Two and a half hours later, a little before noon, we were off the bus, and the Elite Rory pinged—now that Sharma was present, look who had credits—was pulling up in front of the tan, aluminum-sided house that Jonah Logan called home. Mac let out a low whistle. The whole neighborhood didn’t look more than ten years old, but I got the feeling that in those ten years newer, fresher neighborhoods had been built and all the people with lawn mowers and, like, hedge trimmers had moved there. Maybe it was the gray day, or maybe I was used to living in a building that had nearly two hundred years of character built into it, but Jonah’s home equaled so dingy it was unnerving. Mac squeezed my hand. He hadn’t let go of it since we got off the bus.
“Wait for us, please,” Rory said.
“I got you,” the car replied.
The woman who opened Jonah Logan’s door was wearing a bright pink sweatshirt, mom-khakis, and running shoes. I already knew what Jonah’s mom looked like. She was in one of the GoogSatellite pics. What it failed to capture was her warm smile. When I told her we were there to see Jonah, she brightened even more.
“Ooh, friends from school?”
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
“Come in. Come in. He didn’t tell me friends were coming. I would have cleaned up.”
From the small foyer, we stepped down into a living room that was not a whole lot larger than mine. I’d thought suburban homes were supposed to be huge. Granted, there was an identical space right across the hall. Like a second living room. With a whole other set of couches. The décor was a little bit country, but the tech was top-of-the-line. Each room had a home hub—each room—plus holo wall screens and a voice-tech system I didn’t think came out until next year.
“Mira,” Mac said, and ran his hand through the Christmas tree in the corner.
It was such a good holo, I’d thought it was real. And from what I could see, there were three of them, all with different light combinations. I was beginning to wonder if the furniture was even real when Mrs. Logan said, “I’ll tell Jonah you’re here.”
All four of us traded glances. I don’t think any of us had expected to get this far. It felt so not like real life.
Mrs. Logan went to the bottom of the stairs, started to holler, then slapped a hand over her mouth in an overexaggerated way and waddled back into our living room.
“He gets so mad when I don’t use the gadgets. But I never remember how they work.”
Next to the holoscreen in the living room, an old flat-screen HDTV blared an afternoon game show. Considering all the tech, Mrs. Logan could have watched the game show in interactive, life-sized 3-D. But hey, my dad still read paper books.
With my back toward the mom, I whispered, “This is like totally—”
“Redundant technology,” Rory and Sharma murmured at the same time, and not at all what I was going to say.
As Mrs. Logan swiped through different screens on the Speak Panel, Rory and Sharma patrolled the perimeter. I caught only snippets of what they were saying.
“…money they wasted installing three home hubs?”
“…faster and easier interface.”
“I hate—” Rory began.
“Vanity tech,” Sharma finished.
“The wonders of technology,” Mac murmured to me. “Bringing people together.”
Suddenly, a boy appeared next to the very panel that Mrs. Logan was standing in front of. When she saw him, she let out a little scream. It was my hater. In the digital flesh. He was kind of what I expected any good Internet stalker to be. Doughy and pale, medium height, with bad posture and greasy hair hanging in his eyes. He clearly hadn’t washed it in weeks, though considering all his tech, until they created an app for cleanliness maybe he never would. Even in holo mode he couldn’t look his mother in the eyes.
He had yet to notice us. I was holding my breath. I couldn’t wait to see his expression when he did.
“If you’d watch the vid I linked you,” the hologram huffed, “you’d know how to work that.”
“I did watch it, JoJo. But I can never remember if it’s a swipe or a tap, and when I’m supposed to say ‘speech activate.’”
“Never! ‘Speech activate’ is only for when you install it. You swipe once, say ‘Jonah,’ and then talk. How less complicated can you get?”
“Oh, well, much less complicated, actually. I could have called up the stairs to you. But now that you’re here, I was trying to tell you, JoJo, you have guests.”
“Guests?” He flattened his hair with one hand, realized we could see him, and stopped. At first there was confusion on his face, like he was wondering who we were and why we were in his living room. Then his eyes quick regarded me and grew wide. “Oh SHT.”
The image instantly evaporated. All four of us looked at each other. I wasn’t the only one holding my breath. Mac clearly wanted to run upstairs, but he settled for peeking out the living room windows, as if Jonah might jump from the second floor and make a quick getaway.
I group txted:
moi What do we do?
rory (cb techie) Wait him out.
sharm And if that doesn’t work?
mac Drag that little p*ta down here by that oil slick he calls hair.
“Yeah, playah,” Rory said as he and Mac bumped fists.
“Drinks for anyone?” Mrs. Logan asked, worrying an LED bracelet that changed color every time she touched it. “You kids hungry?”
I shook my head, unable to speak from the anxiety of anticipating what Jonah was up to.
Mac, however, said, “Starving, and I would love a coffee. If you have any on. Please.”
Mrs. Logan’s face lit up. “I’ll put on a fresh pot.”
“Oh, and Mrs. Logan,” Sharma said, “may I borrow the home hub password? My Doc won’t sync to a signal. My mom’s trying to txt me.”
No one would ever give out this information. Knowing the password to a home hub was like knowing someone’s Social Security number, bank account number, and password to said bank account all rolled into one. But Sharma asked for it like it was no big deal. Not syncing to a signal didn’t even make sense.
“Sure, hon, are you ready? It’s pretty complex. Jonah made it up.”
Mrs. Logan took a piece of paper out of a sideboard, put on glasses, and read aloud, “Capital A, one of those underslash things…”
Meanwhile, Rory inspected the home hub like he was admiring its specs. Even though I was watching, I barely saw him insert the minuscule jump drive into one of its ports.
“Lowercase a,” Mrs. Logan finished. “You want me to repeat that?”
“Nope,” Sharma said with a bright smile. “Got it.”
“Now about that coffee.”
No sooner was Mrs. Logan out of the room than Sharma said, “G-A-S-P.”
Hologram Jonah was back. Standing barely an inch away from me.
“You have ten clicks to tell me what you want before I fry your operating systems.”