Allie leaned forward in her seat as she told him all about her summer at CodeGirls camp, and how terrified she was on that first day. “I thought it would be fun to have an app that would help us break the ice,” she said. And then she told him all about Courtney, and how she worked next to her for ten weeks, and how the two of them stayed late in the lab, helping each other with their projects and taking turns running out to the vending machine for late-night snacks.
“I worked so hard. I’ve never worked that hard on anything before. And when I presented to the parents at the end of camp, I got a standing ovation. I’ve never felt so proud in my whole life. And Ms. Slade was there, and she told me she wanted to mentor me in the Games for Good competition, and…I came back for the first day of school walking on air. I couldn’t wait to show my friends and my computer science class. And they loved it, too.”
Allie realized she was rambling. She stopped and took a few deep breaths.
“I didn’t mean to share it. Well, not with that many people…It just took off. It started spreading around campus. And on Tuesday, things started going wrong.” She told him all about the photo glitch, and how she’d spent the last three days working in the lab and at home each night, trying to figure out how to fix it without breaking anything else.
“Yesterday, Nathan came up with a work-around, just to get me to the Games for Good competition this weekend. But now…” Allie collected herself before she continued. “Now, it doesn’t matter anyway. When I fixed the photo glitch, I broke the leaderboard, and the leaderboard is like the heart of the whole thing. And now, I guess…it’s just…over.”
She didn’t even feel the tears build up. They just started streaming down her cheeks, one after the other. Mr. Mohr handed her a tissue from a box on his desk. She blew her nose and started rambling again.
“Everybody’s all annoyed that the app isn’t working, but that’s not even the point! My game isn’t working! Which means that I don’t have anything to enter into the contest. And on top of that, my best friend Emma thinks I’m a horrible person, and my friend group is totally falling apart, and all these people I don’t even know are fighting with each other, and it’s all my fault. Everything’s my fault.”
When she stopped talking, the room got quiet. Allie wiped her cheeks and blew her nose again.
Mr. Mohr returned to his desk, folded his hands together in front of him, and looked at her. “I can see how hard you’ve worked and how much this means to you. And I have to say, I’m impressed with your dedication—not only to fixing it, but also to building it in the first place. That’s pretty impressive for a twelve-year-old.” He laughed to himself. “Actually, that’s pretty impressive for anyone.”
“Thanks,” Allie said.
“What has Ms. Slade suggested you do?”
Allie looked down at the carpet. “She doesn’t know any of this.”
The room got quiet again. “Would you consider telling her?”
Allie felt sick. She didn’t want Ms. Slade to know she’d messed up. It was even worse that she’d messed up and hadn’t told her when she’d had the chance. But Allie knew Mr. Mohr’s question wasn’t really a question anyway. It was a request. And she didn’t have a choice.
“Okay,” Allie squeaked out. “I will.”
“When do you have computer science class?” he asked.
“Not until sixth period.”
“Hmm…” He scratched out a note and handed it to her. “Give this to Ms. Slade, please. I’m excusing you from your classes today so you can work with her in the lab and fix your app.”
“Really?” Allie looked down at the piece of paper in her hand. And then she looked up at him. “Why?”
He smiled at her. “You spent your summer creating a fun game to help people make friends, and then you spent the whole week in the lab trying to fix it when you learned it was malfunctioning. You didn’t have to do that, but you did. That tells me this matters to you. It shows drive and dedication. I think you set a good example for the rest of our students.”
Allie couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and she couldn’t seem to find any words to speak, so she just nodded.
“I could force you to shut your app down, but what kind of message would that send to the rest of the school?”
Allie wanted to hug him, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood and said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She gestured toward the door. “I’d better get to work.” Allie walked toward it and turned the knob.
“Ms. Navarro,” Mr. Mohr said, and Allie stopped and turned to look at him. “Can I ask you one more thing?”
“Sure.”
“Why didn’t you just shut your game down when you first realized something was wrong?”
It was a good question. She started to give him all the reasons she’d been telling herself all week. That people were having fun. That she needed big numbers for Saturday. That she needed good stories to prove that Click’d was doing good in the world. But as all those answers passed through in her mind, she knew that none of them had anything to do with the real reason she didn’t shut it down.
She locked her eyes on Mr. Mohr and told him the truth. “Everyone knew who I was.”
“Allie.” Ms. Slade looked surprised to see her there. “Everything okay?”
She’d been practicing her speech while she was standing out in the hallway, but now her heart was beating so fast, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to get the whole thing out the way she’d planned.
“No,” she began. She took a deep breath, trying to slow her breathing. “Everything’s not okay, and I have no idea what to do about it.”
She handed her the note from Mr. Mohr. Ms. Slade unfolded it, read it, and then locked her eyes on Allie’s. “I think you should start from the beginning.”
Allie told her everything. All about the photo glitch and the shared personal pictures and the texts and the fights with her friends. She told her that was why she’d been working so late in the lab—that she wasn’t building success stories to add to her presentation like she’d planned to—she was fixing Click’d. She told her about the leaderboard party, and the underwear shot, and the photos she’d missed, and the fights she’d overheard on campus.
“Nathan thought he knew how to fix it. And when he told me about an issue he was having with Built, I thought I could help him, too. So we switched stations. I came through for him, but last night, when I made the changes he suggested, it somehow disconnected the leaderboard.”
Allie was trying not to sound accusatory, but she couldn’t help it. She thought back to the events of the day before. Nathan had highlighted everything she needed to change, but she had made the changes herself. And she’d tested it all, countless times. She couldn’t imagine he’d do anything to hurt her on purpose, but given that he had a working app and she no longer did, she couldn’t ignore the possibility.