I groaned up at the ceiling. “I didn’t sell anything. They offered me money but I didn’t take it.”
“I don’t care about the money. It’s your character that worries me.”
“My character? Do you know what you’ve created?” I sat up in my chair and met his eyes. “You’ve turned my life into a computer program. People aren’t robots; we’re not a bunch of machines for you to operate.”
He shook his head. “Go to your room, Madeline.”
He always did this. As soon as I was brave enough to voice my thoughts, he always silenced me.
“You’re not saving lives, Dad. You can’t save lives when no one’s really living anymore.”
My dad stood up. “That’s enough. I said go to your room.”
I jumped up and stomped out of the office. I pounded up the stairs and it took every ounce of restraint I had to keep from slamming my bedroom door shut. I dropped onto my bed and pointed my finger at the wall stereo. The sensor recognized my fingerprint and I scrolled down a list of songs until I found the playlist I wanted. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as acoustic music filled the room. The guitar chords slowly defused the memory of my dad’s eyes, his ridicule and doubt. I let myself escape from my dismal world into a lighter one.
I grabbed my brush pen off the nightstand and turned on the ceiling canvas above my bed. The laser from the end of my brush pen painted the blank screen with color. I drew a picture of the birds I saw earlier in the day; I wanted to hold on to the image of the arrow they made in the sky. I drew words above the picture, words that were echoing through my mind like a prayer: Please Don’t Be Short-term to Me. Then I realized I wasn’t thinking about the birds.
I stared at the words and my mind traveled to Justin. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. Did he live alone? Did he have roommates? Did he have a girlfriend? I dropped my pen and grabbed a pillow to smother over my face.
Stupid, stupid Madeline. He’s way out of your league.
Chapter Four
Even though digital school is year-round, it’s still customary to take weekends off. Saturday morning I lazily watched the weather channel on our kitchen wall screen and ate my routine breakfast of a protein bar and vita-float.
“Do you have any plans tonight?” Mom asked when she walked into the room.
I popped a piece of the granola bar in my mouth. “There’s a book talk in New York I might go to. Or, a friend of mine’s a film editor in Australia and his movie debuts tonight, so I might catch that.” I swallowed the bar down with a mouthful of the orange float and felt Baley’s wet nose nudge my leg. She sat at attention next to the table, her eyes fixed on my breakfast.
Mom poured a cup of coffee and sat down next to me at the table.
“You kids have so many options these days. Don’t you ever feel overwhelmed in that cyberworld?” I didn’t answer her because this wasn’t a question. It was more like an opinion she felt obligated to voice on a daily basis. Sometimes I wondered how she and my dad could stand being in the same room together, let alone be married. While my dad was trying to digitalize all of civilization, my mom was equally determined to humanize it.
“Your father had to go out of town this morning,” she said.
My head automatically perked up at this news. When Dad left town it was as if a strangling collar was unfastened from my neck.
She noticed my reaction and frowned. “He’s your father, Madeline, not your prison guard.” She shook her head and told me she couldn’t help overhearing our conversation last night.
“It wasn’t a conversation,” I said with a scowl. “Conversations are two-sided, which Dad doesn’t seem to understand.”
The only person who had ever been on my side was my mom. She believed digital school had gone too far. That it was an institution. But she also loved my dad and respected his vision to make the world a safer place.
“I wish he could let it go,” I said. “I’m never going to steal from him again. I promise.”
She nodded. “I know.”
My mom and I had gone over my Rebellion a thousand times. When I was fifteen years old, I met of group of people online who were planning a protest against digital school. They wanted the confidential coordinates for all the radio towers in the country used to distribute the digital school signal. These files were only accessible to a handful of people, my father, obviously, being one of them.
I used the computer in his office to hack into his government folders. I still don’t know what motivated me to go behind his back. Maybe I was just being rebellious; maybe it was a challenge to see if I could actually access his confidential files. Or maybe, in my gut, I felt like I was missing out on something. I knew there was more to life than a pixelated curtain. There was a wide, expansive world all around me and I was confined to live inside such a narrow one. And I wanted to break free.
I sent the protesters the information, thinking they would use it to contact students and parents to spread a message about fighting digital school. Instead, they used it in an attempt to destroy the radio towers and sabotage the entire digital system. They were caught after blowing up a tower outside of Portland, which provided DS to the entire state of Oregon. Before the protesters could be stopped, coordinates were leaked out and two more towers were bombed in California.
Shortly after the bombings, police tracked the leak to my father’s computer. He was investigated for treason and could have gone to jail for what I did. It just so happened that the man in charge of the jurisdiction for the case was Damon Thompson, who is conveniently my dad’s best friend. I immediately confessed and they agreed privately on my sentence—three years of probation—lasting until I was eighteen. If I stayed clean until then, my record would be cleared and my father and I would both be free from the repercussions of my Rebellion.
In the meantime, everything I do is censored. Every person I talk to online is tapped, all my websites are monitored. Even my cell phone lines are screened. My dad receives daily reports of every website I use, every person I talk to. It’s understood by me, Damon, and my parents that if I ever violate probation, I’ll go straight to a detention center for crimes committed against digital school.
My mom’s more lenient with me, because she thinks my rebellious side is partly her fault. She’s always encouraged me to see the world beyond a screen, the world unplugged, as she likes to call it.
She pressed her hand over mine. “Your father just wants you to realize that no amount of power is worth having when it means hurting the people you love.”
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. “Maybe you should tell him to take his own advice,” I said.
My phone rang, interrupting us, and I looked down at the screen to see it was a private number. I answered the call and my heart went into palpitations at the sound of Justin’s voice.
“Hey, can you meet up today?” he asked. I couldn’t believe it. I spent the entire week accepting the fact I’d never hear from him again. I even deleted his name from my chat list to ease the rejection.
I opened my mouth to answer him but no words came out. I was still in shock that he found my number since I never gave it to him. It wasn’t listed either—my dad took care of that one.
“Madeline?” he asked.
I nodded as if he could see me.
“This is Justin,” he said.
“Okay,” I mumbled.
“Okay, as in yes?” His voice was fast and it had an edge to it, like he was daring me to do something.
“How did you get this number?”
He exhaled a long breath. “Honestly, it wasn’t easy. I had to have a friend of mine hack into some server to get it.”
I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. For a split second I believed him. But he had to be joking. Before I could ask, he spoke up.
“What are you doing later?” he asked, getting back to the point. I glanced at my mom and she watched me with curiosity. I figured there was no harm in chatting with
him online.
“No plans.”
“Can we meet at two?”
“I’ll be around,” I said, and tried to sound indifferent.
Justin hung up without another word. I set my phone down and tried not to smile. I had to restrain myself from jumping out of my seat and pumping the air with my fists.
“Madeline, you’re glowing,” Mom said.
I stared down at my lap. “No, I’m not.”
“Look at you—you’re pink all over.”
“It must be the vitamins kicking in,” I said, and slurped up the last sip of my float.
Her eyes were bright. “Who was that?”
“Justin, the guy from my study group.” Her face instantly fell, as if I just referred to Justin as the neighborhood drug dealer.
“Oh, that boy” was all she said.
“First of all,” I said, and pointed a finger in the air, “I wouldn’t call him a boy. Second of all, Dad doesn’t know him, even though he may think he does. And he’s not interested in me. It’s a purely academic relationship.”
My mom rolled her eyes. “Purely academic on a Saturday afternoon, I’m sure.”
I looked at the clock and dreaded the impossible idea of preoccupying myself for four hours. I went upstairs, cleaned my room, reorganized my closet, and folded laundry. With still an hour to spare, I changed into a T-shirt and tennis shoes to run in the basement. My parents bought me a running machine for my fifteenth birthday. I’d prefer to jog outside, but it was almost impossible in the city, with trains and shuttles slowing you down at each corner. I run for an hour every day—it’s like an addiction. The movement reminds my blood to flow and my lungs to expand. I like the rhythm—the fluid motion it gives me without interruption. It makes me feel like I can outrun my problems, as if they’re chasing me. Sometimes I pretend I’m running away.
I took Baley downstairs with me so she could exercise on our PetSpet; it’s a running machine for dogs. I switched on the machine for Baley and she trotted along the rotating belt.
I stepped onto the virtual trail, turned on the power, and the belt sped up under my feet and a screen snapped on around me. I scanned through the trail options until I found the ocean scene. It was my favorite run. I turned the speed up and cranked the volume until the sound of the waves beating down on the sand drowned out my thoughts. A cool breeze brushed my skin and I could hear birds far off in the distance.
An hour later, flushed from my workout, I ran upstairs and sat in front of my computer. Baley followed me into the room and lay down next to my feet. I glanced at the clock and my stomach rolled in circles when I saw it was 1:50. I quickly signed in to the profile page Justin contacted me on. I checked my mail; I had over a hundred new messages since I checked it this morning. A dozen new clubs to join, twenty free offers, thirty comments, twenty chat invites, twenty new contacts my computer thought I would get along with. Zero messages from the one person I was craving to talk to. Figures.
I chatted up a few people while I waited for him to log on. A little after 2:00, I heard a low growl rumbling from Baley’s throat. Her ears perked up and she bolted for my bedroom window.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“Madeline,” my mom yelled from downstairs, “someone’s walking up our driveway.” There was fear in her voice, as if someone was trying to break into our house. My mouth fell open. Justin was coming over? Nobody ever stops by anymore. Is he demented?
I combed my fingers through my hair, only to remind myself I was still in sweaty workout clothes. Rings of sweat outlined my armpits, and my blue cotton shorts were frayed along the hems. I glared down at my shorts and running shoes, wondering if I could look any more unattractive.
The doorbell rang and Baley went ballistic. She sprinted out of my room, her high-pitched yelps echoing off the walls. I jumped up, practically tripping over my desk chair. I met my mom halfway down the staircase. She looked at the front door like a territorial animal watching a predator in the distance.
“Who is it?” she yelled over Baley’s howling. I tried to calm everyone down.
“It’s okay, it’s Justin.”
“Who?” Mom asked.
“Justin!” I shouted. I hurried to the door and curled my fingers around Baley’s mouth to quiet her down to a persistent whine. I opened the front door to meet Justin’s concerned face.
“Everything okay in there?” he asked.
Baley pawed at the screen and I pulled her back, my patience fading. My mom stood close to my side, her hand pressed against her chest like she was trying to suppress a mild heart attack.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I didn’t invite you to come over.”
“I’m picking up on that,” he said. We stared at each other for a few seconds but neither of us made a move. “Since I’m here, are you going to invite me in?”
“No,” I said. A flicker of amusement passed over his eyes and my mom quickly stepped in once she caught his tall, stunning appearance in the doorway.
“Maddie, that’s no way to welcome a guest,” she said with a criticizing stare. “I’m sorry,” Mom said, turning to Justin. “We’re not used to the doorbell ringing.” She nudged me out of the way and opened the door. I held my glare as if he’d just barged into a female locker room.
Justin walked through the door and his soft gray fleece brushed my arm as he passed. I tried to look annoyed, not enamored, by his presence. His dark hair was windblown and it strayed in all directions. His skin was smoother than I remembered, or maybe he’d shaved. He introduced himself to my mom and stretched out a long arm. She shook his hand with a huge smile. I rolled my eyes. My mom turned to mush around good-looking men.
“What ever happened to chatspace?” I asked him.
He stood close enough for me to touch him and the proximity made me lightheaded.
“Why talk online when you can meet in person?” He bent down to pet Baley. I let go of her collar, and she reacted to his attention by offering him a face wash. I stared down at her with a frown. Where was loyalty when you needed it?
“Is it so strange to stop by?” he asked. His eyes fell to my shorts for a few seconds.
“Yes, actually, it is. I’m not really dressed for company unless you came over to train for a marathon.” I stretched my arms out, showing off my athletic gear while my mom informed him I was training for my second DS marathon. Justin stood up and raised his eyebrows like he was impressed, which I just found embarrassing. I hated being the center of attention.
“Good to know,” he said, like he was filing this information away.
I put my hands on my hips. “What do you want to do?” I asked him.
“Do you drink coffee?” he asked.
I stared at him, confused. “You came all the way over here for coffee?” I asked, and glanced toward the kitchen. “I guess we can make some.”
Justin returned my confused stare and shook his head. “No, I mean do you want to go out for coffee?”
“Go out?” I looked at my mom for approval and she took her eyes off Justin long enough to nod at me.
“I need to shower first,” I told him.
He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I can wait.”
My mom was only too happy to keep him company. She treated him like long-lost family and wrapped her arm around his, guiding him to the kitchen. I ran upstairs and took a shower in record speed. I lathered my skin with lotion my mom bought me that smelled sweet and floral. I hardly ever used it but for some reason, now felt like the right time. I threw on a pair of jeans and a blue long-sleeved shirt and pulled a comb through my hair until it was straight and smooth. I grabbed a green jacket and quickly glanced in the mirror only to see a flushed, exhilarated face. For a moment I didn’t even recognize myself. The girl staring back at me looked more alive than I’d ever seen before. My eyes were bright and my skin was glowing.
I hurried downstairs to find Justin at the kitchen table, still petting Baley and looking rel
axed, as if we’d spent dozens of Saturdays this way. He looked over at me when I walked in.
“Maddie,” my mom said, “did you know Justin works for Pacific Electric Company? He even owns a car, for emergency calls around the state.” She grinned back at him. “Very impressive.”
I gave Justin a skeptical look and he returned it with a careful smile.
“No, we never talked about that,” I said. He stood up and asked if I was ready to go. I nodded and said goodbye to my mom, who was grinning widely from entertaining our first houseguest in years.
We walked out into the cool spring air. Small puddles gathered on the sidewalk and a light mist fell beneath a foggy sky. I fell into step beside Justin and zipped my coat up against the drizzling rain. He walked fast and had long strides, but so did I, so I matched his pace. The plastic leaves rustled.
I informed Justin this was my first real coffee shop experience.
He frowned. “Are you serious?” he asked.
“You can make coffee at home,” I said defensively. “What’s the point of going out for it?”
“I don’t know, to be social?”
“I interact with people,” I pointed out, annoyed that he was criticizing my social life, which was normal as far as I was concerned.
We hopped on the south train line and when we sat down, I contemplated the word social. I met my contacts at virtual coffee shops all the time and we chatted for hours. I was in two coffee shop book clubs. Most of the programs came with prearranged questions that we answered back and forth, so there were never any awkward silences. Wall screens projected a 3-D image, so it looked like people were sitting in the same room as me. I could hear their voices. Wasn’t that socializing?
Justin drilled me with questions about my parents during the train ride. He wanted to know how long they had been married, if I got along with them, what my brother was like, if we had always lived in Corvallis. He seemed intrigued by my life, but I felt like my responses were so ordinary. My older brother, Joe, worked at a computer software company in Los Angeles. He left home when he was eighteen to start an internship while he took college engineering courses. I hardly ever saw him. My parents had been married twenty-five years and gave me anything I could ever want. We had a fenced-in yard, a dog, a three-story home with gray siding, and a solar-panel roof. A snapshot of the perfect life.