“Miss Chen?” says Hideo Tanaka.
His accent is British. Attended a British international school, I remind myself feverishly. Studied at Oxford. His voice, easy and refined, carries in it the authority of someone who runs a huge corporation. I can only stand there, phone in hand, staring at Keira as if I could see straight through her.
Keira wheels her arms frantically at me, reminding me that I’m supposed to respond. “Uh,” I manage. “Hey.”
“A pleasure,” Hideo says, and my phone trembles in my grip. Keira takes pity on me and holds it for me. I expect Hideo’s next words to have something to do with my hacking incident, so I immediately start to stammer some sort of apology, as if that might help my case.
“Mr. Tanaka, about yesterday—look, I am really, really sorry for what happened—it was a total accident, I swear—I mean, my glasses are pretty old and they glitch a lot”—I wince again—“I mean—not that your stuff is badly made or anything—which it’s not!—er, that is—”
“Yes. Are you busy right now?”
Am I busy right now? Hideo Tanaka is on the phone, asking me if I am busy right now? Keira’s eyes look like they’re going to pop right out of their sockets. Don’t sound stupid, Emika. Be cool. “Well,” I reply, “I’m actually late for my waitressing shift . . .”
Keira slaps her forehead with the palm of her hand. I hold both hands out at her in a panic.
“I apologize for interrupting your schedule,” Hideo says, as if my answer were the most natural thing in the world, “but are you willing to skip work today and come to Tokyo?”
My ears start to ring. “What? Tokyo—Japan?”
“Yes.”
I cringe, glad he can’t see my face turning red. What did I expect him to say—Tokyo, New Jersey? “Like . . . right now?”
A note of amusement enters his voice. “Yes, like, right now.”
“I—um—” My head spins. “I’d love to, but my roommate and I are actually about to get evicted from our apartment tomorrow, so . . .”
“Your debts have been taken care of.”
Keira and I exchange a blank look. “I’m sorry—what?” I murmur. “They’re . . . taken care of?”
“Yes.”
The calculations that run constantly through my head. Rent, bills, debt. $1,150. $3,450. $6,000. Your debts have been taken care of. Just like that, they scatter, replaced by nothing except white noise. How can this be? If I went to Mr. Alsole’s apartment right now, would he wave us away and tell us that we’re good to go? Why would Hideo Tanaka do this? I suddenly feel light-headed, like I might float right out of my body. Don’t faint. “They can’t just be taken care of,” I hear myself say. “That’s a lot of money.”
“I assure you, it was very simple. Miss Chen?”
“Yes. Sorry—yes, I’m still here.”
“Great. There is a car waiting outside your apartment, ready to take you to John F. Kennedy International Airport. Pack whatever you like. The car is ready when you are.”
“A car? But—wait—when’s the flight? What airline? How much time do I have to . . .”
“It’s my private jet,” he says, unconcerned. “It will take off whenever you are in it.”
His private jet.
“Wait, but—all of my stuff. How long will I be there?” My eyes shift back to Keira. She looks pale, still processing the fact that our debts have been erased in the blink of an eye.
“If you’d like any belongings packed up and shipped to Tokyo with you,” he replies, “just say the word and it’ll be done today. In the meanwhile, you will have everything you need here.”
“Hang on.” I start to shake my head. Shipping my belongings over? Just how long does he want me to stay there? My brow furrows. “What I need is a sec to think. I don’t understand.” My emotions finally spill out, unleashing a torrent of thoughts. “What’s this all about? The car, my debts, the plane—Tokyo?” I sputter. “Yesterday, I disrupted the biggest game of the year. Someone should be angry with me. You should be. What am I going to Tokyo for?” I take a deep breath. “What do you want from me?”
There’s a pause on the other end. Suddenly, I realize that I’m mouthing off to one of the world’s most powerful people—to my idol, someone I’ve watched and read about and obsessed over for years, someone who had changed my life. Across from me, Keira watches the phone intently as if she could see what Hideo’s expression looks like. I swallow in the silence, afraid for a moment.
“I have a job offer for you,” Hideo replies. “Would you like to hear more?”
6
Confession: I’ve been on an airplane a grand total of one time. It was after Mom left, and Dad decided to move us from San Francisco to New York. What I remember of that flight is the following: a tiny TV monitor to watch cartoons on; a little window through which I could see the clouds; a Tetris-like meal tray holding something questionably called chicken; and a mod of the original Sonic the Hedgehog 2 video game loaded onto my phone, my go-to game whenever I was feeling stressed out.
Somehow, I think my second flight will be very different from my first.
After the call with Hideo ended, the first thing I did was rush down the hall and knock on Mr. Alsole’s door. One glance at his dumbstruck face was all I needed to know that I didn’t just hallucinate everything.
Our rent is paid through the end of next year.
I pack in a daze. I don’t own a suitcase, so I end up stuffing as much clothing into my backpack as it can fit. My thoughts jumble together, every one of them about Hideo. What does he want me for? It must be huge, if it means flying me like this to Tokyo. Hideo has indeed hired a few hackers in the past—to help him work out bugs inside Warcross—but they were way more experienced, and probably with no criminal records. What if he’s actually angry with me, and is waiting to dole out punishment once I’m in Japan? It’s a ridiculous idea, sure . . . but so is being asked to pack up everything and go to Tokyo. Asked by Hideo Tanaka. The thought warms my insides again, and I tingle at the mystery of what this job offer might be.
Keira’s eyes trail me as I dart around the apartment. “When are you going to come back?” she asks, even though she’d heard the same conversation that I had.
I cram another T-shirt into my backpack. “Don’t know,” I reply. “Probably soon.” Secretly, I hope I’m wrong.
“How do you know this isn’t just some huge prank?” she says. A note of confusion in her voice. “I mean—it was broadcast everywhere across the internet.”
I pause to look at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, what’s to stop someone from dialing your number a million times and then playing the biggest hoax of all time on you?”
That must be it. It has to be. Some hacker out there thought it would be funny. Somebody broke into my phone’s weak security, faked Hideo’s voice, set me up—he’s probably laughing his head off right now.
But our rent is paid off. What prankster would waste his money like that?