Fallout (Lois Lane) (6 page)

CHAPTER 6

Maddy stayed by my side
as we navigated the cafeteria with its walls of good old patriotic red and blue.

I had discovered that the school mascot was the Generals. Dad really
would
love that. It might even be why my parents had picked this school.

There were a few obvious groups in the cafeteria, but school cliques were never as clear-cut as they were on TV or in the movies. Jocks, preps, nerds—there was too much overlap to pretend it was that simple these days. But I did recognize some discrete factions within this crowd, ones that had been at most of my previous schools.

The Nerdfighter contingent would have been identifiable by the fact that half of the table was reading (or more likely re-reading) one of their favorite author’s books—alternately laughing or weeping, depending how far in they were—even if a few weren’t also wearing T-shirts featuring him and his brother, along with tiny video cameras for making their next vlogs beside their trays.

And then there was the basketball team, always the tallest and cockiest of the sporty types, though here it seemed refreshingly like the girls’ team was part of the same echelon, sharing the table in an assortment of practice T-shirts, a welcome change from the usual.

Maybe the relative equality was the influence of the debate clubbers at the next table over. Or they might just be combative arguers with green political concerns; it was hard to say based on their heated discussions and environmentally friendly water bottles and lunch containers.

“What’s your plan?” Maddy asked. “You’re not going to confront the creeps face-to-face, are you? In front of everyone?”

We passed by a table housing a handful of drama club members, spottable by large gestures and supreme enunciation that gave way to a song more rehearsed than impromptu, complete with harmonizing. Maddy shivered in disgust at the singing, the crimson streak in her hair hiding her grimace from the table that was in full-blown a capella Broadway mode. Her expression reminded me of Lucy’s when she disapproved of something.

“Not a musical fan?” I asked, instead of answering Maddy’s question about what I had in mind.

“I cringe because that hurts me,” Maddy said. “My ears. My taste. I can’t.”

“Got it,” I said. “You’ll have to make me a playlist. I never seem to find good music on my own.”

“Sure,” Maddy agreed, smiling.

SmallvilleGuy was the source of most of my music, not that I was about to tell Maddy that. Not yet. It would be nice to have a friend to talk to in person, and especially about the weirdness of my relationship with
him
, somewhere between friends and maybe-more-than-friends. I thought we were, anyway. Sometimes. Like last night when he’d said how much he
wanted
to tell me.

But, then again, defining where exactly on that spectrum we fell didn’t matter
that
much, since we were stuck there, in whatever uncertain spot it was. Because I literally didn’t know who he was and he’d made it clear that he wasn’t going to change his mind and reveal all anytime soon.

Maddy’s pleased surprise at being consulted on music faded fast, and she started to plod along. She slowed with every step.

I saw why.

The Warheads were dead ahead, sitting around a table near the doors, as Anavi had said they would be. At every school I’d attended, holosets and portable game consoles—and sometimes even phones—were prohibited during school hours. Not here. At least not for these particular students.

They were all playing, focused in on scenes impenetrable from outside their own holoset views, but glowing right in front of their eyes. Other than darting pupils, and the occasional low-spoken command, they remained frighteningly motionless.

Something told me they were all in the same gaming scene, and not having harmless bad unicorn fun either.

“Where does James sit at lunch?” I asked.

“Why would I know that?” Maddy returned.

When I gave her a pointed look, complete with raised eyebrows, Maddy sighed and said, “At my sister’s table.”

I followed her gaze. James was at a nearby table, grinning at a couple of other Richie Rich polo-shirt types, all of them involved in teasing a few well-coiffed girls. The girls were tolerating it—maybe even enjoying it. Then I froze.

Maddy and her sister were majorly identical twins, so much so that James was an idiot—or blind—if he couldn’t see the resemblance. I also suspected based on yesterday that Maddy would be expecting me to react like I couldn’t believe they were related either. Her sister was like a make-up ad, all soft luminous smiles and no edge. She was probably perfectly nice. But given Maddy’s crimson-streaked hair and band fascinations, she was undoubtedly used to being lost in her glowing sister’s shadow.

No way was I going along with that.

“James was right. You and your sister don’t seem at all alike,” I said. Before she could be hurt, I added, “You’re the interesting one. I can see that from a mile away.”

Maddy soaked up the compliment like she had the crumbs of James’s notice at the office. People should pay more attention to her. She
was
interesting.

I had managed to keep her occupied long enough to reach the Warheads’ table. There was an empty chair at the next one over, and I hooked it with my hand and dragged it over to the corner of the gamers’ paradise.

Maddy hung back as I sat down and cleared my throat.

None of the six Warheads reacted, staring ahead into their fantasy landscapes. Remembering how rattled Anavi had been describing the way they’d treated her, I felt no urge to be subtle. Or nice.

I thought back to that morning when Lucy had ripped the holoset off me, and the warnings from the manufacturer that hard interruptions of the game could cause disorientation and maybe worse for regular users. The list of possible side effects had been long and I’d only skimmed it.

Seemed like a winning strategy.

So I took out my notebook, lifted it in my hands, and brought it down with a loud
slap
onto the top of the table.

Heads around the table shook, annoyed or dazed or both. Hands reached up to switch off holosets, killing the glowing gameplay. Each Warhead frowned at first in general and then, as they recovered, at me—still with that slight hint of mockery.

I smiled at them, like I hadn’t made a loud noise to force them out of the game. “Hi,” I said, and flipped open the notebook to the last page of my notes. “I wanted to ask you guys a few questions. I’m new and trying to get a feel for the atmosphere here at the school.” I cast a glance over my shoulder. Maddy was hanging out, if not exactly leaping in. “All the little weird subcultures. You guys definitely seem like one. It’s for a style piece at the
Daily Scoop
.”

Not a single game continued to run by then, every holoset switched off. The whole table looked at me with a force and focus that almost made me regret getting their attention.

Almost.

“Now,” I went on, “what do you think is the most important thing for me to know about the social scene here, from the gamer perspective?”

“You have got to be . . . ” a boy said, and a girl finished for him, “joking.”

“Yes, that right there is what made me notice you.” I couldn’t help wondering which one was Anavi’s former friend Will. Assimilated was a good way to describe them. “I’ve never met people like you in real life, let alone high school. You know what I mean . . . ” I snapped my fingers, let my smile die when I finished, “The mind meld thing.”

None of them reacted to that, not right away, but then one of the guys nearest me tilted his head. “What?”

“The way you finish each other’s sentences,” I explained. “You just seem to know each other so well. Like you’re practically the same person. How did you meet? Was it in the game? What is it again—Wuss War Three?”

The remaining gamers’ heads tilted, in mirror to the first guy, as they supplied:

“
Worlds
. . .”

“
War
. . .”

“
Three
.”

“Right,” I said, “my mistake. I hear there’s something called griefing in that, cyberbullying. Have you guys ever witnessed players being targeted? What would you do if you did?”

A snort, but I didn’t catch who it came from.

A couple of them wore slow smiles, and I was glad all of them didn’t. I’d never admit it out loud, but they were disconcerting in a way that went far beyond the typical creep. Part of me wished I’d approached them from a slightly less head-on angle.

Too late now.

“Well . . .” said one, and another jumped in, “We’d probably base that decision . . .”

And another, “On whether the player was weak. We like strong players on our team.”

“It’s a war,” one more jumped in. “Things happen. Especially to those who get in the way of a strong team. We do—”

“. . . like to recruit those with potential,” another interrupted. “The bigger we get, the stronger we are.”

Anavi was right. There was no clear leader. Or, rather, they all seemed to be leaders, in turn, but not different enough for the change in who was speaking to matter. Something very weird was definitely going on with them. I just didn’t know what.

I hid my unease the same way I did when I was trying to win an argument with my dad. By keeping my voice level and my shoulders squared. “So, you’re saying there’s no problem with ganging up on weaker players? That you do it?”

No one said a word.

The answer came as a sensation—like the push of an invisible hand slamming into my mind, hard enough that my head went back as I jerked to my feet. My chair scraped the floor behind me, and Maddy’s hand catching it was all that kept it from hitting the floor.

The pressure had been undeniable. It hadn’t lasted long. Only for a moment.

That didn’t mean I wanted to feel it again. I was breathing hard, but I did my best to hide my fear.

No one at the table gave a hint of any change, of having done anything. They were talking again, in that overlapping way:

“Maybe you should do a different story.”

“And forget this.”

“Forget us.”

Then they were getting up, one by one, and leaving the cafeteria.

“Lois?” The look on Maddy’s face made what she was asking clear. She wanted to know if I was all right.

I steadied myself with a hand on the table. “Finally,” I said, “we’re getting somewhere.”

CHAPTER 7

After school, I crossed the Daily Planet Building lobby
with a speed and purpose that came from having a noble cause paired with less-than-worthy opponents. Which meant I didn’t spot James waiting for the service elevator in time to avoid him.

As I reached the elevator bank, the dull gray doors crawled their way open.
My luck is in rare form today
, I thought, giving him a tight smile.
After everything else, I’m reaching the
Scoop
office at the same time as the Third?

I wasn’t going to be ridiculous about it, though. I couldn’t afford a delay, and who knew how long the decrepit elevator would take to come back again? There were important preparations to make for tonight. I had to be on time for my rendezvous with Anavi and the Warheads. And I had another invitation to make, too—one I was nervous about.

Poor Anavi. This was to help her, so my nerves didn’t matter.

“You first,” James said, holding the aged door open with his arm.

I didn’t know why his being polite bugged me, but it did. I climbed on.

“Heard you did some interviews during lunch,” he said as the elevator car creakily made its way to the basement.

“From?” I asked suspiciously.

“Maddy and I have last period together. She said the Warheads weren’t what you’d call cooperative.”

I shrugged one shoulder. “If they were, then I’d know I didn’t have a story. They as much as admitted to ganging up on people in the game, and I saw them bothering Anavi this morning outside it. That’s all I need.” Before he could speak, I corrected myself. “Well, almost. I want a little more flavor, and I need to get Principal Butler in too.”

Disbelief colored James’s expression at the mention of the principal. I tried not to grin.

“Look,” I said, “I know you’re just here to follow in Daddy’s footsteps. But you can still learn a thing or two.”

The elevator stopped, the doors inching open. I pushed into the hall as soon as there was enough room. The dingy, dim length of it was less despair-inducing today. That was because I knew where I was going. And why.

Striding into the Morgue, aka the
Scoop
office, felt, well, right.

I
would
get Principal Shark to incriminate himself. I’d figure out what was up with that mental shove too, and before Anavi lost any more of her self or sanity. The memory of the press against my mind in the cafeteria made my stomach turn with discomfort.

No. That would mean I was afraid of them. I was probably just hungry.

When I walked into the office, Devin and Maddy were already there talking. She was standing at his desk, and I could guess from how they looked over when I came in that Maddy was relating the story of my daring lunchtime newsgathering again.

I was flattered.

“You’re really going after Butler?” James asked, finally having recovered his power of speech.

I’d almost forgotten he was with me. I slid into the squeaky old chair behind my crypt-sized desk before I answered. “Him not helping Anavi, looking the other way . . .
that’s
more of a story than boys—and girls—behaving badly. He has a responsibility to protect the students. He isn’t doing that for some reason. I don’t think this part will be hard.”

I slipped out my laptop and opened it. There was a computer on my desk here, but even if I was set up on it already, it wouldn’t have the uber-security required. I’d decided to cart mine with me in case I needed to phone a friend. So to speak.

Logging on and choosing a network, I frowned. Even if I
did
need to call him, I couldn’t, not as things stood. We could only talk over chat. I’d brought my laptop because he claimed the app on our phones wasn’t quite as secure.

“What is it?” Devin said. “I have a little sister, and whenever she looks like that I know she either skipped lunch or is mad at me for something I didn’t even realize I did.”

“Neither,” I said. “Though I could use a snack.”

Maddy rummaged in a desk drawer, then tossed me a bag of pita chips.

I caught them. They’d do in a pinch. “Thank you. My neurons go on strike when I’m hungry.”

At their desks, the others went back to work. And after I unrolled the top and crunched a couple chips, I felt better. I remembered that I had an adorable baby cow picture coming later. Though I was frustrated by all the things I didn’t yet know about the Warheads.

Thinking out loud, I said, “I wish I could see the Warheads’ schedules. Anavi said something when I interviewed her about Butler giving them afternoons ‘free’ off campus. Do any of you have classes with them after lunch? Or know where they might go?”

Devin shook his head. “No, which is weird, because I actually do have an advanced design class that usually goes along with advanced comp sci. Electives that most people tend to elect together.”

He hesitated. I put down the bag of chips and entered my passwords, but when I looked up, Devin was still hovering on the cusp of saying something. “What is it?”

“I could . . . I could get you in. To the schedules. I’m pretty sure. The school’s firewall . . . A class I was in last year helped build it.”

“That seems wise of the school,” James said.

“They didn’t tell us that’s what it was,” Devin said, clicking around to open some windows on one of his giant monitors as he talked. “But I figured it out by the questions they asked us, and how they made this big deal about destroying the code and all our work at the end of the semester. You want to see their schedules that bad?”

I stood and walked over to Devin. Maddy got up and followed me over. “Of course I do,” I said. “Do it.”

James was scowling again as he joined us. No surprise there. “You can’t do that,” he said. “I don’t think Perry would approve.”

“Perry’s not here,” I said. “Maddy, did Anavi seem like she needed us to help her make this go away?”

Maddy didn’t want to disagree with James. She fidgeted, her eyes fixed on the floor. “Yes,” she said. “She did.”

James started to protest again, but then his face turned smug as Perry strolled through the door. He took us in, gathered around Devin’s desk.

“I can already tell this is going better. I won’t stay and get in your way.” But he did come a little closer. “What are you working on?”

James gave me a superior look, but before he could open his big mouth and spoil things, I spoke up. Trying to keep my voice light, as if playing around, I said, “Devin’s just hacking into the school’s mainframe so we can check out some schedules for a few students. They’re up to no good, and Principal Butler’s in on it.”

Perry snorted. “Good one. Whatever you’re doing, carry on.” With a wave, he was gone, out the way he’d come.

“He didn’t think you were serious,” James said, back to disbelieving.

I would need to make a list of his expressions: disapproving, disbelieving, dis . . . something else. I shrugged. “I didn’t lie.”

“Got it,” Devin said. He stopped typing for a second, raising his hand to direct us to the screens on his giant monitors.

We watched as he opened several smaller windows on them, each one with a name and ID number at the top, followed by a class schedule and current grades for each class. The schedules shared something in common. There were no afternoon classes, nothing except the words:

Independent Study — Project Hydra

“That definitely looks like dirt to me,” I said. “The incriminating kind.”

Devin grinned.

He
was
cute, and he had hacking skills he wasn’t afraid to use. I grinned back.

Then promptly thought of SmallvilleGuy and felt a twinge of guilt.

And though this Hydra mention on the Warheads’ schedules was an undeniably positive development, evidence that there was
more
going on here, it bugged me. I wanted to know what it meant. What the more was.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve heard the word Hydra today,” I said. “Our comp sci teacher said it to them in second period. I thought it might be something in the game. But when I asked Anavi, she said even though it’s in the game, it’s nothing much.”

“Yeah,” Devin said. “Anavi’s right about that. Easy to slay. I beat it the first month I started. And it says it’s an independent study thing. They wouldn’t get credit just to play the game.”

That reminded me I needed Devin to set me up for that night’s planned visit to
Worlds War Three
. But I wasn’t ready to broach that topic yet. I was hoping I could arrange for SmallvilleGuy to be my backup, though it was possible he’d have no way to get a holoset. He had to save for extras, and as far as I knew he wasn’t into gaming. But maybe he could borrow one, like I planned to. Lucy’s only had access to
Unicorn University
, and I didn’t have enough spending cash saved up to buy a
Worlds War Three
one.

Maddy interrupted my train of thought. “What is a Hydra, anyway?” she asked.

“Huh,” I said. “I don’t know.”

James chimed in. “The Lernaean Hydra was a mythological monster, a sea serpent with many heads and poison breath and blood. If you cut one of the heads off, it grew two more. It wasn’t so easily defeated in the myths. In Greek mythology, Hera raised it to kill Hercules, and he had no luck fighting it at first. He had to get his nephew to help out, cauterize the stumps before the heads could grow back after Hercules cut them off. Once it was down to one, that made it no longer invulnerable, and he was able to kill it for good.”

We all gaped at James. It was hard not to.

“I guess the filthy rich do still get educated in the classics,” I said. “Even the gruesome parts. Thanks for everything but the nightmares that will give me, the Third.”

Devin had been clicking around during James’s disturbing monologue, and he started to shut the windows. “I looked up all the Warheads whose names I know. Every single one has that same study project.”

I went back to my own computer and chair. “I love it when a plan comes together,” I said. “Dev, can you get me into the game tonight? Loan me your holoset again?”

He hesitated. “Probably. We’ll figure it out in a few.”

But he said it evasively, and crooked his head in James’s general direction. James had gone back to his desk and wasn’t paying attention to us. Maybe Devin was worried about him overhearing anyway. Why would James care about me going into the game?

Devin knew him better than I did, and I already had my own issues there. So I nodded, then signed into chat to ping SmallvilleGuy. If he couldn’t join me in the game, I’d have to figure out a new plan or go it alone.

His name popped up a few seconds later.

I held in a sigh of relief.

Sometimes he was unreachable right after school, busy with all the farm chores his parents made him do to earn his allowance. When he’d first sent me the photo of his learner’s permit, I’d done some sleuthing and confirmed farming was a common-enough occupation in Smallville that knowing his family had a farm didn’t give me any actual intel about the reason for his secrecy.

SkepticGirl1:
You busy tonight?

SmallvilleGuy:
Depends on how much trouble you’re in.

SmallvilleGuy:
Oh, wait, forgot you’re on the straight and narrow. Forget I said anything.

I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. I’d never chatted with him when other people were around, except to exchange a few brief messages via the phone app. I didn’t want anyone to notice if I made an inadvertently goofy expression.

SkepticGirl1:
Funny. You have any ability at all to play Worlds War Three?

SmallvilleGuy:
Somehow I knew this was going to happen. So I spent a chunk of the money I was saving up for a new laptop today and got a holoset.

SkepticGirl1:
Oh no!

SkepticGirl1:
I mean thank you, but I know how long you’ve been saving that money.

SmallvilleGuy:
It’s okay. I was able to buy a used set off someone at school who doesn’t use theirs anymore. It only cost three months of chore money. I’ll earn it back. And I’ve always been curious to figure out how they work. Do you have one?

SkepticGirl1:
Not yet, but I’m borrowing one from someone here. And really, thank you, because however much trouble I’m in, I’m about to get into more. Be nice to have you there to back me up. Ten?

SmallvilleGuy:
I’ll be there, your trusty sidekick.

SkepticGirl1:
Ha. Right. Did you remember?

His next message popped up before I could clarify.

SmallvilleGuy:
Remember to take a picture of Nellie Bly? Of course.

His next message contained only an image—of the most adorable black-and-white patchwork calf face possible.

I laughed, and when I noticed the others looking at me in question, I shrugged. So what if I was chatting with someone? That was normal.

No need for them to know about the abnormal secrecy and conspiracy theory enthusiast parts.

SkepticGirl1:
Look at that face! I love her
.

SmallvilleGuy:
Good. Because my dad did think Nellie Bly was an odd name for a cow.

SmallvilleGuy:
BTW, when you scam your friend’s holoset off him, ask for the coordinates where I should meet you in the game and send them to me. See you later.

He signed off and so did I.

Then I googled the word
Hydra
and confirmed that James’s account of the Lernaean baddie had been accurate. I looked at a fearsome illustration of it, with its many snapping, fanged, monstrous heads, and then doodled in the margins of my notebook while I reviewed my notes from my interviews with Anavi and the Warheads.

Maddy had a pair of fancy headphones on, and the tinny sound of music emanated from them. She was in charge of posting a music review on the
Scoop
daily, and from the squinting and typing she was doing, she must be in the process of writing the latest.