The Enemy Hypothesis: A Brazos High Novella

by Sparling, Amy

  I go to get off the bus and she stops me. “Wait! What’s your name?” she says as she puts the bus in park and then takes a phone from the cup holder. “I’m going to give you a thumbs up.”

  “Bus drivers can give kudos?” I ask, bewildered.

  She nods. “Oh yes. We’ve been secretly giving kudos for a couple weeks now.”

  “They haven’t told us that,” I say after I give her my name. “I wish I had been riding the school bus more often.”

  She chuckles. “Wow. You’re in second place!” She turns her phone to me and sure enough, there’s a large silver medal right under my name. Only the freshman girl is ahead of me now.

  I bounce on my toes and she gives me a high five. I shift my backpack on my shoulder and decide to take my chances asking her a question. I don’t want to sound greedy, but I really want to win this thing. “Since bus drivers can give kudos… is there anything I could do for all the bus drivers? Maybe help out your day a little?”

  She considers it for a moment. “We love donuts.”

  “Donuts. I could do donuts,” I say with a nod.

  “We love donuts before school.”

  “I could do that,” I say.

  She grins. “We also arrive at the bus barn at four in the morning.”

  My eyes widen, but I swallow down any hesitation I may have and nod once. “I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  “You are without a doubt the best friend in the world.”

  Jules looks over at me and rolls her eyes before turning her attention back to the road ahead. It’s so early it’s still dark outside, and yet she’s driving me to the bus barn.

  “I’m serious,” I say. “You’re doing all this work for me just to help me win. You could be selfish and only do things to help yourself win.”

  “Eh, I don’t want to win,” Jules says. “My rank is down in the two hundreds. But you actually have a chance, and I am so here for it.”

  “I’ll drive you everywhere after I win that car,” I say. Three boxes of donuts sit in my lap, warming my legs and filling the car up with the smell of warm sugar and dough. Jules was totally on board with my plan last night when I told her about waking up early to bring donuts to the bus drivers.

  The bus barn is what they call the fenced in parking lot where all the school busses park after school. It’s not even a real barn, just a parking lot and a small building. Jules says she wants to stay in her car so she doesn’t get any kudos and take points away from me. She seriously is the best friend ever.

  I slip inside the small room and find the kitchen. A few bus drivers hang out by the coffee maker, but most of them aren’t here yet since we’re a little early. I set the donut boxes on the table and leave my note next to it.

  Donated by Abby Pena. Thank you for all you do!

  Once I’m back in Jules’ car, I let out a yawn. “That feels like a bribe.”

  “That’s because it is a bribe,” Jules says with a yawn that matches mine. When she sees the fear on my face she pats my arm. “Don’t worry. It’s a nice bribe.”

  I’m feeling both nervous and excited as we drive back home to get another two hours of sleep before we have to go to school. I keep thinking that maybe the donut idea was a bad idea. What if all the bus drivers see through my bribe and give me a demerit for it? I would have wasted the little money I have on donuts and lost my spot as number three. I got to be in second place yesterday, but only for a few hours.

  My anxiety is through the roof, but luckily I’m also tired. I fall back asleep and then wake to my usual morning alarm. Welp… it’s now or never I think as I sit up and look at my phone. I need to check.

  Was the donut idea a good idea or…

  I open my profile. A silver medal appears under my name.

  It was a good idea.

  It was such a good idea.

  Because now I am in second place. Only Annabel Jefferson is ahead of me, but I’m closing in on her by a margin of only thirty points. I will be in first place soon. I will win this thing.

  Oh how I wish I could see the look on Mark Caputo’s face when he finds out.

  Eight

  MARK

  Third place. A digital bronze medal shines underneath my name on the Un-bully app the next morning. I’m pretty sure I’m awake, but this almost feels like a dream. I did work hard for these points, but it almost feels too easy… all I did was compliment people.

  From the second I got home from volunteering at the animal shelter yesterday until I went to bed, I was on social media. I started by following back every person who goes to my school and also followed me. Then I followed some people I recognized from school but had never followed before. My score jumped up a bit. Then I got serious. I started commenting on every post in my feed, saying nice things and making genuine comments. I didn’t just copy/paste the same lame reply to everyone. Nope, I tried hard to be friendly and caring.

  I thought about just commenting on the girls, but that’s sexist so I left comments for everyone, including my teachers. Some of my teachers maintain Instagram pages where they try in vain to get people to care about their lessons or about learning something extra that’s not on the syllabus. No one really cares about that stuff. But last night I did.

  I ended up falling asleep last night with my phone on some band geek’s YouTube channel after I left him a glowing review on his newest video. Now today I am reaping the rewards.

  Third place. And it’s only week one. I can do this. I can keep being nice and finding ways to include everyone at school. I’ll sit at different lunch tables and talk to all the different cliques. I’m not going to keep to myself and perpetuate the rumor that I’m a jerk.

  This car is going to be mine.

  Julian is still giving me the cold shoulder after I wouldn’t skip school to cover for his date, and because of this, he purposely runs out all the hot water in the upstairs shower. Then he eats the last bagel. For being my older brother, he’s a total child. Too bad for him and all his antics to try and annoy me, because no matter what he does he won’t ruin my good mood. I went from dead last to third place in just a week. I’ve got this in the bag.

  The feeling I get when walking through school today must be how celebrities feel every day. People want to stop me to congratulate me on being in the top ten, and others just want to chat with me in class or in the hallways as if we’re friends. I’ve seen a few of the other top ten students around school and they’re all being treated like celebrities too.

  The only downside is that little miss perfect, Abby, is in second place. She has over five thousand points and I’m hovering just around four thousand. The rest of the school is far below the top ten and some people don’t even have one thousand points yet. We still have no idea how the points work, and which demerits or kudos give out a certain number of points. The scoreboard has been changing all day and it has my nerves on high alert.

  During third period, I drop down to sixth place for some unknown reason. But by lunch time I’m back in third place. It’s obvious that this will be hard to maintain all month, but the best thing I can do is get as many points as I can.

  I’m raising my hand for every question in class and giving friendly smiles to everyone. When I take out a pack of gum in fourth period, the girl next to me asks for a piece. And then the guy next to her asks for one. Before long, I’m completely out of gum but my score jumps to 4712. Not bad.

  I’m eager to see Abby when I go to accounting class. We didn’t really talk much on the car ride home that night, probably because her little sisters were talking the whole time about their dance class. And although it was a little awkward, I had fun. I don’t know why I’m eager to see her now because we aren’t friends. We’re competitors. And if I have my way, I’ll win this contest and then I’m sure she’ll never speak to me again. With that in mind, I force away all thoughts of Abby as I step into fifth period.

  “Look at him acting all casual,” someone calls out as I drop my backpack
to the floor and slide into my desk.

  I look around and find a guy named Brian (or is it Brent?) staring at me. “You wanna tell us how you jumped in rank so fast?”

  I shrug. “Guess I’m just a nice person.”

  “You’re still losing to Abby,” he says.

  At that exact moment, Abby walks into class. My chest feels sharp and I sit up straighter. She says hi to her friend as she takes her seat. Her eyes never venture in my direction.

  “Abby!” Brian (or Brent?) says, walking over to her desk. “What do you think about this jackass catching up to you?”

  “Oh?” she says, glancing back at me as if I am simply a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. “I hadn’t noticed anyone below me since I moved up to second place.”

  A chorus of oooh’s fill the room.

  “Yeah girl, he’s only a few hundred points behind you now.”

  She gives me an appraising look, then flattens her lips in a dismissing way. “Whatever scheme he used to jump rank won’t last long. We have all month and I’m not worried.”

  Brian looks at me. “You gonna let her talk smack like that?”

  Our teacher is standing in the hallway chatting with the teacher next door and I’ve never wanted class to start so badly, if only to put me out of this misery. I can think of a dozen comebacks to throw at her, some of which would make her blush. But the satisfaction of knowing I got under her skin would be ruined by the demerits I’d get from all these witnesses. Talking trash is not the Un-bully way.

  I shrug. “I wish my fellow students good luck in the contest.”

  Someone scoffs. “Lame!” someone else calls out.

  I know it’s lame, and I know I sound like a politician, but I refuse to say anything that could cost me points. I will be nice no matter what.

  Abby doesn’t say anything, and soon the teacher comes back and starts class. It might be my imagination, but I think I see Abby sneak a glance at me two times. But… like I said… probably my imagination.

  When the bell rings, everyone hustles to get out the door and to their next class. I take my time, figuring that I might get a kudos for letting other people go first. As I make my way into the hallway something is shoved into my hand, but the crowds are so thick I have no idea where it came from. I duck into a nearby bathroom and unfold the piece of paper.

  Meet me in Supply Closet 8 after school.

  * * *

  The last two hours of school drag by impossibly slow. I can’t stop thinking about the note that is folded up in my pocket. Who wrote it? The handwriting is big, neat, and loopy like a girl wrote it. Does Abby have this kind of handwriting? How have I never noticed her handwriting in class before? It doesn’t matter how much I try to remember those few seconds in the hallway, I didn’t see who slipped the note into my hand.

  I also have no idea where Supply Closet 8 is, but thanks to a fire escape floorplan map on the wall, I locate it way in the back of the school by the band hall. Once school is finally over, I make my way down there, keeping a cautious eye on everyone I pass. Is anyone looking at me weirdly? Is this some kind of set up?

  The closet is bigger than a closet. It’s actually a small room filled with shelves and boxes. I’m the only person in here and my anxiety gets worse with each passing second. I start to casually glance around for a hidden camera or something. Then the door opens.

  Abby walks inside.

  My heart leaps into my throat.

  “What are you doing here?” she says. She looks more confused than ever, like seeing me was the last thing on her mind. Which is weird because I kind of thought I might see her. I kind of hoped it would be her who had passed me the note.

  “I’m here because of the note,” I say.

  Her brows pull together, making a cute little wrinkle in the middle of her forehead. “You got a note too?”

  I reach I not my pocket and hold it up. She frowns. “Did who see who sent it?”

  “Nope,” I say. “You?”

  She shakes her head. We have exactly three seconds of awkward silence and then the door slowly opens. A girl walks inside. “Good, you’re both here,” she says.

  I know I’ve seen her around school before. She’s short with long blonde hair she keeps in a single braid down her back. Her glasses are bright purple. Brazos High isn’t so big that you don’t at least have a vague recollection of each student. But I don’t know her name.

  “Janelle?” Abby says, sounding like that’s the last person she’d expect to join us in this random supply closet. “What’s going on?”

  Janelle looks around as if she thinks someone else is hiding out in this small room. Then her eyes get big. “Annabel Jefferson is cheating the app.”

  Abby and I look at each other in disbelief. I turn to Janelle. “How do you know that?”

  “Listen, first of all, you didn’t hear this from me, okay?” Janelle glares at me. “Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I say. She turns to Abby.

  Abby rolls her eyes. “If you wanted to remain anonymous you should have made me promise before you dropped that bombshell just now.”

  Janelle sighs. “Sorry. I’ve never done something sneaky like this before. But just promise me, okay? I don’t want it coming back to me, but you both need to know what’s going on so you can stop it.”

  “I promise I won’t say anything,” Abby says. “But that’s a huge accusation to make. Everyone loves Annabel. That’s why she’s in first place.”

  “They don’t love her that much,” Janelle says. “Isn’t it obvious she’s cheating? She has fifteen thousand points and you two only have about five thousand. That just doesn’t make sense.”

  Abby chews on her lip. She’s probably thinking the same thing I am, that this is a trick. People want us to start giving out demerits or worse—falsely accuse the top student of cheating. That would trash our own scores and ruin our chances of winning.

  “I’m going to need proof,” I say.

  Janelle grins. “Oh, I’ve got proof.” She takes out her phone and opens it to the photo gallery. Then, peering up at us conspiratorially, she says in a voice barely above a whisper, “I have seventh period with Annabel. Yesterday I accidentally took her school laptop home and she took mine. Since they all look the same, I didn’t realize it until I got home and turned it on to do my homework. It was her computer, and guess what was on the browser she had left open?”

  Janelle turns her phone to us, showing pictures she had taken of a laptop screen. Abby takes the phone and zooms in while Janelle explains more to us. “She found some guy online and paid him to hack her account and give her more points. He fixed the algorithm so that she’ll always have five thousand more points than the person in second place.”

  White hot anger rises in my chest. “Seriously?”

  Abby nods and then hands me the phone. I try not to think about how a tingle runs down my hand when her fingers touch mine. I look at the photos and they’re pretty convincing. It’s a website showing direct messages between Annabel and some guy with the username BlockBoyy99. She paid him two hundred dollars to hack her app.

  Janelle shifts on her feet. “I realized what happened and that Annabel would probably kill me if she knew I knew, so I let the battery die and then brought it back to her the next day, saying I lost my charger so I never got to use it. She seemed like she believed me so she has no idea I saw her computer.”

  “Why are you showing us this?” Abby says.

  Janelle takes her phone back and walks toward the storage room door. “Because I hate cheaters. There’s no way I’ll ever win that contest, but someone will. I refuse to let it be a cheater. You have to tell someone. Tell the principal. Don’t let her cheat her way to a new car.”

  “Will you send me those photos?” Abby asks.

  Janelle grins and then opens the door. “No, sorry. Like I said… I can’t let this get back to me. Good luck.”

  And then she’s gone.

  And I am alone in
a small room with the girl I haven’t stopped thinking about in days.

  Nine

  ABBY

  The entire point of this month’s Un-bully contest is to teach people how to be kind to each other and eliminate bullying. I still remember that video they showed us because it was so unbelievably cheesy and lame. But the content was good, and the Un-bully app’s goals are noble. They discussed the statistics of bullying and how it affects self-esteem. They made a good case for why we should all be kind to each other. Only there’s a really big problem here.

  The app is not making us kind. It’s making us fake. It’s making us all become enemies here at Brazos High. Instead of going home happy at the end of each day, feeling like I’ve made a true difference, I’m going to bed exhausted and dreading the next day where I’ll be obligated to be the extremely nice and generous Abby Pena that everyone loves. All for the sake of winning a car.

  It sucks, but winning that car would be worth it.

  But it’s because of this app that I don’t trust a single bit of what just happened.

  Mark exhales loudly and rocks back on his heels. “That was… something.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a snort of disbelief. “What are we going to do?”

  “We have to tell on her. Normally I’m not a narc, but come on! She has to be taken down.”

  Anxiety fills every inch of my body and I start pacing the small room just to let some of my energy out. “I don’t know. What if it’s a trick?”

  Mark cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  I reach the end of the room, turn on my heel, and start pacing back. I find it’s a whole lot easier to stare at the gray tile floor than to meet Mark’s gaze. He’s just too cute to function. Who does he think he is, showing up at school in those tight dark jeans and baby blue T-shirt? He must know how good that color looks on him. He’s doing it on purpose. Just rubbing in how cute he is so that every girl swoons over him and then gives him kudos for no freaking reason. Ugh.