#scandal (22 page)

Now it’s like my personal Zen retreat where I go to sip 268

green tea and listen to wind chimes and pretend everyone isn’t plotting my make-it-look-like-an-accident demise.

Because . . .

LAVENDER OAKS HIGH SCHOOL CYBER SAFETY

RULES (EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY)

1. Student Cell phone usage will be strictly prohibited during school hours. All

students seen with cell phones—including at lunch and open periods—will have those phones confiscated.

2. Seniors will be required to attend an online Sensitivity and Anti-Cyberbullying training Session, to be administered repeatedly

during lunch hours by a Local Law-

Enforcement expert in Cybercrime.

3. All students are required to watch a Cyberbullying video at home, available on YouTube, and sign—together with their

parent or guardian—a Pledge against

bullying.

4. Any student caught engaging in bullying on school property, or using school computer 269

equipment for said bullying, will be

suspended and, depending on the type and severity of the bullying, turned over to the Police.

5. The students who launched and/or

continue to engage with the Juicy Lucy

Facebook page are urged to come forward

with a full confession. Otherwise, the

Page will be investigated and the students responsible will be punished to the fullest extent possible.

Strangely, Miss Demeanor’s page avoids all the mud.

Maybe because it’s more of a conduit than an actual content originator. Or maybe Ms. Zeff is totally Miss D. Or maybe I’m getting a little too Asher Hollowell conspiracy cracked for my own good.

Griff’s ditching first-period calc for a Black & Brew run with Ellie. When the homeroom bell releases us, we go our separate ways.

Moments later, the corridor goes total red zone.

The kids who aren’t making lewd gestures and buzz-ings of the vibratory nature are cursing me about the new policies, taking up Quinn and Haley’s slut-narc-slut chant with renewed vigor. Erasers bounce off my head. Catcalls 270

pierce my ears. Someone flings an open water bottle, dousing my arm in icy liquid.

Bag clutched to my chest, I keep my eyes down, trace the familiar path to my locker.

Cole’s there when I arrive, his arms loaded with torn-down posters and duct tape, my locker fully maroon again.

I’ve been avoiding him since the thing with Ellie the other day, still overwhelmed, still shell-shocked and dizzied by his confession.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He smiles, and everything else just melts away. The pressure in my chest releases like a balloon set free, propel-ling me into his arms. He drops the papers and wraps me in a hug, rubs my back. His lips press the top of my head,
shhh
shhh shhh, everything’s gonna be okay,
and that’s it.

Nothing.

Else.

Matters.

Not the snickers and
ohmygod
s that float down the hallway. Not the
click-clicks
of the cell phone cameras already breaking the new no-phone rules. Not the projectiles. Not Olivia, clucking at us from across the hall.

Sometimes the right hug from the right person at the exact right time makes all the wrong in the world disappear. . . .

271

And sometimes true love just can’t compete with a dude and his megaphoned minions.

“Attention networked pod people. The corporate social media empire thanks you for your service and your soul.” Ash rolls down the hallway with determination and authority, legit hell on wheels, club members in formation behind him. They’re dressed like Facebook—blue shirts adorned with a white, glued-on
F
. Knit hats stamped with the thumbs-up icon.

Kiara marches in step, megaphone at the ready. “Every time you upload a picture to the network, a baby seal dies.

Thank you.”

A few people laugh, but they’re actually putting away their phones.

“Every time you tag someone in a compromising photo, a spot in hell opens up for new members.” Tens flashes a wicked grin, the shells in his hair clicking as he moves.

“Thank you.”

A few more people vanish into classrooms or move along down the hallway, pretending not to pay attention.

“The battle for humanity will come down to the singular fight of our time, techs versus the tech-nots, machines versus hearts. Where do your loyalties lie, sheeple?” Kiara shouts. Well, she’s not really shouting, but with the megaphone, it’s loud.

272

“Tech-nots!” the (e)VIll members chant in unison.

“Hearts over wires. Souls over clouds. Unplug, unplug, unplug!”

There’s a knot of girls across from us, gathered around the water fountain with their phones still out. One seems to be typing a novel with her thumbs while the others giggle.

Tens darts toward them, still chanting into the megaphone.

“Unplug, automatons! Unplug!”

“Every time you perpetuate online drama and fuel the toxic waste dump of bad social karma, the terror-ists win. Thank you.” A long, beige slip of a guy with an army of freckles and a Mohawk the color of maraschino cherries—I’ve seen him around, but realize now he’s the

“Roman” missing from the pep rally—finishes with a bow.

Two of the science teachers poke their heads out of their classrooms, but if they’re at all concerned about (e) VIL’s latest demonstration, they’re leaving it to Zeff, who’s presently zipping toward us at lightning speed.

“Asher Hollowell,” she says. “I do appreciate your dedication, but this is a school, not a movie set.”

“I understand that perfectly well, ma’am. It’s the school we’re trying to reach.”

She holds out her hand, nods toward the megaphone.

“Hand them over. All of them.”

“But—”

273

“Would you like to spend the rest of the week in deten-tion, Mr. Hollowell? Copying the constitution by hand, perhaps?” She’s acting all bad coppy, but her lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. Deep down, she’s impressed.

Reluctantly, Ash motions for everyone to hand over the megaphones. His minions slink away to class, Zeff close on their heels.

Ash rolls up to me and Cole.

“That was quite a performance,” I say. “What’s up?”

“Revolutionaries to the Mockingjay.” He gives a firm salute. “Sorry we couldn’t debrief you guys on the mission, but we didn’t have a nontech way to reach you.” The hallway is mostly empty now, save for us and a few stragglers swapping books at their lockers.

“Dude, you guys planned that?” I ask. “For us?” He nods curtly. “Yesterday Zeff told me she’d be announcing the new policies. I figured you’d be targeted.

She also gave us the good news about the project.”

“Good news?” I say. “We have to do a presentation in front of the whole graduating class. Not to mention parents and grandparents.
And
the paparazzi—Jayla Heart will be there. If you look up ‘total suckage’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of this project.”

“It’s the perfect time to get the message out. Captive audience. Various members of the media regime.” Ash 274

pulls an old-school date book from the back pocket of his wheelchair. “Zeff said it’s cool to meet up at your place later? I need the coordinates.”

“Cool as it gets,” I say, but I’m pretty sure the sarcasm is lost. I give him the address and cross streets, thank him for clearing out the networked masses. In a blur of blue and white and chrome, he vanishes down the corridor.

Cole’s been dead silent since the first (e)VIll “thank you,” and now he’s reanimating, giving me a playful shove on the shoulder. “Looks like you have more friends at this school than you thought, Mockingjay. And also, I’m totally coming over later, because there’s no way I’m leaving you alone with those fanboys.”

“But . . . I don’t have time for all this,” I say, reality settling back in like a dark cloud. “I have to get my evidence.

Even if Ellie never speaks to me again, I can’t let this go on.

Zeff’s on my case. John’s parents are pissed, Griff’s mom .

. . The whole school’s getting sucked into the vortex, and everyone hates me, and I didn’t even—”

“Hey, hey, stop.” Cole brushes his thumbs under my eyes to erase the tears. “Take a deep breath.”

“Cole—”

“Do it. You’ll feel better.”

I do as he asks. He’s right, as usual. “Have you talked to Ellie since . . . the other day?” I’m still in friendship 275

Siberia. I’ve called a few times, sent two texts and a link to Franklin’s baby owll video—nothing.

“Tried. Still trying.” Cole puts his hands on my shoulders, holds my gaze. “Don’t worry. We’re not giving up on Ellie. And you’ve got three other people working on the investigation with you. We’ll solve this thing, okay?” I take another deep breath. He’s right again. Despite my pariah status, I’ve still got allies here. Friends. Cole.

“Griff and I are meeting with Margolis at three to com-pare notes,” he says. “After that, we’ll come by your place for a recap. And possibly to stop you from trading your possessions for a stake in an underground survival compound with (e)VIL.”

“And a year’s supply of dehydrated food,” I add, just as the late bell rings. “You can’t live in an underground compound without dehydrated food.”

Cole smiles. “There’s my little apocalypse survivor.

Welcome back.”

276

MY MOM’S HOUSE IS A C O Oller

SECRE T BUNK ER THAN YOUR MOM’S

HOUSE

I
’m just saying,” Ash Hollowell’s just saying. He’s also brushing blue corn chip crumbs from his lap onto my TV

room floor, something that endlessly delights Night of the Living Dog. “Star Trek technology is limited by comparison. They get around the galaxy way more efficiently in Star Wars. Take
Empire Strikes Back
. The
Millennium Falcon
hopped from Hoth to Bespin in, like,
ridic
time,
without
a functioning hyperdrive. What Trek ship does that?” Tens rolls one of his dreads between his fingers, considering. “Doesn’t the
Falcon
carry a Backup Class twelve Hyperdrive?”

“Yes, and that’s an excellent point. Hyperdrive units 277

are portable—singular intricate components. Warp drives have all those crazy-huge parts. Antimatter pods, dilithium crystals, warp core, cooling system. And how long does it take to get from Earth to Vulcan? Days . . .
with
warp drive!”

Kiara rolls her eyes. “Are you guys fracking lunatics from Arkham? Comparing warp technology to hyperdrive is like comparing Klingon to Wookiee. One’s grounded in proper grammar and phonology—an actual language—

while the other is . . .” Kiara lets out a hilarious series of Wookiee grunts.

“Shields up!” Ash covers his face with his hands. “Angry Federation-beats-Empire type has entered the conversation!”

With a freckled hand, Roman reaches across the coffee table for a corn chip, does a flyby on the guacamole bowl.

Night tracks his every move. “Captain Janeway? You denying that Star Wars vessels—”

“There’s nothing to deny. Hyperdrives have no basis in real science, no limits; they’re utter magic.” Kiara makes a starburst with her fingers. “
Poof
! Warp drive functional-ity is rooted in theoretical physics, which is why there are limits. Fact versus fiction. There’s no arguing this, guys.”

“An observation from planet earth?” I flop into Dad’s recliner and flip open an orange Shasta. “The antitechnology 278

club is sitting in my TV room having a serious debate about two different technologically advanced societies that only exist in your minds at all because of our own advanced technology.”

“I know,” Tens says. “Meta, right?”

“If by meta you mean hypocritical, yeah.” I turn on Dad’s laptop and pull up the new official cyberbullying manual Zeff sent me, twice as long as the old one. My plan is to basically plagiarize, reimagining a few key points with PowerPoint animations. “Aren’t you guys, like, hipsters?” Ash nods. “I’m about half hipster, thirty percent nerd, fourteen geek, dash of headbanger.” He throws a death metal sign and rocks out. “If you’re into labels.”

“I’m half jock,” Stephie says, her swim team hoodie zipped over the Facebook tee. “Then equal parts hipster, nerd, and bookworm.”

“Hipsters, gah.” Kiara shudders. “I’m a cybergeek with a side of marching band groupie. I go total bookworm on the weekends, though.”

Roman’s Mohawk twitches. “And I fucking hate labels, so there’s that.”

“He’s a hater,” Stephie says. “That
is
his label.”

“I’m a foodie and a coffee snob,” Tens says proudly.

“And a baker. I make tarts on the weekends for my parents’

café.”

279

“Those aren’t labels, dumbass,” Stephie says. “Those are activities. Labels are like: band geek, comic book nerd, art freak.”

“I’m those, too,” Tens says, and Ash beams him in the forehead with a chip.

“Wait,” I say. “Not Black & Brew?”

“Seriously? How do you think it got its name?” Tens thumbs at his chest.

I blink.

“Are we challenging your Ass and Umptions today?” Roman laughs at my flabbergasted face. He’s teasing, but my cheeks flame anyway.

Am I like this with everyone?

No wonder the whole school believes I posted those pictures. I might as well be wearing a shirt that says,
If you
can read this, I’m already judging you.

“Consider me challenged,” I say.

“Hey! That’s my line,” Ash says.

Stephie punches him in the shoulder. “Challeng
ing
, maybe. Or just annoying.”

“Lucy, we’re not against technology,” Kiara says seriously. “We’re against
vanity
-based technology—which doesn’t exist in these imagined societies—and the corporate regime that’s coopting it for their own gain. Not to mention bullshit labels, as Roman so eloquently pointed out.” 280

Ash leans forward in his wheelchair to scratch Night’s ears. “Corporations own the government. Agribusiness, big pharma. Like the FDA really cares about what’s in our drugs, or how those drugs end up in the water supply. They’re lobotomizing us.” He taps the dog’s head. “Mind control.” Night barks in agreement.