24. Zip Zapped
“Laurie Hummel is on the phone for you,” Cordelia Spooner says, and Audre thinks, Finally.
Over a week has passed since they returned from spring break, and although there have been no additional Zip Zap posts, Audre hasn’t heard from the so-called computer forensics expert that Jesse Eastman hired.
Did she even come? Audre asked Jesse in a text.
Yes, Jesse responded. Laurie Hummel had been to campus, she was able to download the Tiffin Zip Zap app on her phone, and she got down to business.
Now, Audre hopes they have some answers.
“Good morning, Ms. Hummel,” Audre says. “This is Audre Robinson, Head of School.”
“Ms. Robinson, hello,” Laurie Hummel says.
“First, my apologies for taking so long. I spent a few hours at Tiffin, but then I had an emergency call from the Joint Chiefs of Staff and I had to hightail it back to DC. I realized last night that I’d neglected to connect the dots between the app administrator’s IP address and the academy’s server. ”
English, please, Audre thinks.
“Were you able to identify the perpetrator?” Audre asks.
“Oh sure, that only took a few minutes,” Laurie Hummel says. Audre feels like Ms. Hummel is treating their very serious Zip Zap issue like a dress she forgot to pick up at the dry cleaners.
“And…?”
“Someone was able to upload a Tiffin-specific Zip Zap but limit access to posting. This person then hacked into the academy’s Wi-Fi in order to access everything that passes through the server.
Think browsing history, emails, texts if they were using Wi-Fi rather than cellular data.
That’s how the sensitive information was accessed.
I uncovered three IP addresses. Two of them appear to be privately owned laptops, but one is a desktop computer on campus. ”
Audre’s morning coffee repeats on her. A desktop computer on campus?
What does this mean? Audre has a desktop computer and Cordelia Spooner does too, of course.
There’s one in the kitchen where Chef Haz does his ordering.
There used to be computers in the Teddy for students to use, but now everyone has a laptop—either their own or one discreetly provided by the scholarship fund.
“Which computer on campus?” Audre asks.
“It’s located in the Edward Tiffin Student Union,” Laurie Hummel says. “In the ’Bred Bulletin office.”
Charley is in the middle of English class when her phone buzzes with a text. This is highly unusual: Everyone Charley knows is in class. She fears it’s her mother; something must have happened with Joey. (Charley doesn’t know if she should wish for this or not.)
Charley sneaks a peek at her phone while Mr. Rivera’s attention is on Taylor’s response to last night’s reading. The text is from Ravenna Rapsicoli: Call me ASAFP.
Charley rolls her eyes. Call Ravenna? Charley doesn’t call anyone.
Also, it’s the middle of C-period? Ravenna might have a free period, or she might be skipping.
It’s the first beautiful spring weather day of the year, the wildflowers in the Pasture are starting to bloom (as proven by Dub Austin, who has sneezed two dozen times since class started).
Ravenna is a sixth-former and headed to NYU.
Maybe she doesn’t care about school anymore, but Charley does.
Charley tries to orient herself in the discussion.
Mr. Rivera has finally finished with the old white dudes; he’s assigned Coleman Hill by Kim Coleman Foote.
The book is a brilliant novelization of the author’s family history from the Great Migration to the 1980s.
The voice and perspective are as fresh and welcome as the weather outside.
Charley was so excited to discuss the book that she almost didn’t sleep last night. (Yes, she is that weirdo.)
Charley’s phone buzzes again. Is Ravenna drunk ? Why does she keep texting? But then Charley hears other people’s phones buzzing as well. In fact, if Charley isn’t mistaken, Mr. Rivera’s phone is buzzing.
Tilly Benbow, who puts “actually doing the reading” in the same category as attending a JV fencing match (in other words, beneath her), brazenly checks her phone and halts class discussion with a gasp.
“They found out who’s behind Zip Zap,” she says. Her forehead crinkles. “But wait, I’ve never heard of these people. Grady Tish and Levi Volpere? Do they even go here?”
Now it’s Charley’s turn to gasp. Grady and Levi are Zip Zap.
The instant C-period is over, Charley races to the ’Bred Bulletin office to meet Ravenna, who’s dressed like she’s going to a celebrity funeral: black Chanel jacket, black palazzo pants.
“I can’t believe it,” Ravenna says. “Those two little chew toys terrorized the entire school.”
Mrs. Spooner’s questionable admissions practices, Charley thinks.
Annabelle Tuckerman’s senior speech. Tilly Benbow’s sexting, Chef Haz’s gambling losses, Royce Stringfellow using ChatGPT, Tiffin’s ranking under investigation, Taylor Wilson’s obsession with Dub, Miss Bergeron’s disgrace at McGill, Davi’s eating disorder, Charley “going down” on East. Grady and Levi, a couple of nobody third-formers, targeted the most visible people in the school.
“I came in here one afternoon while you were at play practice,” Charley says.
“The two of them were doing something inappropriate on the computer, I could tell. I thought they were looking at porn.” But in retrospect, Charley thinks, it’s so clear.
Levi told them he was a computer whiz. And Grady told them he learned about some gossip app from his little friend at Brownwell-Mather.
“The irony is, they’ve just given us the best story of the year.” Ravenna sits down at the offending computer and opens a new document. “Has a high school student ever won the Pulitzer?”
Charley tries not to roll her eyes.
That night at dinner in the Paddock—she and East have claimed the Booth as their own—Charley leans in and whispers, “It’s a relief, right? That Zip Zap is done?”
East says, “I went to that kid Levi’s room.”
“What?”
“He was packing up his shit,” East says.
Right. Charley heard that Levi got kicked out because he was the one who had actually done the hacking. Grady would merely be Honor Boarded.
“Was it sad?” Charley asks. “Was he crying?”
“Crying?” East says. “The whole third-form was lined up to give him fist bumps. The kid is a legend. I walked in and asked for his number.”
Charley can just imagine the third-form boys parting like the Red Sea to let East through, jaws hanging open.
“Why do you want his number?”
“When I get my business up and running,” East says, “I’m going to hire him. That kid’s got a set, pulling off that kind of disruption.”
“I don’t want to think about Levi’s ‘set,’” Charley says. “Especially not while I’m eating a meatball sub.”
“Fair enough,” East says, pressing his thigh against hers. “But to your point, yes, I’m relieved. With Zip Zap gone, we can open Priorities.” He steals a crouton from Charley’s Caesar salad. “Next weekend.”
Next weekend, Charley thinks, and she pushes her plate away.
She knew East was getting close. He had the granite counters installed over spring break, and the furnishings are apparently sitting in some storage unit in Haydensboro.
He hasn’t invited her down since break because he wants her to be surprised.
This is fine; Miss Bergeron has been double-checking Charley’s whereabouts in the evenings anyway.
East plans to have his “source” deliver the furnishings while everyone is in Chapel. His source must be Mr. James. Charley has asked but East won’t confirm or deny. The less she knows, the better.
She fears she knows too much as it is. Next weekend, she and East may be the ones packing their bags. But there’s no turning back now.
Later, when Charley is lying on her bed, reading Coleman Hill, there’s a knock at her door. Internally, she groans: She wants to keep reading, she has only thirty pages left, and the only person who ever knocks is Miss Bergeron.
But when Charley opens the door, she finds Davi.
“Hey,” Davi says.
Charley would be lying if she said she hasn’t been imagining this moment. In Charley’s fantasies, she shuts the door in Davi’s face.
But in real life, Charley parrots back a “hey.” Then she waits.
“Can we talk?” Davi asks.
Over Davi’s shoulder, Charley sees Olivia H-T loitering in the hallway. Madison J. and Willow Levy have just returned from their lacrosse game and they’re regaling whoever is sitting in the common room with how badly they suck. They lost to Northmeadow 12–1.
Charley doesn’t speak, but she opens her door wider so Davi can enter, then closes the door behind her, but not before catching Olivia H-T’s eye and flipping her off.
Davi fingers a leaf of the parlor palm. “I’ve missed your plants.”
Charley doesn’t respond.
Davi takes a breath. “I’m sorry I thought you betrayed my confidence,” she says. “You were the only person who knew about me, and I didn’t have another explanation. Now I realize those little turds read my email to Dr. Pringle.”
“I told you that,” Charley says. “But you wouldn’t listen.”
“It’s just… the timing?” Davi exhales. “I think I needed someone to blame.”
“You iced me out for”—Charley pauses as if she doesn’t know the exact amount of time—“nearly a month, Davi.”
“Please forgive me,” Davi says. “I’ve missed you.”
Charley has spent twenty-seven middle-of-the-nights preparing for this. “Friendship isn’t something you turn on and off like a faucet,” she says. “You can’t pause it like one of your TikTok videos and then expect it to start back up at the press of a button.”
“I know,” Davi says.
“You gave me no credit,” Charley says. “You were judge and jury, you declared me guilty, you turned everyone on the floor against me.” Charley waves a hand. “I don’t give a shit about anyone else. Olivia is a sycophantic twat.”
Davi’s eyebrows knit and Charley reads her mind: She wants to look up sycophantic in case it appears on the SAT.
“I care about you,” Charley says. “Or I did. Because what I learned about you, Davi, is that you are way more than your persona on social media. You have edges, which you try to hide, but that’s my favorite part of you. You let me see past the hair mask and lip gloss to your humanity.”
Davi now has tears running down her face; this has also taken place in Charley’s fantasies.
“But after the way you dropped me, then ridiculed me—I know that was your comment on Zip Zap—I reconsidered my opinion of you.” Charley gives a sad laugh.
“It was so predictable, what you did, making me the scapegoat. When really, I was the only person at this school who has ever told it to you straight.” Charley pauses. “Well, I can’t speak for Cinnamon.”
Davi wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand; her makeup smudges. Although Charley wants to resist, she hands Davi a tissue.
“I was hurting and I wanted you to hurt too,” Davi says. “I should have known you wouldn’t tell anyone.”
“I didn’t tell anyone. Not East. Not anyone. ”
“I know,” Davi says. “I’m asking for forgiveness. I want to be friends again. I want to hang out.”
Charley, of course, wants this too. “My father once told me the greatest gift you can give someone is a second chance.”
Davi’s expression brightens with a hope that is so… childlike, Charley wants to cringe.
“Will you…?” Davi says.
Charley huffs. “There won’t be a third chance, Davi.”
“Understood.”
“Fine,” Charley says. “Now get out so I can finish my book, please.” Charley accepts a squeeze from Davi and then shoos her from the room.
Olivia H-T is right where she was before, pretending to be scrolling on her phone a few yards down the hall.
When she looks up, her expression is one of naked longing.
Will Olivia H-T be relegated to Davi’s number two again?
Yes, Charley thinks, and she blows Olivia H-T a kiss.