by Chad Morris
Derick noticed he was clenching his fists nervously. The next video opened. He saw two people sitting at a table looking back at Mr. Sul: Mrs. Flink and Mr. Silverton. Mrs. Flink spoke first, “As a committee, we decided on a prize and cleared it through the administrators, but it had nothing to do with a key.”
Mr. Silverton, the computer science teacher, nodded his bald head. “So we were as surprised as you with Landon Beane’s announcement about the prize. I’ve met with him several times about it.” That might have been what Carol and Abby saw. “You see, I made a secure channel for the committee to send messages back and forth to one another. Students have been known to try to hack in to get advance information about the Race. It is not uncommon for us to send several messages back and forth, as we have many decisions and necessary adjustments to make for such a large event.”
Mrs. Flink’s head of red hair bobbed in agreement.
“Landon knew about the box the winners would open that would tell them about their prize,” Mr. Silverton continued, “but he received a message through our channel just before he went on stage telling him to announce that a key would be inside, and that the box would read the winners’ fingerprints and send them a message about the key and what it unlocked. The message also included a picture of the key.” Mr. Silverton palmed his beard. “Landon assumed the message was from the committee. I asked him for the file he received and he gladly sent it. I’ll show you what I’ve found.”
Mr. Silverton flicked his fingers, lighting a screen behind him with a three-dimensional mass of numbers that formed dense pathways. He hefted his thick body out of his chair and pointed at the screen. “This is a visual representation of the code I had set up for our secure messaging system. It is a way I organize my thoughts.” He used his fingers to navigate along a pathway. “This,” he said, pointing at a picture of a small virtual envelope, “is the message Landon received. It had the entire committee listed as the sender, a protocol we normally use to communicate with students or teachers about the Race. But because it was sent through the committee’s channel, it is most likely that it came from someone on the committee.” He gestured toward the screen. “Now, if we follow its path back to its origination, we should be able to find out who sent it. But we encounter some very interesting problems.” Mr. Silverton triggered the view to follow a trail through his virtual map. “Here,” he said, “it splits forty-two ways, all leading in unpredictable directions. This is a complicated piece of code which makes it very difficult to discover the original source.”
“Which was done on purpose, obviously,” Mr. Sul said. “We’re dealing with someone who didn’t want us to find them.”
“Agreed,” Mr. Silverton said. He waved his hand across the screen. “I was able to eliminate thirty-eight of the paths as well-made distractions.” Multiple pathways disappeared.
“That leaves us with four other paths,” Mr. Silverton said. “And this one loops back on itself, so that’s a dead end. Or, I guess more precisely, it is an infinite loop that never goes anywhere new.” Apparently his love for specifics would not let him leave with an inaccurate statement. “These last three are our most viable options.”
“Who is capable of doing this kind of work?” Mrs. Flink asked.
Mr. Silverton sighed. “That’s the real question right there. They must have quite the talent. This goes far beyond the average person’s skills.”
Mrs. Flink nodded.
He returned to the screen. “Here’s one of the three promising rerouted paths.” He moved his hand to show a different pathway. “It leads to an unlikely suspect—Mrs. Flink.”
“What?” Mrs. Flink burst out. “I’d have no idea how to do that.”
Mr. Silverton nodded. “I know.” He looked back at Mr. Sul. “As you well know, Mrs. Flink is a biology teacher and has no special background in computer science. Either this is a talent she has hidden very well or she had help or this is just a smoke-screen.”
“You’d better believe it’s the third one,” Mrs. Flink said. “I didn’t do it.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Flink,” Mr. Sul said. “But you will understand our caution. Sometimes it is the least likely person that actually is the culprit.”
Mr. Silverton nodded. “The second option, in my opinion, is mind-bending.” He followed a path through several walls. “Each of these walls represent code that’s trying to keep us from tracking this trail further. Though, for me, they were somewhat easy to pass through.”
“Were they not well-made?” Mr. Sul asked.
“Oh, very well-made,” Mr. Silverton said. “I didn’t say there were easy to crack. I said they were easy for me. Under most circumstances, it would probably take a whole team thousands of hours to get through them.”
“And you’re that skilled?” Mrs. Flink asked.
“No,” Mr. Silverton said. “They’re mine. I set these code walls up every time I open a communication channel. To be completely honest, one of the three viable options leads straight back to me.” He palmed his beard again. “It looks like I’m a suspect.” Mr. Silverton and Mrs. Flink shared an awkward look.
“I appreciate your honesty,” Mr. Sul replied.
“But I didn’t do it,” Mr. Silverton said. Derick thought his complete honesty could help rule him out. But then, if he was this good at cracking codes, couldn’t he have hidden any evidence that might lead back to himself? “And if I didn’t do it, that means someone hacked in and, not only used extremely complicated procedures, but they made it look like it was me.” In frustration, he let out a short burst of air, ruffling his mustache. “This is an extreme level of competency.”
“Well beyond me,” Mrs. Flink emphasized.
“And the third?” Mr. Sul asked.
Mr. Silverton pulled his hands back and the view of the pathways retracted. “Here’s the final possibility,” he said. He showed the message again, and then followed its path through several twists and turns. Abruptly, it simply dissolved into nothing.
“That one’s different,” Mr. Sul pointed out.
“It’s quite a technical move,” Mr. Silverton explained. “A self-destructing pathway. Once the message finds its destination, it begins to disintegrate its own trail.”
Mrs. Flink threw up her hands and made a noise that made it clear how confused she was.
“And what do you think about this one?” Mr. Sul asked.
“Well, there are a few ways it can be done, but the most likely is that it was actually initiated by the person or persons who received the message. If they know what they’re doing, they can disintegrate the pathway,” Mr. Silverton said.
“Landon?” Mr. Sul asked. “He would have had to have sent the message to himself to make it look like it came from someone else.”
Mr. Silverton nodded. “He’d have to be more talented than he lets on in class, but yes,” Mr. Silverton said. “From what we know right now, Mrs. Flink, myself, and Landon Beane are the best suspects.”
Mr. Sul stood. “Thank you. But that only tells us who could have sent the message. What about the key inside the box?”
Mr. Silverton cracked his thick knuckles. “We mentioned that as a committee we had no plan to put a key inside.” Mr. Silverton flicked his fingers and a semi-transparent image of the box appeared. “I had the box scanned, and sure enough, a key is inside. Also based on the scan, it’s the real deal.” He looked at Mr. Sul solemnly.
“And it can’t be opened?” Mr. Sul asked.
“Once the box was closed, the code went into effect,” Mr. Silverton said. “Only the winners can open it. And though I created it, even I can’t change it. Maybe I did too good of a job.” He wiped some sweat from his bald head.
“How did it get in there?” Mr. Sul asked.
“I wrote the code,” Mr. Silverton said, “but I didn’t fill the box. That was Mrs. Flink’s job.”
Mrs. Flink looked back at Mr. Silverton and nodded. “It was,” she admitted. “We intended to put a small screen in the box t
hat explained the prize.” She used her fingers to show the size of the screen. “I received a message telling me that it was ready but that Mr. Silverton had retrieved it and put it in the box.” She rubbed her temples through her red hair. “We were very busy and I appreciated the help. When I saw the box next it was closed and locked. I didn’t think anything of it.”
Mr. Silverton shook his head. “I never sent that message, nor did I fill the box. After we heard Landon’s announcement, Mrs. Flink forwarded that message to me. I analyzed it, and again, to be honest, it has three possible pathways it might have come from: Me, Landon Beane again—or Mrs. Flink could have sent it to herself. The same suspects might have sent the message to Mrs. Flink.”
“This is all part of some complex plan,” Mr. Sul said. “But why put the key in the box? Why offer the secret?”
The other two shook their heads.
“Of course,” Mr. Sul said, “it’s possible either one of you is behind it and wouldn’t tell me if you did know.” He shook his head. “But I don’t like it. Perhaps I should cancel the Race. It would be difficult to rationalize to the other administrators and to explain to the students, but if it’s what’s best, I’ll do it.”
“Perhaps that would be best,” Mrs. Flink said.
Mr. Silverton raised a finger. “I’m not sure you can. That’s the last thing. When our suspect put the key in the box, they also altered its programming. It would have taken great skill, but it was still possible before the box was closed. From what I can tell, they added the feature that will send the information to the winners about the secrets the key unlocks.”
“Yes,” Mr. Sul said, “we know that.”
“But,” Mr. Silverton said, “they added a sort of timer. As near as I can tell, if the box isn’t opened by the end of the last scheduled day of the Race, then that information will be sent to every student in Cragbridge Hall.” He cracked another knuckle. “We have to assume it’s a message about Oscar Cragbridge’s secret.”
The scene of the three teachers sitting at the table changed to an image of only Mr. Sul. “As you can tell, we’re in a difficult situation. After much thought, I decided to get school security involved also. I told them that someone had meddled with the prize without telling them the significance of the key. Because Mr. Silverton is a suspect, I couldn’t completely trust his information. I needed someone else qualified to investigate the strange messages.” Mr. Sul paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. “Because they don’t understand what’s at stake, security thinks it’s an elaborate prank or a feud between members of the Race committee. But they aren’t amused—and they are looking at it seriously.”
Mr. Sul took a step closer in the recording. “You mentioned that some of the students, including your son and the Cragbridge twins, were forming a team to try to win back the key. You wondered if competing was dangerous. I am having school security monitor it all, but I’m afraid that our only hope for keeping this secret safe is their team winning the Race.”
The Big Opening
Abby and Carol stepped out of the Hall and approached a crowd that surrounded an outdoor stage. The stage, flanked by two large screens, stood on the grass between a shrub sculpture of Abraham Lincoln and another of a man dunking a basketball; Abby wasn’t sure who it was. A small stream ran through the grounds on the far side of the stage. The sun was on its way down. Reds, blues, and violets made a beautiful background.
Abby took a deep breath. She was extra-anxious after watching the video from Mr. Sul the day before. She looked around for any sign of her team.
“All right, everyone,” Anjum said in a group chat through their rings. Everyone was linked to the call, but could only be heard if they selected talk mode using their own rings. That way they didn’t hear everyone all at once. “Let’s meet together on the far right of the stage, by the bush trimmed to look like General Washington.”
This was the opening ceremony. It wasn’t a big deal, just introductions and a clue as to how to prepare for their first event in the Race.
“Are you coming to watch all the excitement?” someone asked.
Abby turned to see a girl with long dark hair, dressed in a navy jumper and red shoes. Jacqueline. “Nah, I’m actually on a team,” Abby responded to her former roommate.
“Really?” Jacqueline said. “Why would anyone want you?” Her cadence was happy and bright, but her words were biting.
“I’m definitely not the star, but I’m going to try to help out,” Abby said honestly. If it were an event instead of just introductions, she would be a nervous wreck. “And . . . cue the next insult.” She pointed back at Jacqueline.
“It turns out . . . what?”
“You’re pretty predictable,” Abby said. “It’s like you feel you move higher in life if you can somehow push me lower.”
Jacqueline glared back with a nuh-uh face. A boy ran over and grabbed her hand. It was the same boy from the dance. “It’s getting started. Come on, Jackie.” She smiled and ran off with him.
“Oh, holding hands,” Carol said. “Looks like little miss prissy has a boyfriend who got her onto a team.”
“She is way too young to date,” Abby said, remembering what her parents had taught her.
“I know,” Carol said. “Like my mom says, ‘Up to fifteen, it’s doesn’t hurt to flirt. From sixteen on, you don’t have to wait to date. But until college or after, it’s too scary to marry.’”
Abby smiled. Carol definitely believed that it didn’t hurt to flirt.
“I just had an absolutely terrible thought,” Abby said.
“What?”
“What if Jacqueline learned the secret?” She spoke quietly to avoid listening ears. “She hates me. She hates that my grandfather got me into Cragbridge Hall. She would probably post the secret all over the school, all over the web. She’d call the news within five minutes.”
“Yeah, especially because she’d get to show off her pretty face and her cute clothes,” Carol said. “By the way, did you notice those red shoes she was wearing? Seriously cute.”
“Yeah, I totally noticed them,” Abby admitted.
“She’s such a wolf in sheep’s clothing,” Carol said. “Really cute sheep’s clothing.”
“Yeah,” Abby agreed.
“Except I’m not exactly sure how that phrase works,” Carol said. “First off, sheep don’t even have clothing, so I’m assuming we’re talking about wool coats. So how does a wolf get a wool coat? It’s not like it shears sheep. And it can’t sew; it doesn’t even have thumbs. And it can’t order clothes online. I really think we’re giving wolves a lot more credit than they deserve with that phrase.”
Carol had a point, Abby thought, though it wasn’t very useful.
“What’s worse,” Abby said, “is that if Jacqueline got the key and if Muns or someone who works for him contacted her, she might do whatever he wanted just to get ahead. And she might get others on her side too.”
Carol looked back. “That’s an awful thought.” She shuddered.
Abby and Carol found Derick, Rafa, Jess, and Malcolm by the George Washington shrub. A few minutes later Maria, Nia, and Piper showed up.
“Looks like you’re all together,” Anjum said through messaging. “Remember that we hooked up our rings and you gave me permission to track you. You can shut that off at any time, but it will be really helpful during our challenges. This will serve as a good trial run.” He cleared his throat. “And you should all know that I’m not going to be there. Sorry. I have a thing about crowds. In fact, I usually prefer not to interact with people face-to-face at all. It’s one of the reasons I’m so good at virtuality. But I’ll be watching the school’s feed and will be with you through your rings.”
Abby never would have guessed Anjum was anxious about crowds from their first meeting. Maybe they all had secrets.
“Welcome, everyone!” Sarah, the student body officer, walked out onto the stage, Landon right behind her. They weren’t wearing their blazers. It w
as too hot for that. They wore matching navy blue T-shirts with the words Cragbridge Hall in big white letters, and the question Are you ready to Race? beneath it. “Registration is closed. We have all our teams!”
Landon waited for the crowd to end their cheers and whistles before continuing. “There are fifty-two teams competing this year. Take a look.” He motioned toward the large screens along the sides of the stage. With the sun down, their light burst out of the darkness. The word Revolution scrolled across the screen with the image of a young man beneath it. Not bad for a team name. The teams had been encouraged to name themselves after something to do with history, literature, science—something education-based. A creative name would earn a small amount of points, but it would only make a difference if the final score was extremely close. An image of each person on the Revolution team flashed on the screen.
The next team name appeared on the screen—the Argonauts. The name came from a group of mythical Greek heroes who went on a search for the Golden Fleece. Abby had really liked a lot of what she knew about that story. As Abby watched to see the members of the team, Jacqueline’s face crossed the screen. Maybe Abby didn’t like the Argonauts as much anymore. They saw the Fellowship of the Race, Infantry 312, and about twenty others before it was their turn—the Spartans. Anjum had chosen the name. Derick wanted the 20th Maine after the soldiers who defended Little Round Top in the Civil War, but it wasn’t catchy enough. The Spartans were famous for being some of the fiercest warriors in history.
Abby’s face came on-screen. They must have pulled it from her original Cragbridge Hall application. She looked nervous, and a year younger. So much had happened since that photo was taken. She had found that she could contribute. She belonged at this school. She had saved her grandpa and her parents, and had protected the keys over time. But her stomach still filled with waves.