym to fit
inside his mom’s garage unit out behind their building. This way he could put
more hours into lifting than what coach required during school practice, even
if it meant having to dig her car out of the snow a few times a year. The whole
thing had technically been Amanda’s dad’s idea, and the equipment was his very
generous gift. Dan Hunter had been a star Englewood player back in his day. He
was part of the alumni team that scouted the country to find Coach Stanley for
Englewood, and he still coached his own traveling boy’s team on the weekend,
even as the town’s newly elected mayor. “The time you spend in the gym makes
all the difference,” he’d told Charlie during one of their first
heart-to-hearts.
Mr. Hunter had treated Charlie like a son from the moment
Amanda brought him over for his first Sunday dinner. The Hunters had three very
girly girls, and it was obvious that Dan—as he insisted Charlie call him—loved
having another guy in the house. Charlie was more than happy to fill in, even
if the frequent gifts of expensive soccer cleats and extra summer training
camps made him a little uncomfortable. Dan had his back, and he also had Coach
Stanley’s ear, which didn’t hurt.
Charlie put his cellphone on the floor next to the lifting
bench and started in on his reps. His mind was clearest when his muscles were moving.
Hopefully this would help get him ready for a good night of sleep. But just as
he pushed through the first lift in, his phone buzzed. Charlie looked down as a
black square flashed on the screen. He placed the weight on its rack and picked
up the phone to examine the weird image closer. It wasn’t actually a picture;
it was a video, and it had popped up on VidBit, one of the thousand apps
Amanda had loaded onto his phone over the summer. Charlie opened the app and
clicked on the video.
The black box never turned into an image, but Charlie did hear
the recording of a voice:
“What don’t you understand, asshole?! She doesn’t
want to do it! We’re leaving!
”
The line repeated over and over and over again against the
blank box, but Charlie only needed to hear it once. It was Miller’s voice, though
Charlie had no idea what he was talking about. Miller didn’t need much of an
excuse to yell at someone, especially someone on their team. He must have
accidentally recorded this and sent it. Charlie shot Miller a text.
Miller replied after a few seconds.
There was a longer delay before Miller responded.
Charlie touched the app symbol to look for the list of
incoming messages. The video was gone, and a new username was now sitting
directly above “MillerTime” in his contacts list.
“
C-O
,”
Charlie
read aloud. “Who the hell is that?”
Charlie didn’t have the time or interest to figure out the
inner workings of this dumb, cellphone time suck. The only reason he even had it
was because Amanda insisted. Hopefully he could delete it without her throwing a
fit.
Charlie shifted back into position on the bench and got back
to work. He didn’t give the video a second thought, not until he found himself
sitting straight up in his bed at three o’clock in the morning, dripping with
sweat.
“
She doesn’t want to do it! We’re leaving!
” he heard
Miller yell over and over in his mind as if he was sitting right next to him on
the bed.
Suddenly those words didn’t seem so random. Charlie didn’t
want to let himself think it, but he was almost certain he’d heard Miller say
them before—the night that Sarah died.