Double Digit (17 page)

Mr. Bennett gave me a long hug goodbye. “I’m going to keep working on this. I’m going to do everything I can to get them to cut a deal. And I’ll be at the trial. Got it?”

Got it. I had a feeling I’d always have Mr. Bennett in my life, even if I didn’t have John.

I went to half hug, half pat Mrs. Bennett goodbye and found my shoulders restrained by her hands. It was impossible not to look her in the eye. “Listen to me, dear. Your relationship with my son is not my business. My relationship with you is my business. You are a good girl. You are a smart girl. But you are just a girl. You need to get through this thing and claim your life. Don’t let these men boss you around.”
Jeez.
“If you need me, I want you to call me. Always.”

“Thank you.”

The drive to Cambridge sounded a lot like this:

Mom: Darling, what part of “make good choices” didn’t you understand?

Danny: So I had an epiphany when I was about to die in that lunatic’s dungeon . . .

Me: I know, Mom, it was stupid.

Dad: Who are these kids that are testifying for Digit at the trial?

Uncle Bob: Just kids who volunteered.

Danny: Actually it was before that, on the quad at MIT.

Mom: That gorgeous sweater is ruined. I’m going to send you a few things as soon as I get back to L.A. Do you have a problem with corduroy? I forget.

Uncle Bob: They seemed nice enough via email.

Danny: So I’m not going to college.

Dad: Leave her alone, honey.

Uncle Bob: You think there’s anything else I should be doing to prepare?

Danny: Just not yet. Maybe I’ll try to get an agent and get some commercial work?

Mom: I’ve made an appointment for you to get your hair highlighted and your eyebrows waxed tomorrow. No arguments.

Danny: So I guess that’s okay with you guys?

Mom: Honestly, darling. This whole thing could be televised. We’ll need powder.

We all headed back to my dorm so that Danny could pick up his wallet and stuff. There had been no place to stash it in his grass skirt a lifetime ago when he’d left for the night. When we pulled up on the quad, I asked if we could sit in the car for a second so I could have time to prepare for reentry. I remembered the stress of being new here and dreading having to tell everyone my name is Digit and why. Again, it’s so relative. Now that I have to walk in and tell everyone I’m back from being kidnapped and saving Manhattan but may be going away for a bit . . . explaining Digit seems like a walk in the park. A safe park, no kidnappers.

My dad hurried me out. “Come on. We’ve got to get Danny’s stuff and get to the airport. Let’s go.”

It was a beautiful afternoon, and the dorm was pretty much empty. We made our way to my room, and Danny quickly locked the door behind us.

A knock on the door made all of us jump. Danny motioned for me to get back, and looked through the keyhole. He whispered, “It’s a guy, longish hair.”

“Kinda handsome?”

“I guess.”

A louder whisper came from the other side of the door. “Gee, thanks. It’s Bass. Let me in.”

Oh my God, I am so lame.
Danny gave me a little smile and waited for my nod to open the door. “Hi, I’m Danny, Digit’s brother. And you are kinda handsome.” Bass shook Danny’s hand, and they laughed like they’d been buddies for years. People were just like that with Danny.

My parents and Uncle Bob introduced themselves. My dad joked, “They’re always telling me I’m handsome too. I wouldn’t take it too seriously.”
Could someone please make this stop?

“Hey.” Bass took a step toward me but stayed by the door. “Welcome back. I’m pretty much up to speed, since you are on every local news channel and are the subject of every op-ed piece in the
Tech
. . . but are you okay?”

It was hard to know where to start. The answer to
How are you?
is always
Fine, thank you,
mainly because you know that whoever’s asking doesn’t really care. In this case, I felt like he really did care. His mouth was in a firm line, and his eyes looked a little pained.

“You want to take a walk?” Still I said nothing. “I need to walk Buddy anyway.” I looked to my parents for help.

“Go ahead, sweetheart. We have to get going anyway. Danny, grab your stuff already.”

Lots of hugs and
love you
s. As Danny left, he added, “Get some fresh air, while you can.” Oh, he’s just hilarious.

It took me a few minutes to find my sunglasses, which I desperately needed for protection from eye contact. We stopped at Bass’s room to get Buddy, who seemed to remember me. A lot. We headed out the back door to avoid my inquisitive classmates and walked toward Memorial Drive. We ran with Buddy across two lanes of traffic to the wide grass median that runs parallel to the Charles River. The trees were oaks and sycamores, different from the coral trees that run down the middle of San Vicente Boulevard at home. But the effect was similar, the feeling of a long, protected island between lanes of roaring traffic.

It was early November, and everything was orange and green. Some trees had gone completely orange, while others just had little hints of color at their tips. It reminded me of a punk hairstyle with a hint of pink at the ends. I knew that if I visited these trees the next day (and I would), the color would be creeping farther up their branches.
Mother Earth is a living organism.
And sometimes you can see her breathe.

I looked down at my blue jeans and green jacket and thought how perfect it was that I could walk through the fall without clashing with nature. Who knew that fall in New England would be the place where I was finally in step?

“So, you still have the dog?”

“I’ll always have the dog. I’ve had him for two years.”

“Then what was all that ‘Hush-hush, keep-a-secret-while-I find-him-a-home’ business?”

“Basic team building. Psych 101. I just wanted you guys to bond over thinking that you were sharing a secret. No one cares that I have Buddy here.” He gave me a victorious sideways glance.

I smiled to myself. Not bad. Bass was enough taller than me that I had to take 1.3 steps to keep up with his every one. After a while I noticed that he was slowing down to my pace.

“So, you want to talk about it?”

“Which part? The part where I was fake kidnapped in high school? The part where the terrorists that were after me back then came after me again? The part where they’re still out there? Or the part where I hacked into the stupid DOD so I wouldn’t miss a toga party? There’s also the part where my ex-boyfriend came back and saved the day and then sort of re-dumped me. Or that I’m on trial for a felony. Or that the government thinks I’m Wonder Woman now. Just spin the wheel and pick a subject. I’ve got no secrets anymore.”

“We need to get you a better costume if you’re going to be Wonder Woman.”

“No chance.”

“I had a feeling there was more to you than just the California girl with the nerdy nickname. You’re very intense, but I didn’t think it was because you were on the run.”

The combination of the rhythm of our steps on the leaves, the hum of the traffic on either side of us, and our being side by side made for a natural conversation. With my eyes forward, I didn’t have to figure out where to look. I don’t know when I’ve ever had such an easy time talking to a relative stranger. It was like this on our last walk, and I wondered if we would ever be able to repeat these talks face to face. “I am intense. For sure. But I wasn’t on the run from anything. I mean, I was trying to put that completely behind me. I thought I was going to be safe here. And normal. I think I’m more worried about missing out on having a normal college life than I am about going to jail.”

“Were you hurt?” Buddy stopped to sniff the legs of a bench along the river. I looked out and marveled at how water can look cold. It’s darker.

“Yeah. I don’t really know what I expected. And sure I’ve probably made John look unprofessional with the FBI, but it seems like a bad time for him to be giving me my space or whatever. He’s obsessed with this whole waiting thing, so that I can grow up and do whatever they think I’m supposed to do. Which I think is lame. I mean, if you’re going to say you love somebody, can’t you just figure out how to make it work? And just because I have this gift or whatever, does that mean I can’t have a normal boyfriend to hang out with? It’s like I have to pay for being smart by giving up my chance to be happy.” Bass was laughing with his whole face, a rarity.

“What?”

“I meant were you actually hurt? By the terrorists. The ones who kidnapped you.”

“Oh, nah. That was fine.” We both laughed for what seemed like longer than the moment warranted. I saw myself as the poster child for mixed-up, lovesick teenagers-turned-adult (if there ever was going to be a poster for such a thing). And I felt totally okay with Bass knowing that.

Bass pulled Buddy along and we started walking again.

“He sounds more like your father than a boyfriend.”

“Right? And the funny thing is that my father isn’t like that at all. I know what my dad wants for me, but he wants me to get there on my own time, if at all.”

“I’m just happy that you’re okay, at least physically okay. I was really worried about you.”

“Thanks. But it would be good to be a person that no one was worried about for a change.”

W
HEN WE GOT BACK TO THE
dorm, people were milling around the bike rack outside. It all looked pretty normal except something was off. It almost looked staged, but I couldn’t quite see why at first.

Bass grabbed my arm as we approached. “Hey, are you ready for this? People have a lot of questions.”

“I have a lot of answers.” The only thing that kept this from being a total nightmare is that everything was out on the table. Everything about my first (fake) kidnapping had been unearthed in great detail. Even the fact that it was John who was protecting me then. I was pleading guilty to this new thing, and there were no facts that I had to remember to keep to myself. If my new college friends wanted to hear the ins and outs of my career in espionage, I could freely give them a complete data dump. In twenty-four hours we’d all be on the same page.

Clarke spotted us first, dropped her bike, and ran toward me. Over her flannel pajama bottoms and under her black leather jacket she wore a bright blue T-shirt that said
FREE DIGIT
in four-inch orange letters. She threw her arms around me. “Oh my God.” She shook my shoulders. “Oh my God.” She hugged me again. “Oh my God. You’re alive—you’re standing right here. You’re my hero, stickin’ it to the Man. A trailblazer. Oh my God, in two weeks you’ll be, like, a martyr.”

“I’m not worthy. But I like your T-shirt.”

“We’ve all got them. Even Scott’s giving the black turtleneck a rest. We had three thousand of them made, and everyone on campus is wearing them. There’s a Free Digit Facebook group and #freedigit has been trending on Twitter for days.” I looked around and saw it: Everyone was wearing that T-shirt.
FREE DIGIT
was everywhere.

I looked at Bass to see if this was a joke. He shrugged
I told you so
back to me and said, “Listen, everybody is pretty caught up in all this. If you want my advice, I say let’s call a meeting in the common room and you can tell the story and answer questions all at once. Otherwise you’re going to be repeating yourself for the next two weeks. We’ll set a time limit.”

I wanted to say:
I feel like you are the only person in the world who knows how I feel right now.
Instead I said, “Thank you,” to his shoes.

I made it up to my room and had a text from Danny.

The T-shirts are classic. They let me bring ten home.

The big debriefing had to be moved from my dorm to the Engineering Department’s auditorium because the crowd was going to be so big. I’ll spare you the recap of the recap of the story of my recent life, but I pretty much started at the beginning with the code on the bottom of my TV screen back in the spring. I was relieved that people were a lot more interested in the way the cipher text code worked and how Jonas Furnis managed to run so much equipment completely off the grid than they were about my personal experiences underground.

And of course they wanted to know how I hacked into the DOD. I’d become a hero to the hacking community, simultaneously showing how flawed the system is and how smart hackers are. There was a lull in Digit-love when I failed to explain how I got into the DOD. It wasn’t like I really blacked out when I did it, but maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to offer a tutorial.

When the one-hour discussion was over, ninety minutes had passed. I was exhausted and hungry and a little overwhelmed. Tiki led me by the hand out the back door of the auditorium and leaned against the closed door as if to keep a wild mob from chasing us. “Those people are obsessed!”

We ran back to our room, laughing with relief, and ordered a pizza. Tiki caught me up on everything non-Digit-related that had been happening on campus. She’d changed her major and then changed it back again. Howard had been dumped by the brunette, and Tiki had sworn off beer and men—though she was interested in a guy in her studio art class who kind of reminded her of Howard. These sorts of problems washed over me like water in a warm bath. Normal people, normal problems.

At bedtime, when I went to set the alarm on my phone, I saw:

John Bennett 8 Missed Calls. John Bennett 4 Voice Mail Messages. John Bennett 1 Text:

I just need to know that you’re okay.

I texted back:

I’m fine. Wait. Am I allowed to call you?