“Gracias, Abue,” said Pati brightly.
Their abuela’s headphones were in, and Marisa could hear the buzz from the blaring music—some old rock something from the turn of the century. Old people listened to weird stuff. Marisa waited for her to turn away, and sent a new message to the group.
I analyzed some Bluescreen in the hotbox last night, and it’s definitely malware. But it can’t interface with a regular computer, so it’s not doing whatever it normally does, and I’m not going to risk it in my djinni. I want to see what it’s doing in Anja’s.
There’s no way I’ve got a virus, sent Anja. I’ve got antivirus software for my antivirus software. You know some of the places I go online, there’s no way I’d leave myself open to malware.
Look for this, sent Marisa, and copied her a sample of the neutered malware code.
I’ve got to go to school, sent Sahara. My Chinese test is next week, and I’m not remotely ready for it. On the plus side, my school visits are one of my most popular segments.
Schoolgirl fetishists, sent Marisa.
How in the bright blue hell? sent Anja. That code you sent was part of a new file in my djinni’s main system folder. How’d that get in there?
Still working on that, sent Marisa. Current theory: the Bluescreen overloads your system, causes the shutdown, and this file slips through the cracks while you’re trying to reboot your security.
Then come help me get it out! sent Anja.
“That’s my bus,” said Pati, jumping up from the table at a sound only she could hear. Marisa looked up, murmured her good-bye along with the rest of the siblings, and blinked into Olaya’s shared schedule. The elementary was the only one with a bus, so Marisa and Sandro walked Gabi to junior high on their way to high school. Olaya’s schedule said they were due to leave in a minute and a half.
Can you look at her virus over the net? asked Sahara. I know you have a remote diagnostic program because I saw you use it on a boy you liked last month.
The Bluescreen file dump is too big, sent Marisa. That’s why they distribute it in thumb drives. The virus is small, but I don’t know what it’s going to do when I start poking it. I’d rather be there in person.
I’m sending you a cab, wrote Anja. It’ll bring you to my school. Tracking info on its way. An alert glowed yellow in the corner of Marisa’s eye, and when she accepted it the icon transformed into a small counter. Three minutes to pickup.
I’m out, sent Sahara. Keep me patched in, though, I want to hear what’s going on.
Another message appeared, from Fang this time. Anyone up for a game?
Sahara must have gotten the same message, because she merged it with the general conversation. Looks like we’re being responsible this morning, sorry.
Americans are so boring, sent Fang.
Bite your tongue, sent Anja, I’m German.
Same thing, said Fang. Come on, girls, we have a tournament to prepare for!
Practice is tonight, sent Sahara. Six p.m. our time, ten a.m. your time.
Hey Fang, sent Marisa, remembering a snippet of the mysterious message board post from the night before, have you ever heard of something called Dolly Girls? I think it’s a band or something; it’s from Japan.
So naturally the Chinese girl has heard of some obscure Japanese band, sent Fang, because all those Asian countries are pretty much the same anyway, right?
That’s not what I’m saying, sent Marisa, trying to decide if Fang was joking or actually offended. It was so hard to tell with her in writing.
Wait, said Anja, you just equated America and Germany, like, two seconds ago.
Your combined populations could fit in my apartment building, sent Fang. And on a slow day we might actually notice you.
I asked you because you’re way more into music than any of us are, sent Marisa. I didn’t mean to offend you.
I’m just screwing with you, sent Fang. Laolao, you know I love you. But no, I’ve never heard of them, why do you ask?
You heard about Anja? asked Marisa.
I told her, sent Sahara.
Sahara told me, sent Fang, half a second later. You need to lay off the creepy djinni drugs, girl.
Is that a real phrase? asked Anja. “Lay off”? That sounds super weird.
I dug through a sample of the drug and found a virus, sent Marisa. I can’t tell what it does, though, so I posted it on Lemnisca.te and a guy said he’d seen it before, and asked if I’d heard “Dolly Girls.” I have no idea what it means.
Maybe it’s an Aidoru band, sent Anja. Their hologram code might look similar to the way Bluescreen interfaces with a djinni’s sensory system.
“Time to go,” said Gabi, taking a final sip of orange juice as she stood up.