CHAPTER 16 Code Word Flirt
Code Word: Flirt
My reward for making it through the rest of lunch and Mr. Corkin’s class without making any kind of scene (or being sent to the office) was my sixth period: computer science, also known as free time on the net.
The administration at Bayport High was somehow completely unaware of the fact that all of the students were members of the computer generation.
I’d hacked into the Pentagon at the age of thirteen, and though my classmates were significantly less skilled in that department, they were connoisseurs of MySpace and Facebook, so a lot of what this class professed to teach us, all of us already knew.
Our first few weeks had been devoted to Microsoft Office.
Now, we’d moved on to the ins and outs of designing websites.
Really, they shouldn’t have even called the class “computer science,” because “how to use a computer” would have been a much more appropriate title.
Not that I was complaining. I’d finished my website the first day and had been able to spend the past week surfing the net and accessing the high school’s most guarded databases.
Leaning back in my chair, I swiveled side to side, debating how best to spend my free time today.
What I really wanted to do was dig up more information on the TCIs, or hack into the Big Guys’ mainframe to see if there was anything they weren’t telling us about yesterday’s explosion, but I knew better than to give in to temptation on that front.
I was good, but I was also smart enough to know that using a public computer to do that kind of thing wasn’t the best idea.
High school computer labs aren’t exactly the most secure places for any kind of data transfer.
This is especially the case when the heir apparent of the Law Firm of Doom is sitting at the computer next to you.
I glanced at Jack’s monitor, wondering what he was working on, and his website assignment stared back at me.
Between the moving graphics and the handmade font, it was definitely a step up from what most of our class was making.
In fact, given that he’d actually put some effort into it, there was a distinct chance that it was better than mine.
And—be still, my heart—the site appeared to be dedicated to classic rock, proving once and for all that Jack was not afflicted by musical tastes capable of causing me massive amounts of psychic pain.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Like what you see?
The message popped up on my computer screen. I looked from the screen to Jack. He kept his eyes locked on his own monitor, but even from a limited side view, I could tell that he was biting back one of those smirky smiles.
How in the world had Jack Peyton gotten my IM name?
Besides the rest of the Squad (all of whom had obtained it from the file the Big Guys had developed on me before I’d joined up), no one at school knew my IM name.
I could count on one hand the number of people I’d given it to ever, and none of them were Jack.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Speechless, Ev?
I snorted and let that serve as my answer, since he could hear me perfectly well.
Meanwhile, I angled my computer screen away from him so that he couldn’t see what I was doing, and then I set to work.
Somehow, he’d figured out my instant messenger name.
I planned to do him one better. I had his screen name.
Now, I was going to figure out his password.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
You liked what you saw so much that you need some privacy? A little alone time? I’m flattered.
I leaned around my computer screen and glared at him again. He pretended not to see me.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Come on, Ev. Talk to me. You know you want to.
I was too busy trying to hack into his account to put much thought into it, but lest he get suspicious, I shot off a quick reply.
TAEKLEINDO:
Do I?
It was short, it was cryptic, and it poked holes in that annoying “I’m so charismatic” confidence of his.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
You probably shouldn’t, but you do.
I hadn’t had any luck guessing his password yet, which meant that Jack was significantly savvier than certain TCIs I could think of.
TAEKLEINDO:
Why shouldn’t I want to talk to you?
I was still going on autopilot for my side of the conversation, so I didn’t even realize I’d asked him a question until he answered it.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Because you’re you and I’m me.
That sounded vaguely like an insult.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
And you deserve better.
Now this was a side of Jack I’d never seen before. Smirky confidence? Sure. Subtle self-loathing? That was new.
TAEKLEINDO:
Most people would say you’re the one who deserves better.
Including, I thought, about a dozen JV cheerleaders I can think of.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Most people are idiots.
I totally couldn’t argue with that sentiment. And he knew it.
“Mrs. Hanson?” A high-pitched voice next to me broke me from my thoughts. “Can you come help me with the thingamajig?”
I quickly straightened my screen and minimized the chat window.
By the time our computer science teacher was standing behind us, I appeared for all intents and purposes to be diligently working on my web page, which, unlike Jack’s, wasn’t so much a tribute to classic rock as it was a page dedicated to encouraging Bayport High spirit.
Can I tell you how much that wasn’t my idea?
“Kiki, what seems to be the problem?”
The girl next to me frowned, and I recognized her as Hayley’s poor excuse for a minion from lunch.
“I can’t get this centered,” she said, pointing to a piece of text on her screen. “And it’s not big enough.”
Considering the fact that we had a handout with the HTML codes for font size and centering on it, Kiki’s statement went a long way to explaining how it was that she’d come to be following Hayley Hoffman’s lead.
Obviously, she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
Or, to put it in cheer terms, the puffiest pom in the JV set.
I waited for Mrs. Hanson to answer the question and marveled at her patience. Five minutes later, she was gone, and I went back to my attempts to hack Jack’s IM.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Miss me?
I looked at him out of the side of my eyes, but if Jack noticed, he didn’t give any visible reaction.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Check your email.
I’d just about concluded that Jack was the one person in this entire school who used a random assortment of numbers and letters for his password when I registered the content of his last IM. My email? Why did he want me to check my email?
Somewhat warily, I entered the URL of my Bayport High email account, half expecting some kind of elaborate, sardonic Jack Peyton gesture, but instead, I discovered that I had five new emails, all of which were from Noah.
Beside me, Jack snickered.
I opened up the first email and found a picture of the world’s most adorable puppy wearing a sign around his neck that said VOTE FOR TOBY. SHE LOVES PUPPIES. As best I could tell from the “to” section of the email, Noah had sent this delightful piece of Toby promotion to the entire student body.
Dreading what would pop up next, I hit the next button and waited to see just how badly my brother wanted to die.
Email number two had a kitten. I didn’t get past email number three, which was a public service announcement from the Toby Saved Our Lives Club. If my brother was looking for a way to make me regret ever having defended him and his equally goofy buddies from jock-wielded violence, he’d found it.
I trashed emails four and five before reading them. I could only hope that Noah’s efforts would annoy the rest of the student body as much as they annoyed me. The way I figured it, the Irony Gods owed me that much.
“Mrs. Hanson? I need help with the—”
I cut Kiki off before she could get the rest of the request out of her mouth.
“I’ll help her.” The last thing I needed was our teacher standing two feet away while I figured out a way to disable Noah’s Bayport High email account—an action which was now a much higher priority than hacking into Jack’s IM.
In any case, whatever I was going to be doing on this computer, chances were it was the kind of thing the administration tended to frown upon, and I didn’t need a member of the faculty staring over my shoulder.
I turned my chair to the side and leaned over to Kiki. “What do you need?” I asked, my voice completely flat.
She gave me a tentative smile. “I like think this would look better in purple, but when I tried the thingy …”
“HTML code,” I corrected.
“Yeah, that. Anyway …”
“You want it to be purple?” I asked, commandeering her keyboard and fixing the code. “What else?”
“Can you show me how to put in a picture?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that pictures were just too hard for me to manage, but the desire to wreak internet havoc on Noah (and an equal desire to get back to my not-quite-a-conversation with Jack) kept me in check. “Sure,” I said. “Where’s the picture?”
She held up her phone.
Fifteen minutes later, I’d transferred the pictures from Kiki’s phone to her computer, and showed her how to upload them to a photo-hosting site. She blinked several times, as if she couldn’t quite believe the miracle before her.
“Which one do you want on the site?” I asked.
“That one.” She pointed, rather than identifying the picture by its number. “See, the site is for this mother-daughter book club, and that’s me and my—”
“Whatever.” I cut her off, but as I captured the URL for the picture in question, I realized that Kiki’s mother looked very, very familiar in a president of the PTA kind of way.
“There,” I said. “Done.”
“Wow,” Kiki said. “You’re really good at that.” She paused, and I flinched, preparing myself for some gratuitous hugging. Instead, Kiki looked down at her hands. “You … ummm … you won’t tell Hayley you helped me, will you?”
Some thanks. I practically built her entire web page for her, and she was afraid that her new BFF would find out that she’d talked to me.
Then again, I vastly preferred her course of action to her mother’s reaction to everything, which was to go all touchy-feely and start talking about what a precious time this was in my life.
I was, to say the least, grateful that such actions weren’t hereditary.
“Ummm … Toby?”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Hayley and I aren’t really on speaking terms. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Cool.” She paused another beat. “So you know what you were saying at lunch about the tumbling requirements for varsity?”
I was officially never helping anyone ever again.
I kept my brother from being beaten up, and he dedicated his life to torturing me.
I helped a JV cheerleader build a mother-daughter book club website, and she took that as an invitation to grill me about her chances of making varsity.
I kissed Jack, and he had the gall to come up with a password I couldn’t figure out on my own.
Okay, maybe that last one was stretching it just a bit.
“Toby?” Kiki prodded. “About the—”
“Hey Keeks,” Jack cut her off, leaning back in his chair to get a better view of the girl in question.
Kiki got really obviously flustered at the attention. Unlike most cheerleaders I’d met, concealing her emotions really wasn’t her strong suit.
“Yes?” she squeaked. Despite her squeaking, she made a masterful attempt at batting her eyelashes at my homecoming date.
“I like your sweater.”
Jack’s compliment left Kiki speechless. Five seconds later, a new message popped up on my IM.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
You’re welcome.
Apparently, I was supposed to thank him for flirting with another girl.
Then again, I thought as I logged into my brother’s email account and began messing around with his settings, aforementioned flirtation had distracted Kiki from talking to me, which just confirmed my suspicion that Jack Peyton was the kind of guy who always knew exactly what to give a girl.
Some girls liked diamonds. Some girls liked pearls.
I liked having someone running interference between the rest of the student body and me.
And, as much as I really, truly, deeply hated to admit it, I liked Jack.
TAEKLEINDO:
Shut up.
JACKOFDIAMONDS:
Yeah, Ev. Love you, too.
When the bell rang a moment later, I wasn’t sure whether I was thankful or disappointed. In fact, the only thing I knew for certain was that I’d wreaked enough havoc on Noah’s email account that he wouldn’t be sending out messages of any kind for a very, very long time.