Top 8 (7 page)

School that Monday was not smiles times. It wasn't like I thought it was going to be a picnic, but it was worse than I'd expected.

And BTW, why is the epitome of fun always a picnic? Whenever I'm on a picnic, I'm usually thinking,
You know, I could be indoors right now.

The night before, I had tried to do damage control. After my phone charged, I left two messages on Justin's voice mail, explaining the situation, and I returned my profile to what it had been before the hacking. To repair the claims of illiteracy, the Yanni, and the Dora, I added some extra-impressive books, music, and movies; I defriended the creepy people the hacker had added; I sent friend requests to all my former friends; and I blogged
about what had happened, so that people would know I didn't have anything to do with it.

I also changed my profile picture, uploading one from the trip. I'd gone through my pictures after dinner and found, to my delight, that I'd managed to get one of Travis picking his nose, which I planned to e-mail to as many of his friends as possible. I also noticed, to my surprise, that the kind-of cute guy — what WAS his name, again? — was in a lot of my pictures. I was also surprised to see just how cute he was. But I didn't look too long because my heart belonged to Justin. Even if he didn't realize it at the moment.

After I'd done all that, I turned in early, exhausted. I was still on Ecuador time, after all. And even though Ecuador time is exactly the same as Connecticut time, I was still tired. The only thing that sounded good was crashing and trying to forget that the day had ever happened.

Things, I told myself as my head hit the pillow, would be better in the morning.

They weren't.

I knew something was up as soon as I parked in the juniors' parking lot and headed inside. Putnam High was big, with almost 2,000 students, square buildings separated by lots of long corridors that often made it impossible to get to class on time, and an acre-big room
in the center, where the food court and tables were — the Student Center.

As I approached the back doors, I saw Greta McCallister and Denise Gifford, fellow juniors I was somewhat friendly with, walking in as well.

“Hold the door, Greta?” I called to her, as I was a few steps behind.

WHAM!
The door slammed back in my face, and hard. I stood there, stunned for a second as I watched them walking away, Denise turning back to look at me, shaking her head before they continued down the hallway together, talking furiously.

I didn't know either Greta or Denise well enough to know any secrets about them, so I couldn't imagine what the hacker had done to them — or why they would have wanted to. Greta and Denise had never hurt anyone! They played clarinet, for heaven's sakes.

I entered the main corridor with a feeling of trepidation.

As I walked through the halls, I kept fighting the urge to do a face check and make sure there was nothing on it. Because wherever I went, people stared; conversations stopped as I approached and then became louder and more animated as soon as I was out of hearing distance. People I didn't even know were staring at me openly as I passed, a lot of them laughing. I regretted not
having carpooled with one of my friends just so I wouldn't have had to walk the hallways alone.

I kept hearing snatches of conversation as I passed: “Madison…,” “Said she was hacked,” “Friendverse,” “…yeah, pretty crazy,” “Kittson,” and “nose job.”

As soon as I got to the Student Center, I looked around for Justin, but he didn't seem to be at his usual jock table. But before I could ask one of his friends where I could find him, the bell rang and everyone scattered to class.

My first class of the morning was Marine Bio, and I managed to make it just before the final bell rang. I hurried to the lab table I shared with Brian McMahon and Marilee Suarez, and dropped my purse.

“Hey Brian,” I said, sitting down at my spot. “Hey, Marilee. Good spring breaks?”

“Fantastic,” Marilee said, filing her nails, eyes darting around the classroom, hunting for potential gossip. Brian simply glared at me, then looked pointedly at the board. I knew from this that he was pissed; Brian hadn't paid attention — without Dr. Daniels yelling at him to do so—all year.

“Brian?” I asked, nudging him slightly on the arm, but his gaze remained fixed ahead.

“I'm not talking to you,” he said, still refusing to look at me.

Marilee's head whipped around to us, and she was getting the gleeful hungry look she only got when there was drama brewing.

“Is this about the Friendverse thing?” I asked Brian, trying to lower my voice. “Because I can explain about that —” Before I got the opportunity, however, Dr. Daniels started lecturing us about the starfish we were meant to be dissecting. And as soon as class ended, Brian was out the door before I had a chance to talk to him.

“What was that about?” Marilee asked eagerly.

I realized that the news hadn't spread to her yet, probably because everyone knew she couldn't be trusted. “Nothing,” I said, hurrying out into the hall before she could interrogate me further.

I didn't see Justin in the hallways during any of the class breaks, but I did see what looked like several sophomores I didn't think I'd ever spoken to doing an imitation of my face in the bad profile picture.

By the time lunch came around, I was very grumpy, and sick of saying “I was hacked.” Rather than repeat it for the eight millionth time, I was considering having it put on a T-shirt.

I gave the Student Center a scan for Justin, but didn't see him anywhere, so gave up and headed to my friends. Ruth, Schuyler, and Lisa were all sitting at our normal table, but as I approached, I gestured towards the school's side entrance. “Guys, can we eat on the rock?” I asked.
The people at the closest tables to ours were already carrying on loud whispered conversations and not-so-discreetly pointing at me.

“Sure,” Ruth said with a sympathetic smile.

“Thanks,” I said.

Lisa sighed loudly, but began packing up the lunch she'd just arranged on a checked linen napkin. “
D'accord
,” she said.

“Good idea,” Schuyler said, putting her sushi back in its plastic tray. “I swear to God, everyone is looking at my nose.”

“No they aren't,” Ruth said soothingly.

“How do you know?” Schuyler said, half-covering it with her hand. “They are!”

“Well, they probably are if you've been doing that,” I pointed out, since nobody normal walked around covering their face with their hands.

“I'll text Dave, and let him know where we'll be,” said Lisa as we headed out to what had been our outdoor lunch spot since freshman year.

Around the side of the main building, there was a garden we weren't allowed to go near, not unless we wanted to be hauled before Dr. Trent, the Assistant Headmaster, by the overprotective gardeners. But just behind the garden was a large assortment of rocks that they'd pulled out of the ground so they could plant the garden in the first place.

This is because Connecticut is incredibly rocky. There are all these stupid little stone fences everywhere that everyone makes a big deal about, but I'd never gotten the fascination. But rather than clear these rocks away (maybe because they were too big to make fences out of) they'd just been left in a haphazard pattern. The biggest rock, set off to the side by itself, had a nice flat surface, big enough for five people to have lunch on, or tan, or both, with lots of smaller ledges for other friends to join.

It didn't look like the extra room was going to be necessary today, however, as I watched people walking by and either glaring or pointing at me.

“How's it been going?” Ruth asked sympathetically, taking out her peanut butter sandwich and carton of milk after we'd climbed to the top of the rock. Ruth had been eating the same lunch practically every day since elementary school. The only time she went really crazy was with pizza. Whenever we had pizza, we made Ruth get her own pie, since we didn't want any of her toppings migrating.

“Awful,” I said, dropping my bag and flopping down next to it. “I haven't gotten a chance to see Justin yet. Greta McCallister slammed a door in my face. Brian's not talking to me, and Marilee noticed, which means that'll be all over the school. Even more than it is already.” Then I looked around and realized that in my
determination to flee the Student Center as quickly as possible, I'd forgotten to get lunch. “And I have no food.”

“Ooh, are you doing a cleanse?” Lisa asked excitedly. “That's a great idea!”

“No, I just forgot to get food,” I said. Then what she had said hit me. “And why is that a great idea?”

“No reason,” she said, taking a bite of her croquemonsieur. “I just want to do one, but I want someone else to do it first, so they can tell me how bad it is, and I can make an informed decision.”

“And you want me to be the person who does it?”

“Well, if you're not eating anyway…”

“I am!” I said. “I just forgot.” I thought about going back to the Student Center, and somehow couldn't face all the whispers. “I'll just get something from the vending machines.”

“I'll go,” Ruth said, grabbing her wallet, hopping off the rock and brushing off the seat of her jeans. “What do you want? The
ush
?” Ruth had never understood my predilection for using abbreviations and TLAs (three-letter-acronyms — which itself is a TLA — which I think is so
cool
) and whenever she used one, I knew she was mostly making fun of me.

“Please,” I said. I reached for my wallet, but she was already heading inside. I tucked seven dollars into her purse, knowing from nine years' experience that she'd never let me pay her back otherwise.

“Ladies,” a voice said. I looked down and saw Dave Gold beginning his climb up the rock. When he had made it to the flat surface, he sat next to Lisa, gave her a quick kiss, then turned to the rest of us. “How's it going?”

“Hey Dave,” Schuyler said, covering her nose and scooting over so there would be room for him.

“Hey,” I said, feeling my face flush. I couldn't believe that the hacker had hit on Dave — and that he'd
rejected
me. The fake me, but still. “Listen, Dave, Lisa told you what happened, right? How I was hacked, and —”

“A likely story,” he said, taking off his glasses to polish them on the bottom of his latest ironic T-shirt. Dave seemed to own the free world's supply of them. The one he was currently wearing had a picture of a piñata on it, and underneath, the words
Yeah, I'd Hit That
. “La Feldman,” he said, nudging Lisa, “told me. But really, Mad, I knew you always wanted me. Or, to quote your comment, that you wanted to ‘Kwench your thirst for Dave.'”

“I said that?” I asked, horrified. “I mean, they did?”

“Quench with a K,” Dave said, pulling a bottle of Coke out of his messenger bag.

“Oh my God,” I moaned.

“Meanwhile, I'd just like to find out who this hacker is,” he said. “She seems to have quite good taste in men.”

“It might be a he,” Schuyler reminded him, her mouth full of sushi.

Dave choked on his soda.

“Shy has a point,” Lisa said, looking smug. “Still in such a hurry to find them? And stop calling me La Feldman!”

“Where's your lunch, Mad?” Dave asked, clearly eager to change the subject.

“Ruth's getting it,” I said, looking around for her.

“Here she comes,” Lisa said, pointing, and we all looked toward the doors that opened to the garden area. One was propped open, and I could see Ruth, holding what was hopefully my lunch — I was getting hungry — and talking to Frank Dell.

“Who is that?” Schuyler asked, squinting. Schuyler really needed glasses, but she knew her stepmother wouldn't let her wear them, and would probably make her get laser surgery if she found out she needed them. So instead, Schuyler squinted a lot and made the rest of us read the subtitles to her whenever Lisa dragged us to a French film.

“Frank,” I said. “I mean, Dell. You know, the computer guy.”

“Is he cute?” Schuyler asked.

“No,” Lisa, Dave, and I responded immediately. Lisa and I turned to Dave, our eyebrows raised.

“Just…I mean…” he sputtered. “It'd be obvious to anyone…”

“Ooh!” Lisa said, sitting up straight. “You know, about two months ago, Ruth was always starting these strange conversations with me. She would never get to the point of what she was saying, but she seemed to be trying to tell me something. And
j'ai pensé
that it was about some guy she had a crush on. And maybe it's that guy!”

“Really?” Schuyler squinted harder. “Him?”

“Maybe,” I said doubtfully. Dell didn't really seem like Ruth's type, though. He really didn't seem like anyone's type. Melinda Gates's, maybe. “But I think she would have told us, don't you?”

“Maybe not!” Schuyler blurted. I turned to look at her as she stabbed her sushi with a chopstick. “I mean, sometimes people have secrets that they can't tell, and it's not because they don't want to, but they can't, and maybe it's because they feel guilty about something, and —”

“Hey,” Ruth said, appearing over the top of the rock and interrupting Schuyler, who immediately stopped talking, and looked down at her hands.

“Shy,” I said, trying to catch her eye. “What were you —”

“For you,” Ruth said, handing me my usual — a whole-wheat wrap with veggies and Swiss cheese, a Diet
Coke, and a bag of salt & vinegar chips. Whenever I liked something, I tended to eat it for about a month straight, at which point I would usually get so sick of it that I'd never want to see it again.