by H. M. Ward
Chapter 7
The next morning the sun is beaming and the birds are chirping. Fucking birds. As I limp down the walkway on my sore foot, I smile at my Uber driver. K’Teal. The guy is a trainwreck. Most of the time he has no clue. But there are random moments where he spits out a thought that’s up there with the Dalai Lama.
I duck into the car, tuck my bags at my feet—purse and Vera bag with my laptop—before pulling on my seatbelt. “Morning.”
My hair is slicked back into a ponytail. It’s too hot to do anything else. I layered a white cami with a pair of matching capris, then tugged on a pale blue button down shirt with sleeves that touch my elbow. None of the buttons are closed, so I can wear it like a blazer. Once I’m in my classroom, I’ll pull it off and put on a smock. It’s going to be so hot in that room today.
K’Teal tosses me a bag and laughs before bobbing his head. “I scored you some breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day, B. And don’t say no and act like it’s poisoned and shit. That’ll just offend me.” He says it to me, but the dash camera blinks red, still recording.
Glancing down at the bag in my hands, I smirk. “Kettle corn?”
“Pumpkin spice!” He’s so excited he nearly bounces out of his seat. “Open it.”
“I thought you ate the last of your stash? And I’m a New Yorker, so of course I wonder if it’s poisoned. No taking food from strangers.”
He laughs. “How many times you been poisoned, yo? By Granny candy? Or the lunch lady?”
“Never. But people say it. We both thought the same thing.”
He glares at me. Hand to heart, he smirks, “You trust me more than the lunch lady? Or some random ancient hag?”
“Probably.” I’m trying not to laugh as I root around in the bag of popcorn. “But there was that whole witch throwing Hansel in the oven thing. Some of those old folks are spry.”
“True dat. Witches can be some scary shit. Don’t joke.”
I can’t tell if he’s serious. I kinda think he is. “So, I thought you were out of pumpkin spiced delicacies?”
A huge grin spreads across his face as he pulls away from the curb. “Me too, but I found a half-used bag in the back of the pantry.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
Tipping my chin up at his camera, I ask, “How many viewers do you have?” I toss a few pieces of popcorn in my mouth. It’s still fresh.
The subject change throws him. For a second it looks like he’s trying to determine the square root of three, but then he offers up, “I don’t know, a few dozen.”
Very little truly shocks me to the point that I can’t hide my reaction, but this…a laugh barks out along with shock. “What! Are you serious? I thought you had thousands of followers.”
His face crumples. “Don’t piss all over my art. I’m ahead of my time and I didn’t have to share that with you.” He turns a corner and looks genuinely hurt.
I back-peddle, fast. “I’m not. I didn’t mean it like that. K’Teal. Dude.” I smile, trying to sound like him. “I’m an artist. I get it.” I hold up the bag and tip the open top toward him to make a peace offering. “Want some?”
That’s enough for him. He stuffs his face full of kettle corn as I pop a few pieces in my mouth. If I end up dead in a ditch, poisoned by pumpkin spice kettle corn, one of his thirteen followers will find me, right?
My life is getting so weird. When K’Teal pulls up to the front of the school, I make arrangements for him to give me a ride home. Uber is his only job if no one is watching his live feed, which means he’s strapped because his rating is horrible. Too much talk. And he’s a pumpkin spice pusher.
Poor misunderstood bastard.
“Smell ya later, B dawg.” He goes heavy on the Long Island accent on the last word.
“Yeah, you will. It’s fucking hot and it’s not even seven o’clock.”
Chapter 8
When Aleigha walks through the doorway to my classroom, I’m ecstatic. The class pours through the doors and continues their drawings. Once the bell rings and they settle down, I call her over to my desk.
Aleigha has a deer in the headlights look, as if she thinks she’s going to get slammed with something bad. “Yes, Ms. Abby?”
“You mentioned you could help me yesterday? With a picture?”
Her tight expression fades as she nods. “Yeah, of course. Show me the picture and I can pull the metadata for you.”
“Right.” Nerves feel like fingers around my throat.
This is stupid, but I need to know. I pull my phone from my pocket and place it on the long wooden counter that I use as my teacher’s desk, and open my photos.
Sliding the phone toward her, I say, “This one.”
Her dark eyebrows lift, amused. “You took a picture of a picture on your computer screen?”
I nod. “Yeah, why?”
The delight on her face disappears. “I can’t track it this way. The data will show when you took the picture, not when the original photograph was taken.” Her gaze narrows as she points to a spot on the image. “And, this is an ad.”
“What?” That shocks me. I lean in closer to see where she’s pointing. “How do you know?”
“See that spot? It says SPONSORED. That means someone paid for this like an advertisement. That’s weird though, because there’s no product.” Aleigha explains how she runs social media ads for her parent’s business, so she’s certain what she’s saying is accurate.
“It’s an ad?” My jaw drops. I don’t understand why, or how, I’d even see it. “Did everyone see this picture?”
Aleigha shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s really weird. This is your late husband, right?” I nod. She sighs and adds, “It’s almost like someone is messing with you.”
That catches my attention. K’Teal said the same thing yesterday. The strangeness of the suggestion is too weird. I look her full in the face. “What do you mean?”
“Well, if I wanted to, I could make an ad to serve one person—if I knew how to do it—and I do.” She smiles and shifts her weight to her other Mary Jane clad foot before pressing her hip to the desk. “It’s not that hard. This popped up yesterday, too, right?” I nod. “And then it disappeared?”
“Yeah.” I gawk at her. “How’d you know that?”
She breaks eye contact for a moment. “You looked really weird yesterday. Like something spooked you.” Neither of us says anything for a moment, then she continues, glancing at me through her curtain of inky hair. “I’m guessing it’s an ad set to show once a day. Once you’ve seen it, the picture won’t show again that day.”
“But I saw it last night, too.”
She shrugs. “It could be the way they allocated the ad spend. Or it could be that it was past midnight—right?”
“Yeah, it was.” I stare at the phone, wondering why someone would do this to me. “Could it be automated? Like a robotic ad?”
Aleigha thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. “No, not this one.”
“What makes you say that?” The students are getting restless. I pause our conversation to address the students.
“It’s finals week, guys. And no one has turned in a damn thing yet. Grab whatever you need, but you better have your final project on my desk by Friday morning.” They blink at me, cell phones still clutched tightly, taking selfies or texting. “Go!”
Aleigha looks up from under her dark brows. “The ad had to be placed and paid for, which means someone manually entered all this stuff and targeted you. Is the rest of his family getting this picture too? Any friends?”
“No. Just me.”
“Someone is screwing with you, Ms. Abby. I know this guy’s your dead husband, so whoever is doing it is a really sick bastard. Next time it pops up, report it as harassment.” Aleigha grabs her laptop and shows me how to report the ad, but the pit of my stomach is dropping.
This is excessively cruel. Why would someone do this to me? Who? The first person that comes to mind is Zach’s mom, Tara, but she co
uldn’t orchestrate this. I can barely understand it. Tim? But why would he do it? There is no one else.
I need Zara. Zara is gone.
Talk to Vi. Get Vi.
Aleigha realizes how stiff and silent I am. Her soft fingers brush my hand. “Ms. Abby, it’ll be all right. One of the easiest places to mess with someone is from the Internet. You know enough to be able to tell what’s what now. They can’t fool you anymore, and if they don’t leave you alone, tell the cops.”
I echo her last word. “Cops? Tell them about this?”
“Yeah,” she looks at me like I’m crazy. “It’s harassment.”
“But it’s not in person.”
“It doesn’t matter. If this is repetitive, and it is, it’s harassment. The person doing this doesn’t have to be standing in front of you. It counts. At least file a report. It’s creepy.”
Call the cops. Again? They already think I’m crazy. What am I supposed to say? Someone is sending me pictures of my dead husband and made him look a little different so I’d think that he’s alive?
That sounds nuts. Jane wouldn’t help. I can’t imagine them taking this seriously, not if they think I’m breaking into my own house. They’ll just say I’m sending myself the ad.
“Ms. Abby, be careful, okay?” Concern etches Aleigha’s face.
“Of course. I’ll report it.” It’s a bald-faced lie, but it has the desired effect. Aleigha’s shoulders loosen up and the smile lights up her face again. “You’re right, and I should be careful. Thank you for your help.”
I quickly switch the topic to her latest accomplishment, winning a contest to design a children’s book. It’s her first paying gig. “How is it, working with someone so far away? Trudy is in England, right?”
She beams, nodding. “It’s really awesome. We worked it out so I get paid every time I hand in an illustration. She just sends crypto to my wallet. She’s happy because her pound goes further, and I have something else for my resume. I never thought I’d illustrate a children’s book. It’s fun.”
“I’m glad, but I thought she was paying you with money?”
Aleigha snorts. “She is. Well, sort of. We decided on Bitcoin.”
I should know what that is, but with everything that’s happening, I can’t recall. “Remind me what that is?”
“It’s cryptocurrency.” She reads my blank expression correctly and fills me in. “It’s like digital money.”
“Oh, Like PayPal?”
“No, that’s a bank that moves around real currency. Cryptocurrency is different. It’s a blockchain of code where currency is set in digital units. You trade it, and you can cash it out. Kind of like stock.”
Maybe my new meds are melting my brain because I have no clue what she’s saying. So I fake it. Nodding like it’s all good. “As long as she’s actually paying you, because all that sounds complicated. I thought she’d PayPal you.”
“We decided on this instead. She’s not screwing me over. Cryptocurrency works great, it’s just not all over the place yet. It’s easier, actually, and harder to lose or have stolen. So that’s a bonus.” The bell rings.
Aleigha tips her head toward her books. “I better get going. I need to haul ass across the school if I want to make it to orchestra on time. If you have any other questions, just ask.” She blushes a little, forgetting herself and swearing in front of me.
“Thanks Aleigha. I appreciate your help with this.”
As she scoops up her books, she glances over her shoulder. “Yeah, sure. And if you want the data on that picture, next time it pops up, right click and download. That should work. See you tomorrow.”
Vi rounds the corner as Aleigha walks out. “What was that about?”
The classroom is empty, so I take a deep breath and decide to tell her. “Someone is screwing with me, Vi. I need help figuring out who it is.”
Chapter 9
Vi stares at me with her jaw hanging open. She’s leaning on the wooden counter in my classroom, mute.
I wave a hand in front of her face. “Vi. I need help. What the hell is going on? Who would do this to me?” I pull back and drop all expression off my face. “It’s not you, is it?”
That snaps her out of it. “Hell no! It’s not me. I’m a bitch, not a fucking psycho.”
At that moment a student walks through the doorway. It’s a senior guy with long slicked back hair wearing clothes that are too big for him. If he washed his hair and realized he’s not lanky under that mountain of clothing, he’d have a girlfriend. “Ms. Sabba. Miss Clement.” He grins at Vi.
I straighten and walk over to him, ignoring Vi’s red face. She doesn’t talk like that when students are around, but this kid swept in all stealthy and silent. “Jay, what can I do for you?”
He’s still smirking at Vi, when his gaze finally drifts back toward me. “I was passing by and wanted to tell you that my guidance counselor is nagging the shit out of me to go over college acceptance stuff today. I didn’t want you to think I cut.”
“Got it. You’ll be with Mr. Pi?”
He nods. “Yeah. Unfortunately. I’d rather be in here.” He smiles at Vi.
I repress the smile that’s trying to form and lead him back out the door. “Yeah, I’m sure you would. Tell Mr. Pi ‘hello’ for me. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He takes the hint and goes. When I turn around, I shut the door behind me and Vi’s statue-like pose shatters.
She laughs so loudly that I’m sure Jay can hear her down the hallway. Vi slaps the counter, and lets her mouth hang open for half a beat before asking, “Who else does that happen to? Not you. Just me. That kid is going to tell all his friends what I said and it’ll get back to Muller. That guy hates me.”
Dr. Muller is the principal and although he doesn’t hate Vi, he doesn’t like her either. Vi has a tendency to grate with certain personalities. She speaks her mind. Loudly. Which is why I decided to ask her about all this Facebook stuff.
“No, he doesn’t. And summer is only a few days away. He’s not going to care. If it was September, different story. But it’s June. You won’t hear a peep from him. He wants to get his wife up to the Catskills as fast as possible and bang out a few babies before fall.”
Vi snorts loudly and points a finger at me. “Holy shit! I can’t believe you just said that.”
“That’s all the guy talks about—romantic weekends at that cabin with his wife.”
“I know, but no one says it like that. I think I like you more now. Not that I want to have babies with you or anything.” She barks a laugh and then grins at me. When I don’t know how to respond, she continues, “Not that you’re not hot, because you are. And there are a lot of guys that dig that emo vibe you’re giving off.”
“I’m not emo.” I look at my white outfit and quickly add, “The black smock doesn’t count.”
“You’re emo on the inside, babe. Your inner-emo resides in here,” she presses her blood-red nails to my heart. “Cuz, doll, in case you didn’t know, you’re not exactly perky.”
I look down at my tits, “I used to be. Perky. Heading towards forty sucks. Stuff starts pointing south.” I’m half kidding. Half. The other half is inching toward the equator and it’s hard not to notice.
Vi starts laughing again, and slaps my arm. “Not that you have that problem, but that’s what boob jobs are for. Now, back to the problem at hand. Some fucktard is messing with you.”
“Nice vocabulary.”
“I teach English and hang out with juvenile delinquents all day. Whatcha expect?”
“Just because you didn’t get the honors kids this year doesn’t mean that they’re all in juvie.”
She waves a hand at me. “Same thing. So listen, the break-ins. Think it’s the same person?”
I sit on a stool and rub a hand over my arm, trying to wipe away the uncomfortable feeling the question spurred. “I don’t know. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense. I must have pissed someone off, someone who cared about Zach—but other than his family and me, there
isn’t anyone else.”
She lifts a perfectly plucked brow. “Tim. There’s Tim.”
“I thought of that, but—why? That’d be so weird? And why now?”
She folds her arms over her ample bosom and then points a finger in my face, head swaying to one side. Her voice is staccato. “But nothing. Listen. See things like they are. The guy likes you—always has—and has been trying to get in your pants forever. Now is the perfect time to swoop in. Right when you’re ready to finally give up the fuckin’ what-ifs and move onto the next guy. Am I right? Cuz, honey, you gotta be so horny. It’s been years.” She drawls out the last word and doubles over as she says it. As if it were the most horrible thing in the world.
I stiffen at that and jerk my head back like a shocked squirrel. “He doesn’t like me. Not like that.”
“Outa everything I said, that’s what you latch onto?” She has a throaty chortle. “Are you mental, babe? He wants you. The way the guy looks at you says everything. The way he looks at me says everything.”
I’m so angry, I don’t know where to put my hands. They go to fold over my chest and then make random swishes through the air, showing off my inner Italian. “You can’t mean that! Tim’s acted like a brother to me.”
Vi rolls her heavily made up eyes. “The dude threw himself into the friend-zone so he’d be the first to nail you when you came to. It’s not chivalry. He’s biding his time.”
“That’s not true.” I don’t tell her about the almost night, because that didn’t count for either of us.
“Oh? Then prove me wrong.” She tips her head to the side, sending her dark locks falling over her shoulder. Her hair never frizzes. Meanwhile, I look like a Troll doll.
A guttural sound of annoyance comes from my throat. “Vi, he doesn’t even like you, but he invited you to come along with us this summer on a trip. He said we’d both invite people.” I realize I never asked her to come, and never explained the plan, so I backpedal and fill her in. Vi’s jaw drops when I finish. “What?”