Olivia Decoded

by Vivi Barnes

  Standing up, I move to the window, my eyes on the oak tree branches bobbing in the wind. For some reason, it occurs to me that every house I ever lived in had at least one oak tree in the front yard. Horrible memories come to mind of crouching in the corner of a room as one foster mother pulled a switch from it, while others are wonderful—climbing up in the tree to investigate baby squirrels, for one. Funny thing is that I neither hate nor love oak trees now. But I don’t think I’d want one in my yard when I have a house of my own.

  I take a deep breath. “Okay, so once upon a time, there was a girl whose mother ran away from home when she was pregnant with her to live on the streets, buying and selling drugs, and even selling herself to get enough money for more drugs. She died in the middle of the street, right in front of her daughter, and the police came to take the little girl to foster care.”

  The story is actually easier told without using the word “I,” as if it’s someone else’s story. I can even feel sorry for the little girl who’ll never be able to erase the image of her dead mother crumpled on the dirty street. The picture of my mother holding her boyfriend’s hand in the mall comes to my mind, but I force it away. I can’t talk about my father—not when I haven’t even absorbed it yet. My eyes stay on the bare oak branches, away from Emerson’s gaze.

  “The girl grew up in a lot of homes—too many to count. Some were good, and some were so bad that—” I shudder. Even in third person, I don’t really care to relive the memories I’ve tried so hard to get past.

  “Jesus,” Emerson whispers behind me. I keep my eyes from hers. Either she’ll be pitying or despising me, and I’m not sure which is worse. I take a deep breath.

  “Anyway, the girl met a guy at school who had it easy. Like, really easy—he rode a Ducati, and his friend drove a Camaro, and they lived in this gorgeous mansion with a bunch of other foster kids, but it wasn’t like the usual group home. They were more like a family, and the girl found out that they were involved in some—well, some underground kind of things. Not drugs or anything like that,” I add quickly, looking at Emerson. Her face doesn’t change, though her jaw moves slightly forward.

  “The girl found out the boy had just as horrible of a life as she did before he came to that home. Maybe even worse. Too many people had judged him for something they knew nothing about.”

  I don’t mean it as a jab at her—well, maybe just a bit. But it doesn’t matter. Emerson’s attention is riveted. I take a deep breath. This is the part that keeps me up at night most, but I have to tell her. Right now, so that way I don’t have to keep worrying about it. Say it one time—pretend like you’re talking about someone else—and then you don’t have to ever say it again.

  “One night, the foster father the girl lived with, Derrick, attacked her. He had been watching her through cameras in her room and tried to—” The words get stuck in my throat. I stare at the window again, trying to focus on the reflection of my mother’s locket rather than the evil face of Derrick.

  “So anyway, the girl was able to get away from him. The boy found out and got so mad he wanted to kill the girl’s foster father.” I smile at the memory of Jack keeping me close to him those first days when I came to Monroe Street. Now that the worst part of the story is over, I can breathe again. “They put the guy on the sex offender registry themselves, and the girl went to live at the boy’s group home. The woman who ran the home wanted the girl to get involved with what they did. But when the boy found out the girl’s grandfather was alive, he decided to turn her over to her grandfather so she could live a normal life. Then he left her, promising he’d be back one day. And now he is.” Even if only temporarily.

  I leave out the part about Bill kidnapping me, about escaping by almost drowning in the James River. It doesn’t feel as important to tell her right now, and I don’t have the energy for it anyway.

  “Wow,” Emerson whispers. I sneak a peek at her glassy eyes, and I wonder which part of the horror story that was my life she’s thinking about. “I had no idea.”

  She probably thought I was going to tell her I didn’t get along with my parents and that I’d run away or something. “Nobody here knows,” I tell her firmly. “Nobody. You have to keep this to yourself.”

  Emerson nods, her lips tight. “I told you, you can rely on me.” She hesitates. “Are you okay? I mean now—are things better?”

  I smile. “Yeah, if you take out the part about me being stalked by some rose-crazy freak. Pretty much life as usual.”

  We both laugh, a ridiculous sound considering what I just told her. But it feels good. And as we laugh, for the first time, I think I can breathe easier.

  “One more thing. I think I need a change in color,” I tell her, gathering my hair in one hand. I don’t want to remind Grandfather of my father—or my mother—when he looks at me. From now on, I want to know that he sees me for me and no one else.

  Emerson’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but then she smiles. “We can go see Dixon. He’ll get you right in.”

  She gives me a hug. Emerson was right—telling her some of my darkest secrets is a huge relief, like breaking the surface after being held under water.

  Mrs. Bedwin was right, too. A good friendship is much too important to lose.

  Chapter Twenty

  JACK

  For the first time in my life, I have nothing to say. No defenses built up, no alibi, nothing. If I’d really stolen the money, I would’ve been prepared to handle being caught with my hands in the virtual vault.

  Being accused of something I haven’t done by people I consider to be my family is infinitely worse, and I have no words. My own computer betrayed me—the proof is right there on my hard drive, showing a profile created for a Donald Smith, same as on the account the money was transferred into. I can’t prove I wasn’t online during these times.

  I stare at the laptop as Jen takes it on herself to act as prosecutor, asking me over and over where the money went. And it doesn’t help that money wasn’t stolen from my account. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was guilty, too.

  Except for one simple fact: I’m not an idiot. The transfer coming from our IP address means it wasn’t encrypted. I encrypt everything I’ve ever done. I know how to use Tor to hide my tracks on the web. Hacking 101. If I were going to steal money from our house, I would’ve stolen from my own account to keep attention from being focused on me. Whoever did this should’ve thought of those basic things. Which tells me it was a setup, or that it wasn’t done by the smartest person in the house.

  I glare at Jen.

  Nancy allows a few of the older kids in the office with us as she asks me questions, my laptop sitting on the desk as evidence. I know she’s only letting them in because everyone thinks I get preferential treatment anyway. This way, they won’t think she lets me off the hook easily.

  But I know that I need to convince them more than Nancy.

  I look around the room at my jurors. Sam and Maggie have both spoken up in my defense. They sit together on a credenza, also glaring at Jen on the opposite side. Micah and Cameron are sitting with them. Only Cara, Jen’s roommate, is sitting next to her, though Cara doesn’t look convinced, either.

  “Okay, so stop and think about it,” I tell them. “If I had created that account on my laptop, don’t you think I’m smart enough at the least—the very least—to disable the cookies? And why the hell would I let it track me here? How stupid do you think I am?”

  Jen goes off on how stupid she thinks I am as everyone else stares at me. I can see it in their eyes—this makes sense to them. After all, I’m Z, a leader here, one of the original Monroe Street hackers. I wouldn’t have made so many careless mistakes. Again, if whoever did this was smart, they would’ve realized that and not left so many doors open.

  “You do seem pretty quick to ignore what Z said about encrypting his activity. He wouldn’t be so stupid,” Sam says. Micah and Maggie nod in agreement.

  “Obviously, someone is setting me up here, Nanc
y,” I say, looking meaningfully at Jen. “Didn’t you watch that video I left on your desk?”

  “What video?” Nancy asks.

  “Oh, don’t even try that,” Jen snaps. “That video doesn’t prove anything.”

  Everyone stares at her. I cross my arms, hiding a smile. This is working out perfectly. “‘That video,’ huh? So you took it off Nancy’s desk before she could watch it. What’d you do with it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but her twitching hands give her away. “He’s just trying to frame me for something he did,” she says to Nancy in a pleading voice. “I know for a fact that he bought his girlfriend Liv jewelry. A bracelet.”

  “Bracelet?” Maggie asks, her eyebrows pinched slightly as she stares at me.

  “How’d you find out about the bracelet?” I ask Jen.

  Jen shrugs, struggling to maintain her confidence now that everyone is looking at her. “I overheard a conversation between Z and Sam.” Her lips pucker into a smug grin. “He went to visit Liv as soon as he found out she got the bracelet, and Sam helped.”

  “Why don’t you shut the hell up,” Sam snaps at her as everyone’s eyes swivel her way. Cameron puts his arm around her shoulders protectively, but she shrugs him off. “You don’t know anything.”

  “Yeah. You seem to know an awful lot, Jen,” Maggie says.

  “So why don’t you tell us, Jen,” I say, noticing Jen’s starting to lose her cool. “What made you think buying a bracelet for Liv with our house money would be a good way to set me up?”

  “Z…” Nancy warns.

  “Are you smoking something?” Jen screeches at me.

  “I have it on video. Jen with the guy who bought the bracelets at Abbott & Peterson’s.” I wasn’t planning on outing her before I talked to Nancy, but I’m also not going to sit around and let everyone think I stole their money. “Where’s the video, Jen?”

  “I…I don’t have it.”

  Nancy stands and holds up her hand. “I’d like to see this video. Jen, did you take it from my desk?”

  Jen’s eyes cast around the room, finally glaring on me. “I was just curious. He’s been trying to set me up for a long time because everyone knows he can’t stand me.”

  Nancy takes a deep, concentrated breath. She’s about to lose it on Jen, and glad as I am that the focus has changed, I feel a little bad. “Just get the video and show them. If it’s not you, you have nothing to hide,” I tell her.

  “I said I don’t have it. I threw it away when I saw what you were trying to do. It looks like me in the video, but it’s not,” she tells Nancy, her voice desperate now.

  “I’d like to see it myself.”

  “Good thing I made a spare,” Micah says. He leaves the room and comes back a minute later with a jump drive. I take it, nodding at him as thanks. I insert it into my laptop, and everyone gathers around. I notice Jen back away as the video plays, her face pale.

  “It’s not me,” she says weakly as Nancy looks over at her. “I swear that isn’t me! Lots of people have blond hair.”

  “It looks like you,” Maggie says, her expression smug.

  “Oh, shut up,” Jen snaps at her. “You don’t even belong here. You’re just a stupid ho who can’t even hack.”

  That’s when the entire room loses it. Nancy and Jen are shouting at each other. Sam is alternating between flipping Jen off and yelling, and the others are trying to calm them down. Only Maggie is quiet, pulling up her legs and resting her chin on her knees. I make my way over to sit next to her, letting her lean against my shoulder; no one notices.

  “Jen’s a bitch. Don’t listen to her,” I tell her, tuning out the noise of the shouting. “Thanks for having my back.”

  “Anytime.” She looks up at me. “Did you see that there’s someone else in the video? A guy?” I nod, looking interested. As much as she’s trying to be helpful, it’s like someone telling me that the same sun that rises in the morning also sets in the evening.

  “Whoever did this also crawled into Liv’s room and left a rose on her pillow,” I tell her.

  “Like when she was sleeping?”

  I nod. “That’s why I’ve been going up there. To figure out who planted the rose so I can kick his ass. Not to take jewelry to her.” I wave in disgust at the argument going on in front of us. “Jen’s just looking for any opportunity to— Are you okay?” Maggie’s face is pale.

  “I…I just have had a bad experience with roses on pillows,” she says, shivering slightly. “It wasn’t really you, was it?” she asks meekly.

  “Of course not!”

  She relaxes against me again. “Good. Nobody deserves that creeper move.”

  I get the feeling she’s shifted from hating Liv to feeling some sort of camaraderie with her. Shared creeper experience. Considering where Maggie came from, I wouldn’t be surprised if some asshole customer hit her then left a rose for her on the pillow afterward. Everyone in this house has had a bad experience with something, like Micah and duct tape that bullies once wrapped him in when he was in fifth grade, or Dutch and his fear of water from the time his stoned stepfather tried to drown him. Or me and my hatred of Christmas—the night my mother killed herself. I awkwardly place an arm around Maggie’s shoulders, causing her to look up in pleasant surprise. We’re all screwed up in one way or another.

  Nancy finally calls it quits, announcing that Jen isn’t a suspect based on the video alone, since you can’t see her face, and sends everyone out of the room. She holds me back to talk in private, ignoring Jen’s protests that now I’m going to be off the hook as Nancy’s favorite.

  “Why’d you let her off so easy?” I ask as Nancy closes the door behind her. I can hear the others still arguing outside the office.

  Her face is grim, her eyes set on mine. “I was hoping you would be able to tell me what’s really going on.”

  “Nancy, you know I didn’t do it. I have my own bank account—I would never steal from the others. Why would I?”

  “I know. But—” She clasps her hands, her eyes still on me in a way that makes my blood run cold. “It’s hard to believe everything you say when you’ve told me you stopped hacking and here I see a transfer from ICL account in your computer log.”

  “Nancy…”

  “You are still hacking.” Her face reflects crippling disappointment. “You stole money from that bank after we decided not to do that anymore.”

  I draw myself up. I’m not going to let her intimidate me—not on this one. “No, you decided we wouldn’t do it anymore. Not me. I never agreed to that, and neither did the others.”

  “Don’t speak for them.”

  “Why not? You did. I know that at least some of them aren’t happy about the decision you made.”

  She sighs heavily, rubbing at her temples. “We’ve had this conversation already.”

  “And I told you then I disagreed with you. You brought us in for one purpose, no matter what you tell everyone else about caring for foster kids.” I wish I could stuff the words back in once they’re out. Nancy’s done nothing but love and protect everyone in this house all these years. For me to throw that in her face is pretty low, especially considering it was Bill, not Nancy, who encouraged us to hack.

  “That’s enough.” She stands up, frowning. “I do care about you all, more than anyone. You’re my family, and I can’t bear the thought of any of my kids ending up in jail. You are such a smart guy and could be anything you want to be. You don’t need to be ‘Z’ anymore.”

  I glare at her. She says it like it’s a simple choice for me—go back to being just any other kid who goes off to college and becomes some ladder-climbing corporate jerk—just like my father. Screw that.

  “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know where the money came from that suddenly appeared in the house account a few days ago,” I tell her. Her face stills; she knows exactly what I’m referring to. “You didn’t have to use the money, did you? But you did because you care about us. I care
, too. That’s why I think it’s a mistake to stop.”

  “Yes, I allowed you to make that transfer. I should’ve stopped it. That was my error.”

  “Nancy—”

  She holds up a hand. “Enough. You of all people should understand why I called an end to the business. All it would take is one slip. One person to get arrested. One to call attention to our business. All of you would end up in the worst kind of group home or juvenile detention. I will not stand for my family to be split apart like that. End of story.”

  Her expression softens, and she reaches for me. I back away. “You’ve been angry for so long, Jack,” she says. “The hacking helped you cope with life when you were younger, but you’re eighteen and an adult now. Don’t you think it’s time you let that part of you go? Live your own life and stop allowing your past to dictate your future.”

  I want to scream at her that this is my future, that I can’t just stop because she says to. I don’t want to stop. But her words wrap themselves around my lungs, suffocating me. The one person I thought was always in my corner has shifted sides.

  “Think about it, at least,” she says softly. “I can help you through this if you’ll let me.” She walks around her desk and places her hands on my shoulders. “As for this other nonsense, I don’t believe for one second that you stole money from the others. You wouldn’t do that to them.”

  Someone knocks at the door behind me. I move away from Nancy as Micah walks in. “Frank is here to see you,” he says, his eyes flicking over to me. Nancy nods and ushers us out. But not before I press Sam’s number and leave my phone on the bookshelf. Such a basic eavesdropping tool, but it’s all I can manage at the moment.

  She waves at Frank, who’s standing in the foyer, shifting from foot to foot and looking uncomfortable under our gazes. He walks to the office quickly and she shuts the door behind them. Sam is in the foyer, her phone to her ear, confused. “Sam,” I call to her. I put a finger to my lips and gesture for her to keep listening. We take the phone upstairs to my room and close the door.