Selfie: Device Kids Book One

by D. S. Murphy

  “Not good enough,” Greg said.

  “We’ll keep your names out of it,” I said quickly. “If we launch the app, there will be nothing leading back to either of you. Equal share of the rewards, but none of the risks. If things go south, Brad and I will take all the responsibility.”

  Amy and David both frowned at this, and Brad looked like he was going to argue, but nobody said anything to contradict me. It was an uneasy alliance, but that’s all I needed.

  “If we do this,” Amy said finally. “No more secrets. We’re all in this together.” Each of us nodded our agreement, then Brad pulled five vials of therabot solution out of his backpack.

  “One for each of us. It’s only fair, right?”

  “But it’s not mandatory,” I said. “It’s optional. You can try it if you want to, but you don’t have to,” I said, looking at Amy.

  Greg took one of the bottles. I took one for my sister. Then Amy took one.

  “I’m not going to use it,” she said. “Not now anyway. But if we’re all getting one, I’m taking mine.”

  “We only use SelfX at lunch,” David said. “Together. We monitor and record all the changes. We only test settings that have been tested on the mice first. We do 50%, then change back. And nothing noticeable or remarkable. If it’s visible and obvious, we cover it up or stay home and text each other. And we document everything with selfies. And we don’t talk to anyone about this. Agreed?”

  Greg put his hand in the circle, like they do before basketball games.

  Brad smiled and put his hand in too. David and I were next, and finally, Amy.

  “Go team!” I jumped and did a really lame cheerleader pose that made everybody laugh.

  “Oh, one more thing I learned that’s pretty awesome,” Brad said. “You don’t have to use the needles.” He opened a vial of bots, twisted off the lid and knocked it back like a can of soda. David’s jaw nearly fell off.

  “It goes straight into the bloodstream,” Brad said. “I tested it at home on my pet hamster.”

  “Well that sucks,” I said, massaging my arm, which was still red from all the shots.

  “The only question left is,” Brad said with a dramatic pause, “what do we want to look like tomorrow?”

  ***

  Over the next week we were secret chameleons. For the first few days, I half expected to hear sirens and a police raid. But when nothing happened, we started to experiment in earnest. At lunch we’d meet up and compare notes. We started choosing our own upgrades and making each other guess what we did. I think Brad was using it as an excuse to stare at Amy’s torso, and a few times I caught David trying not to do the same thing to mine. We started small. Amy’s eyelashes were a little longer. Greg grew by two inches. David corrected his vision so he didn’t need glasses. The worst thing that happened was Brad suddenly sprouting patches of thick nose and ear hair.

  Nobody but us noticed any of the changes. With each test, David and Brad made corrections in the source code, fine-tuning the application. After swallowing that 10ml vial, Brad figured out that having more bots increased the transition time. So he drank another vial, and got changes to appear in only six hours. That meant we could test things out faster.

  I got Brad to figure out wild hair pigmentation, and made a custom setting. The front of my hair started out bright pink, then turned to turquoise before fading into my normal dark hair color. We also agreed to start upstacking, which is what we called doing more than one upgrade at a time. We’d make one “stack” of several features. Slight changes that together made a perceptible difference. With my colorful hair, I added a slight pout to my lips. I made my eyes a little bigger and wider, the color of my eyes a more vibrant green. I took Amy’s long eyelashes. It was noticeable, but subtle. When my dad asked me what I was doing different, I just said I’d started wearing makeup. Everybody else bought the same excuse.

  That wouldn’t have worked so well for the guys, but they weren’t doing much with their features. They all seemed to be more focused on utility rather than appearance. Greg added height, balance and agility. He also boosted muscle mass in his legs, which he said let him jump almost a foot higher. Brad did the same thing to his upper body. He didn’t become the Hulk or anything, but now I could make out the muscles under his T-shirts when he moved. Broader chest, bigger shoulders, even his forearms looked sleek and chiseled. And he did this thing with his eyes that made them crystal blue. I’d never found him attractive before but something about making eye contact with him now made my body react in ways I wasn’t comfortable with.

  Of course David hardly focused on his looks at all. He fixed his vision. Then he boosted his immune system and the ability to digest more nourishment from food (which Brad thought was totally lame, but David said gave him more energy and concentration). And he was a little obsessed with IQ tests. He’d been trying to boost his IQ by a few points per day. I thought he probably could have hacked it and just gone up to 160, but he was playing by his own rules. Small changes. Nothing unnatural or obvious.

  On Friday, Amy came to school in a tight sweater.

  “Woah,” I said.

  “Finally,” Brad said, staring at her chest. She’d gone up at least a couple bra sizes.

  “Now that’s what I call a good use of technology,” Greg said. Seriously?

  “What?” Amy said, “I’m just trying a new pushup bra. Like it?” she stuck out her chest even more and turned and modeled for the guys. They gave cat calls and whistles.

  “Why do guys care so much about boobs anyway?” I said. I was a little bitter. I thought going immediately for bigger boobs seemed desperate, or cheap somehow. I thought Greg would appreciate my colorful hair and subtle facial features. I mean, I looked awesome. Maybe not Melissa-awesome. I was still me. Just cuter. But guys don’t notice subtle.

  David and I had also been working on my RB1 gene. I didn’t have cancer; I only had a genetic predisposition towards it. David programmed my bots to reduce the genetic defects, which meant my RB1 genes probably wouldn’t mutate, and I probably wouldn’t get Retinoblastoma. It was hard to tell whether or not it was working, but at least nothing bad happened.

  “It might not do anything,” David said, “but it might keep the cancer in check, for now, until you have the money to continue treatment. And we can add in the immune system boost I made.”

  “Thank you,” I said. We agreed to treat Megan next week.

  The fight at the treehouse seemed like ancient history, and we’d come together stronger than ever. We even started hanging out at lunch or between classes. Almost like we were all friends.

  “We need to talk about going public,” Brad said, after the second week of experiments. “I know what you’re going to say,” he continued, when David opened his mouth, “It’s too soon, we need more tests, blah blah blah. But look, everything is working great. I mean, this is pretty fucking awesome, am I right? This is billion dollar stuff. But if we’re figuring it out, somebody else probably is too. We need to be first to market.”

  “There’s only five of us. That’s a tiny trial study, it’s laughable. They’d still say we rushed it and were jeopardizing lives.”

  “I’ll take all the credit,” Brad said. “Problem solved. You all stay out of the public limelight and scrutiny, I’ll deal with that stuff. I’ll just send you your checks.”

  “If anybody should be the face of the company, it’s probably not you,” Amy said, eyeing his piercing and black leather cuff bracelets.

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Brad asked. “We’re all minors. It’s not a violent crime. It’s not even against the law, as far as we know.”

  “Only because nobody has done it yet. They might make it illegal as soon as we publish.”

  “But they couldn’t punish us for it.”

  “They could punish us for stealing the therabots,” David said.

  “Only if they know we stole them,” Brad said. “And they won’t. They can’t prove it. And none of us
are going to talk, right?”

  “I think it’s likely some people won’t understand and we’ll be vilified.”

  “And we might also end up on the cover of Wired magazine,” Brad said. “We protect ourselves. With fame and money. Who cares what people think if we’re rich?”

  “What if we keep it small first,” I said. “Make it all anonymous.”

  “How would that work?” Greg asked.

  “We release the app. Black market version only. Just our school. We keep it secretive. Everybody gets an anonymous text with instructions, and a link to download the app to their phones, and a note in their locker with one vial. We give them warnings, conditions, a consent form to sign. Instructions. Precautions. Make a really detailed user guide.”

  “We could get them to post their results with us. Private server. Before and after pictures. At least we’d get a few dozen more test subjects,” David said. “And they’ll be local so we can troubleshoot or help if we have to. It’s still messy though. We wouldn’t know who is doing what if they didn’t want to share.”

  “We keep the program simple,” I said. “50% effect strength only. Only our safest settings, and only the ones we’ve all tested.”

  “And it should be free,” Greg added. “Free at first. Less chance of a lawsuit against us if we charge and something goes wrong.”

  David and Amy nodded. They were reluctant, but this was the obvious next move.

  “Alright, fine,” Brad agreed. “But can we use it to prelaunch at least? We get people to post their pics or videos on social media. Snapchat, Webbox, Instagram, Squirlz. Hashtag #SelfX. No other information. No website, nothing for sale, just buzz. We don’t mention therabots at all yet. But get people wondering what SelfX is.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Greg said. “From a business perspective.”

  “It’s a crowdsourced, open source genetic coding project. All volunteers.” I say. “If the story breaks too early or someone leaks it, it’s a science fair project gone wrong, but it’s a local issue. We can just pretend to be young and stupid kids. They’ll forgive us. Once we launch the app for sale as a real business, and make it open to the public, that’s when things will get scary. But Brad’s right, if we know for sure the app is safe, going public and getting publicity might be good for us.”

  I was excited we had a plan. A good plan. That was mostly my idea. Greg had complemented me on it. Better than nothing, though I’d rather he liked me for my body than for my brain. I fantasized about putting my pouty lips all over his face and neck, and him kissing me from behind, pressed up against the desks in the science lab.

  At least I did until I got the nude picture of myself in a text message.

  I didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. ;)

  If you don’t stay away from my boyfriend I’ll send these pics to everybody.

  ♥♥Melissa♥♥

  15

  My skin crawled, and I struggled to catch my breath. Melissa had naked pictures of me. And she was going to destroy me with them. I tried to find a solution but my thinking was cloudy and slow, like stepping through a swamp. I excused myself quickly, but I felt eyes following me down the hall. I was used to the stares—I’d honed my basic upstack, and people were still getting used to my new look. My features were refined and slightly exotic: my eyes were piercing green, and I kept a strand of pink hair down one side. But right now the extra attention made me feel like I had a target on my back.

  I made it through the end of school, spending breaks in the bathroom. When I final bell rang, I went straight home. Dad was waiting for me in the living room.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “For what?” I said.

  “Megan’s last treatment,” Dad said.

  Guilt ate through me. I couldn’t believe I’d been so wrapped up in SelfXing I forgot about Megan. I realized we’d barely spoken all week, and I still hadn’t showed her how to ride the skateboard like I’d promised. I shook my head to clear it. I couldn’t worry about Melissa right now. Megan needed me.

  On the ride over, I was anxious about getting called out in front of my dad by the receptionist. I drew a breath of relief when I saw it was a different girl today. My pulse raced when I noticed they’d installed security cameras since my last visit.

  I waited for Dr. Jenkins to point at me and accuse me of theft, but he didn’t treat me any different from usual. Maybe we really were safe. Dr. Jenkins gave Megan her shot, the last dose of therabots, and then pulled up a chart on his wall screen, enlarging it with his hands.

  “I have something exciting to tell you,” he said, pointing to the chart. “This was the cancer when we started the treatment, and this is today’s scan.” He flipped to another image. “As you can see, the cancer is almost completely gone.”

  “She’s cured?” Dad asked.

  “Well I wouldn’t say cured, but the cancerous cells have been entirely eradicated by the therabots, so I think this treatment has been 100% effective. It really is a miracle.”

  Dad stood up suddenly and grabbed Megan. He lifted her up and spun her around, before holding her close to his chest again. I thought I saw a tear on his cheek but he wiped it away before shaking Dr. Jenkins’ hand so hard I thought he’d break it.

  “We’ll check back in a month,” Dr. Jenkins said. “If the cancer comes back without the therabots, she may need more treatment. And since the technology is so new, we can’t be certain of the long-term effects. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Megan is fully recovered.”

  Afterwards we all went out to ice cream. Dad smiled more than I’d seen him smile in years.

  “How’s the science fair thing going?” Dad asked. I didn’t know he was even aware of the project, maybe Megan told him.

  “It’s kind of amazing, actually, what we’re working on.”

  “It’s been nice, to see you busy. Making new friends. Getting excited about a project.”

  “Wearing makeup,” Megan said, pointing at my face. “Hanging out with boys...”

  I’d started wearing cosmetics lately to mask the changes. I’d caught Dad staring at me a few times, but he hadn’t really said much since that first day. I basically looked like my own hot sister; like I’d gone in for a photoshoot, and then they’d Photoshopped my features to perfection. Now he was really looking at me, for the first time in a long time, and I could see the confusion on his face. But I’d turned off the effects as soon as I got Melissa’s note, so I was probably half way back to normal already.

  “Well I guess it was too much to hope for, thinking you’d be my little gear monkey forever,” Dad said, using the nickname he’d given me years ago.

  “I’ll always be your gear monkey,” I said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Something felt different, and I looked down to see what it was. My eyes widened when I realized he wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.

  He pulled his hand away suddenly and hid it under the table, then glanced at Megan. She was busy building a castle out of her ice-cream sundae.

  I waited until Megan went to the bathroom.

  “I guess we’re all going through some changes,” I said quietly.

  “It’s not like that,” Dad said. “I sold the ring. I was afraid Dr. Jenkins would need more money; I wanted to be prepared.”

  “But it was just a gold band, it couldn’t have been worth that much.” The pained expression on Dad’s face clued me in.

  “You sold Mom’s, too,” I said. My stomach clenched painfully. Dad always said he was saving Mom’s antique diamond solitaire for me; it was her grandmother’s.

  “Mom would have understood,” Dad said. “The most important thing is that Megan keeps getting the treatment she needs.”

  I nodded, trying to keep the disappointment off my face. Dad must feel terrible already, and I didn’t want to ruin the evening for Megan. I wanted to tell him that Megan would be safe, that I’d take care of the money, that I was working on something that could change everything... but I couldn’t.


  I was starting to understand how Brad felt. I hated lying and keeping secrets. It was toxic, a little burning pit of anxiety, a cloud followed me everywhere, with every interaction.

  We were almost home when I got another text. I held my breath, expecting another message from Melissa, but it was from Greg.

  Hey

  I didn’t write back. Why was he messaging me?

  Two hours later I got another notification.

  U there?

  Don’t text me. I typed back furiously. Talk tomorrow.

  I just want to ask you something...

  I didn’t write back, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the blinking ellipsis. Greg Masters was texting me. And it looked like he was writing a novel. When the message finally came through though, it was short.

  Will you go to the dance with me?

  I stuffed the phone back in my pocket. What were the chances that Melissa and Greg would start texting me the same day? I smelled a setup. And there’s no way I’d go to the dance with Greg. At least not with Melissa around. And definitely not while she had naked pictures of me.

  I’d actually been expecting David to ask me. I hadn’t decided yet whether to accept. If Brad and Amy joined, the four of us could have a lot of fun. I’d assumed Greg would go with Melissa.

  I didn’t want to write back, but after an hour of staring at my computer screen and wasting time watching music videos on YouTube, I grabbed my phone again. Greg and I had been getting along well recently, and I’m pretty sure I’d caught him looking at me a few times. I knew he was only interested in me now that I was pretty, but so what?

  What about your girlfriend? I asked.

  We’re done.

  Another text came a minute later.

  I’ll pick you up. Just be ready.

  Be still my beating heart. It was like a fairytale coming true, but I had to turn it down because of those stupid photos David made me take. It wasn’t fair. I took a shower, then wiped away the steam on the mirror and studied my reflection. Most of the mods had faded, and I was me again. It was like getting kissed by a prince, and then turning back into a pumpkin at midnight, or however the story went. Greg probably wouldn’t want to go with me once he remembered what I really looked like.