by Molly E. Lee
Because of Amber.
I’d spent every weekend since it started resisting the urge to text her. Visiting her work a few Fridays ago had been pure instinct, and I hadn’t been lying when I said I’d gotten bored without her. She was too much fun—whether I was teasing her to rile her up or talking hacks or movie preferences. Nothing seemed boring when she was around.
Maybe this weekend I’d text her.
But I knew she was still warming up to letting me fully in as her friend, and I didn’t want to push my luck. Overextend myself.
My bag bumped heavily on my hip as I approached the principal’s office. The halls were so quiet this early in the morning, something I might have relished if not for the reason I was here.
“Mr. Winters,” Tanner’s secretary—Mrs. Stone—greeted me as I walked inside. “He’s expecting you.” She motioned toward the second door that led to his personal office.
“Thanks,” I said, not bothering to knock on the closed door.
Principal Tanner stood behind his desk, his palms placed on the smooth wooden surface as he leaned over his Mac. He glared at it, the muscles in his shoulders taut.
I cleared my throat, and Tanner snapped his eyes to me then the large clock on his wall.
I was ten minutes early. Figured that was safer than being a second late.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, and the ease in his tone as he stood to a normal position raised my hackles. “I need your advice.”
Pinching myself seemed like the smartest move—surely, I’d fallen into some Twilight Zone dream—but I was too shocked to move.
He indicated his Mac then gestured to his laptop resting on the shelf behind him. “Is there a way to tell if you’ve been hacked?”
I blew out a breath, happy to have something to work with that was familiar. “Are you experiencing any issues with your software?” I asked, setting my bag in the empty chair in front of his desk.
“No,” he said.
“Okay.” I rubbed my palms together. “Is the computer moving slower than usual?”
“No.”
I dropped my hands. “What makes you think your equipment has been compromised?”
“I didn’t say I thought I had been. I was asking you if you could tell.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Theoretically, yes,” I said. “If I dug deep enough, sure.”
Tanner raised his brows, his eyes casting a calculating look. “Interesting.”
“I wouldn’t suggest hiring someone without reason, though,” I added.
“Why is that?”
“Because if you have no symptoms, you’d be paying the tech hourly to look for something that may not be there.”
A small, tight grin as he slid his hands in his pockets. “Well, I wouldn’t hire someone. I have you.”
I swallowed hard. Sean had mentioned Tanner constantly used him for tech support when he’d been at Wilmont, but Tanner’s tone was what made my gut twist. Like he knew he could call on me for whatever he wanted because he understood perfectly well how much sway he had with admissions boards.
“It would be difficult to hack your system anyway,” I said finally, glancing at his Mac.
Tanner straightened. “Are you speaking from experience?”
I blurted out a laugh, but Tanner wasn’t amused.
“No, sir,” I said, shaking my head. “I wouldn’t be that stupid. Plus, I don’t have a need.”
Not 100 percent lie.
I hadn’t hacked him.
Yet.
I had only recently settled on an idea for the challenge with Amber—a desktop switch for every computer in Wilmont. It would take days to untangle, and even longer for me to pull off.
“I meant that Sean hooked up your cyber security so well…” I ran my fingers through my hair, shrugging. “It would take someone incredibly skilled to crack it.”
Tanner looked down at me like he was trying to unlock some sort of puzzle.
I stared back at him, totally blank. Why had he called me in here if his tech was showing no signs of tampering with?
The prank.
“Is this about the video, sir?”
He stalked around his desk, stopping in front of me. “Do you have any leads on that?”
I furrowed my brow. “No.”
“I thought that perhaps those who joined your little Code Club might be prime candidates, but you’ve only had one person interested.”
That’s the main reason he forced me to run the club? To monitor who had the skills to take his system down?
That makes sense.
At least I had sound reasoning now. I thought he’d been doing it to rob me of personal time outside of school and to make sure the school’s website was as pristine as his starched shirts.
“It wasn’t Amber,” I said, suddenly realizing what he had implied.
“You seem very sure of that.”
“I know it, sir. She’s too smart for something so…”
He arched a brow at me.
“Childish,” I said, hoping that would appeal to his rational side.
He finally nodded. “Indeed it was.”
“And,” I added, wanting all spotlights off Amber and myself, “your computer wasn’t hacked.”
“How do you know?”
“Because it wasn’t necessary. Anyone could’ve swapped your videos when you were out of your office.” Acid climbed up my throat as I realized in my attempt to throw his gaze off us, I’d inadvertently thrown it onto someone else. Sure, the person who messed with his presentation had made their own choice, but I didn’t want them to go down for it.
Something clicked behind his eyes, and my stomach dropped.
Fuck, was it graduation yet?
I wanted to be done with this shit. Wanted to win the TOC, get accepted to MIT, graduate, and earn my way into as many boot camps as I could before starting college.
“I’d like you to take another look at my laptop,” he said, retrieving it and setting it before me on his desk. “Just to be certain.”
“Sure,” I said, and tried not to groan.
There wouldn’t be anything here. I’d already checked the day of the prank.
“Sit,” he said, motioning to his personal leather chair behind the oak desk.
I moved toward it, timid, like it might be a trap. Slowly, I sank into it and opened his laptop.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.” He walked through his door, the lock catching before it could close entirely.
“Cynthia,” I heard him say through the door. “Status update, please.”
I scanned his office, my eyes trailing over the countless awards he had decorating his walls, before focusing on his screen. I typed a few commands, going through the motions of checking his security…again.
“Fourteen total this month,” his secretary said, her quiet tone pausing my movement on his keyboard.
“Fourteen?” he grumbled. “That won’t do.”
“Should I schedule meetings with the students and their parents?”
A deep sigh.
I strained my ears, totally forgetting about my pointless task.
“The board is giving me no options. My birthright is to be the head of this school. They’ll take it from me if academics slip even a fraction this year. Plus, if I want to win Educator of the Year again and have the state award us another sizeable grant for…whatever I deem the students worthy of…then yes, Cynthia. Make the necessary arrangements.”
“Should we wait?” she asked. “Give the students a chance to adjust their grades. It’s only the second month of the school year. There is time to—”
“Make the calls,” he cut her off, no room for argument in his tone.
Grades? Fourteen?
His job was on the line?
People were failing classes? And he wouldn’t even give them a chance to get them up before he called in the big guns?
Damn. No wonder he was wound tighter than ever.
His birthright. Awards. Grants. That’s all the man cared about.
It sure as shit wasn’t giving his students the chance to redeem themselves before he brought in the parents.
I always knew he was an asshole.
Why was he so concerned with maintaining his long line of principal tradition when he was so clearly annoyed by us? Or maybe he did it on purpose because he loved the drama that came with his position.
Fuck that.
It wouldn’t be me.
I’d worked my ass off every year to make sure I’d never be stuck in a job I didn’t love. The boot camps, the tournaments, the certifications…it was all leading to, hopefully, an acceptance letter from MIT in March.
Six months.
That’s all I had to get through before I heard from MIT. My dream school. I wouldn’t feel at home anywhere else.
Then I’d say goodbye to this place and Tanner’s drama, forever.
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Stone finally said.
“I will not be forced to retire. I will not be beaten,” he said. “I will win. And Wilmont will continue to be the academy all others strive to be.”
I stopped my eye roll mid-motion because he bounded back through his door.
“Anything?”
“Nothing,” I said, clicking away, my eyes sharp on his screen as if I’d been searching the whole time.
“So, it’s as you said, then.” He sighed, glaring down at the laptop.
“Possible,” I said, shutting the screen and scooting out of the chair.
“Thank you for checking, Winters.” He held his arm out toward the door. “You’re doing an excellent job on the academy’s website. Keep up the good work. And I do hope more people join your club.”
The club you forced me to host?
I didn’t.
Not that I would mind teaching a few people how to do some simple coding tricks, but I liked the solo time with Amber. Even though she only wanted friendship. Plus, I’d used the time to prep for the TOC, too. Running through practice sessions and simulations after I’d completed the website work. As long as Amber and I weren’t playing CTF, that was.
“Thanks,” I said, but it almost sounded like a question. My head spinning from the whiplash in his mood. A compliment? That was rare. I waved him off and booked it out of the room like I was late to class, not a half hour early.
Six months to college acceptance. Eight to graduation.
Then no one would call me in early, force me to check things I had no business checking. I highly doubted college professors were as strict and demanding of students’ free time as Tanner.
Wandering through the halls, I contemplated killing the extra time in the coding room, but for once, I wasn’t in the mood. The negative vibe in his office had axed any hope of having a good Monday morning.
Though, grabbing an Americano and an unsweetened venti iced green tea could turn things around. Plus, it would give me the perfect excuse to see Amber first thing in the morning.
Keys in hand, I bounded through the exit doors with a much better attitude than when I entered. I rounded the corner of the exterior building, heading toward my car, but skidded to a stop when I spotted Tessa.
She sat on one of the tables in the quad right next to the school’s entrance, one leg hooked over Colt’s hip, their mouths hardly breaking for air.
“Ah, fucking hell,” I snapped, clenching my eyes shut like I could unsee my baby sister in heavy-make-out-central with her boyfriend.
“Dean?” Tessa yelled. “What the hell?” She scooted only an inch away from Colt, who kept his hand on her knee.
“Hey, Dean,” he said.
I tried not to growl at him.
It was the same every time I caught them, which was more often than I’d like. Tragedy of living in the same house, but normally they kept it contained to there or elsewhere. Never school.
I stopped in front of them. “What the hell?” I mimicked her. “You what the hell?”
“We’re just having breakfast,” she said, motioning to the breakfast burritos on the table behind her. She likely grabbed them from work before coming here, and I almost asked why I wasn’t chomping down on one right this second, but that was beside the point.
“Yeah, didn’t look like it.” I cringed. Tessa had dated Colt practically forever, but it didn’t mean I wanted to see them like that together. “Just, ugh.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll see you later.” I headed toward my car, trying to blow off the whole thing. I needed that coffee more now than before.
Maybe the caffeine would help burn the image of my baby sister being groped out of my head. Though I doubted there was any fire strong enough.
Chapter Twelve
Amber
“You’re wanted in the principal’s office, Ms. Henderson,” Mrs. Angelo said as she stopped me mid-type on my lit paper.
My heart dropped into my stomach, splashing acid up my throat. I swallowed the garbage down, nodding silently and gathering my things.
I glanced over my shoulder at Dean, who I somehow knew was watching.
You okay? he mouthed, and the fact that he was worried about me warmed the cold fear clutching my spine. That, and his sweet gesture this morning when he’d been waiting by my locker with an iced green tea.
I’d have to return the favor sometime. If I wasn’t about to be expelled for running an anonymous blog that contradicted everything Principal Tanner and the Wilmont Academy website stood for. Like telling students where to get birth control without their parents knowing or advising a boy on how to talk to his partner about having sex. There was also the one about role playing, the commenter worried about her partner thinking she was a freak for suggesting it. Or the one about sexual dreams with teacher appearances and other off-limits people. A month’s wroth of blog posts… I pushed down the thoughts and flashed Dean a soft smile before turning out of the room.
Tanner figured out I’m Ask Me Anything.
The fear amplified with each step closer to his office.
No way. I’m too careful.
It had been a month since I’d started the blog, and with the traffic increasing each day, I’d triple-checked the codes in Tor.
The traffic and buzz over the blog kept growing, along with my dual sense of anxiety and accomplishment. More content than worry—I’d gotten to posting nearly every day now and I actually felt like I was helping people. Though, if I was being fair, I supposed I should give some credit to Mom…and even Dad in some cases. They both were hand-feeding me answers to random questions without even blinking an eye. I probably should’ve told them about the site, but I didn’t want anyone else to be held responsible if I was ever caught.
But that was super unlikely.
Why else would Tanner haul you in here midday?
Two more steps and I’d have my answer.
I halted in front of his secretary’s desk for a moment before stepping toward Tanner’s closed door.
“Ah, Ms. Henderson,” Mrs. Stone said. “He’s at a meeting with the board for the next few days.”
I furrowed my brow.
She pointed to the door on the opposite side of the room. “Vice Principal Howard is who called for you.”
“Oh.” I adjusted my position, the short-lived relief evaporating. VP Howard was by far more agreeable and enjoyable than Tanner, but I still didn’t have a clue why she’d want to speak with me.
“You can go on in,” Mrs. Stone said after I’d stood in front of the closed door a few breaths too long.
I gripped the knob and entered, ordering my heart to stop racing. Tried to tell myself this had nothing to do with the blog.
Don
’t you want it to be about the blog?
The conflict clashed in my chest—yes, the goal was to rile up Tanner, but I’d never planned on getting caught. Why else would I venture to the dark web? Risk being expelled and kiss a potential acceptance letter from MIT goodbye? I just wanted…
What?
To help.
To do whatever little part I could to comfort someone when they were feeling alone.
To be someone who listened to classmates who had been ignored far too often at Wilmont.
To fill a role that was missing from this academy.
And this past month… I couldn’t explain it. I felt stronger, less empty, and more fulfilled than I had since Brandon. I knew it had everything to do with the blog, with the comfort and soothing satisfaction through sharing stories, experiences, and advice with people who needed it. The idea that I might be making a difference.
“Hey there,” Ms. Howard said as I walked in. “Have a seat, please.” She indicated the lush chair in front of her slightly chaotic desk.
I sank into it, keeping my voice in check. “What’s up?”
She worked her fingers across her keyboard for a moment before focusing on me, her long red hair pulled up in an elegant topknot. “I wanted to see how you were feeling about your senior year.”
The breath left my lungs so fast I nearly fainted.
Ms. Howard registered the relief and tilted her head. “What did you think I wanted?”
I shook my head, shrugging. “I’m not sure, but originally I thought Tanner wanted to see me.”
Howard sucked her teeth, a slight hissing sound escaping as she did. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I know that likely caused you some stress.” She scribbled something down on a pink Post-it before looking back at me. “I’ll do better to emphasize who is calling you here next time.”
“Will there be a next time?” We’d only spoken a handful of times throughout last school year, she only having worked at Wilmont for the past two years.