How cool was NYC?
For the umpteenth time I wished the girls were there. Cool or not, I was dead nervous. I’d never met a hacker before. I mean, other than Sharma. And Sharma showered with her Doc because she was afraid she’d miss something.
We were supposed to meet at 4:30. It was currently 4:16. Sharma txted, Don’t laugh, but that she’d met this hacker through an apartment-decorating game. I wandered around the market. At 4:18 I bought a lemon bar for Kyle. A minute later I ate half of it. I still had ten minutes to kill. So I did something stupid: I txted AnyLies.
moi They won’t let me be Mrs. Claus.
I know this doesn’t read like the smartest move, but if you had a direct line to your hater how would you not txt them?
No response.
I didn’t stop, or more like I couldn’t stop.
moi Or even go to the party.
I look forward to it all year.
Brittany Mulligan is the new Mrs. Claus. She has the charisma of plastic packaging.
I didn’t explain that I was talking about Community Club, figuring my hater went to Park Prep and would simply know. If not, then, well, that was one big clue, no? Also, I really hoped my hater was Brittany Mulligan and that she’d read that last line. But still no response. Maybe AnyLies was busy, but I didn’t think so. I gave it one last try.
moi Why do you hate me so much?
Now the reply was instantaneous.
So many reasons.
moi Like?
You are everything that is wrong with everything.
moi So we know each other?
You can say I despise you from afar.
No, that wasn’t creepy. I thought about all the people I interacted with but didn’t really know, at debates, Model UN, volunteering, my clothing swap.
moi Contrary to whatever it apparently seems like, I’m not a bad person.
Keep telling yourself that.
Annoyed, I swiped the thread away. It was 4:30. I positioned myself in a very visible spot at the entrance to the market. I assumed the hacker had viewed the video and my profile. Spotting me wouldn’t be hard. A minute passed. Another.
At 4:40 I walked toward an expensive izakaya and stood next to a bench outside. Pretending everything was normal between us, I snapped a pic of the menu and sent it to Fawn. She was hard-core about boycotting overfished fish.
moi Sashimi of the day is yellowfin tuna.
She’d combust.
“That’s lab tuna,” a soft female voice behind me said. “Not natural-caught. Twice the taste. Triple the price. None of the murdering-endangered-species guilt. You even think about turning around, I virus your Doc.”
“You’re the hacker guy?” I asked.
“Gender bias much?”
I risked a glimpse. Dyed-pink hair and what looked like an Eden tie and name clip, which she detached and shoved in her pocket. So she was an employee. Hiding in plain sight. Nice.
“I said don’t turn around.”
“I’m not allowed to see you, but you can hack my Doc?”
“Didn’t hack your Doc. You use holoscreen to txt. Anyone within five feet can see your message. Not smart. Name’s Ivy. Watched your vid. It just tipped six hundred thou views. Speak.”
“Uh, okay, for starters, can you tell me anything about the person who made it?”
“Who made it?” I could hear her smirk. “That’s how you’re swinging this? All right, already asking the wrong question. This is out there. Done. Question is: How to recover? Next question. Go.”
I needed to sit down. But in order to sit on the izakaya’s bench, I’d have to turn around. And since I didn’t want to disobey Ivy’s rule a second time, I put a steadying hand against the wall and knelt on the bench instead, like I was worshipping the menu.
“I said, next question. Go.”
“Geez, okay. Gimme a sec to think.” Mac teased me that I spoke and processed things so fast he was always three thoughts behind me. (Or he used to tease me about that.) Now I knew how he felt. “Pretend I’m not asking the wrong question and where the video came from does matter. I mean, it’s a DRM. I go to a small school. There might be a chance I can delete the source file—”
Ivy cut me off. “Gold Goes with Everything told me the orig IP was fragmented. Said defragging’s in progress, but that takes a few days, min. Is there a time stamp on the vid? Could use your GPS history to prove you”—I could sense her forming air quotes—“‘weren’t there.’”
“No. There’s not a time stamp.”
“Hmm. Too bad. Gold Goes with Everything also said the YurTube account was fresh?”
“Wait. Who the H-double-L is Gold Goes with Everything?”
“Our shared contact.”
“Sharma?” She’d been working on cracking this without telling me? “That’s her screen name? Gold Goes with Everything?”
The girl tsked. “Your privacy-protection etiquette needs serious CPR. You never tell a hacker another hacker’s name. It’s, like, the first rule of hacking. And I see you looking at me in the mirror on your Doc. Keep it up and I will ruin you.”
“Worse?” I snorted. “How? Fine. Sorry. Yes. The YurTube account was freshly made. They used an alias. AnyLiesUnmade.”
“Creepy.” I imagined Ivy’s frown deepening. “There is one possibility. Heard whispers about software from Asia—Korea or Japan, maybe—that lets you do face forgery. None of my contacts has it in hand. Or if they do, they’re not saying. Thought it was a myth. Said to be gove’ment grade so it means this AnyLies has mega coin and mega connects.”
Holding my Doc up, I holoscreened my messages.
“Any way to attach this contact to a person? AnyLies and I have been txting.”
“That sounds unsafe.” Ivy tsked, but then, too intrigued not to look, she added, “It’s not a contact. If they were txting via a Doc, and they blocked it, that field would read ‘Contact Unavailable.’ You’re dealing with an old-skool cell phone. If it were a smartphone—thanks to GPS—it would still show a phone number. I bet those messages are coming from an old-old-old-skool burner cell. They’re so low-tech, Docs don’t even recognize their existence. That’s completely untraceable. Mama’s smart.”
Oh, terrific.
“Mama?” I said. “So you think it’s a girl?”
“I think the vid is perfect. It’s not a prank or gag. The hacker wants to x you out. You have any spurned boyfriends?” I shook my head no.
Boyfriend. Unboyfriend. Friend. Unfriend. Whatever his title, Mac would never do this.
“Then it’s def a chick. Pay attention to enemies that have come into considerable sums of money. And stay tuned for a second attack. She needs to keep views up or bye-bye revenue stream. You could try following the dollar signs, but if she finds you poking around her bank accounts? With her hands on tech like this? She’ll end you. Way I see it, you have two choices. Capitalize on your new popularity and embrace your notoriety—”
“Or?” I asked.
“Erase yourself. There is no way to prove this isn’t you.”