The Unidentified
Page 17
swiftx: the people who effed up the war game…
swiftx:…they’ll pay for that free-for-all.
But I didn’t care about any of that. I held my intouch®, hoping to see something from Mikey. I wanted proof that he didn’t have to give back his intouch®, that he was still in the Game.
28 SELLING REBELLION
Mikey wasn’t in the Game the next day. His Network page was down and I didn’t know how to get in contact with him. He didn’t answer any of my intouch® texts, and I was starting to worry that he wasn’t getting them.
I stared at my unresponsive intouch® and tried to think of how I could find out if Mikey was okay. Maybe Winter-son would know?
Palmer intercepted me as I was crossing the Pit.
“Hey! Where’re you going? We’re all meeting in the lounge.”
“Oh. I don’t—”
“You have to come! You were in the middle of it. Did you know that was going to happen? How often does a spotter get a break like that? You have inside tips, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“The War Game Riot!”
He steered me over to the VIP Lounge. The It Listers were gathered in small groups chatting animatedly. I saw Tycho Williams standing to the side, trying to avoid my eyes.
“Hey,” I said, jaw tensed in an unconvincing smile. “I didn’t see you at the War Game.”
He glanced up at me. “Yeah. I…I had to take care of my little sister.”
“Oh. Nice alibi.”
He started to say something, but was interrupted by Palmer Phillips addressing the room. “OK, then. Let’s get to today’s top story. This one is a real rumor riot so we need to do what we’re best at and tame the trend, control the flow, and sensibly sensationalize. You all have your fingers to the pulse, so you know I’m talking about the disturbance during the War Game yesterday.” He grinned and his fang-tooth sparkled.
He continued, “You know the sponsors’ stance on violence: fun for the whole family until someone loses an eye. So, let’s hear it, what did all you trendsetters think?”
“You know, I think it was kind of beautiful?” Echo Petersson spoke up with her kind of breathy high-pitched voice. “How the whole crowd started chanting as one?”
“Yeah, it seemed so natural,” Abe Fletcher added. “And easy, like you could get the crowd to say anything, because we were together and, like, a part of something. It was better than viral, it was, um…”
“Emergent?” Palmer suggested.
A lot of people muttered excitedly.
“Yeah, and I just wanted to say?” Verity Clark spoke up, her voice rising at the end, punctuating everything she said like a question. “You don’t really get to see blood very much in real life, right? I mean, it’s in the movies and on TV everywhere? But there’s something really POWERFUL with real blood,” she added almost reverently. “Is there a way we can use blood more in campaigns? I mean, tastefully, like for Band-Aids, maybe?”
I squirmed uncomfortably at the thought of the spokes-girl for Time of Your Life teen tampons suggesting more blood in advertising. But blood sounded good to these lopsided vampires. It was weird to sit in on a focus group for a protest.
I nudged Tycho. “I bet you didn’t know the Unidentified would be so popular with this crowd. I’m sure your leader will find it satisfying to know he’s got so many fans,” I hissed. “Is that why he did it? For attention?”
Tycho shushed me. “Not this kind of attention.”
“What does he want?”
Tycho turned away to watch Abe Fletcher give a play-by-play of Mikey’s attack.
I pushed my way out of the crowd and logged out of the VIP Lounge, but not before I heard Palmer say, “I have a feeling Kid knows something we don’t know. She definitely seems to have the inside on the Unidentified. Anybody hear any rumors? We’re listening.”
I wanted to go find Ari, but I didn’t want to miss my meeting with Winterson. I couldn’t believe that it had only been a week since the Unidentified dummy splatted into the Pit.
Winterson looked relieved to see me. She got up and closed her office door, and asked me to sit in another chair, closer to the wall. I couldn’t figure out why, until I noticed that her computer screen was blocking the surveillance camera’s line of sight.
“How are you?” she said.
“Yeah, I know my scores look bad. I’ve been so distracted with other things that I—”
“There’s nothing wrong with your scores,” she cut me off. “They’re higher than they’ve ever been.”
I pulled out my notebook® and checked my page. What little schoolwork I’d done since getting branded had been worth twice as much score. And the time I spent in the VIP lounge had to count for ten times as much skill compared to other workshop log-ins. “That has to be a glitch,” I said, trying to figure out how much score credit I would get at this rate by the time I finished playing the Game.
“They reward what they value,” Winterson said simply.
“But that can’t be right. Is this fair?”
“Fair to whom?”
“If it’s not fair to everyone, then it’s not fair at all, is it?”
Winterson laughed. “I know it’s crooked, but it’s the only game in town.”
“What?”
“Sorry,” she said, seeing the look on my face. “It’s a quote from a famous gambler and con artist. I didn’t mean it. I wouldn’t be here if I was really that cynical.”
I closed my notebook®. “Do you know what happened to Mikey? Why he isn’t…” I swallowed. “He didn’t get Game Over, did he?”
Winterson checked her screen. “The administrators put his game on pause while Protecht continues with its investigations. As long as they don’t find anything incriminating in his activity records, he should be back in the Game in no time.”
I wished I felt relieved. But what if they found something incriminating? He was underage. With all the anti-laws any little thing could be evidence against anyone.
“Are your sponsors treating you okay?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t they be?”
“I just wanted to remind you that you can come to me if you need someone to talk to. Their best interests aren’t always—”
There was an insistent knock on the door and it opened before Winterson could answer.
“Kid! There you are!” Anica said behind her pixie-grin. She turned to Ms. Winterson. “It’s so sweet of you to show an interest in our player, Carol. Especially since you’re already so behind on your own player schedule.”
I squirmed, watching the two women stand off.
“Just making sure Katey knows I appreciate the opportunity I’ve had to get to know her. She’s a good person and a hard worker.” She looked at me. “A perceptive girl.”
Anica interrupted her. “Thanks, Carol. But we’re taking good care of her. She won’t be needing your public access advising anymore.” She gestured to me. “Come on, sweetie. There’s someone I want you to meet.”
I put my notebook® back in my bag and picked up my things. “Thanks, Ms. Winterson,” I mumbled, and left with Anica.
29 INTERESTED THIRD PARTIES
“Would you like something to drink, dear?” Anica asked me when we got to her office.
I perched on the edge of an uncomfortable leather armchair. “No, I’m OK.”
“But if you did want something to drink, what would you choose? Out of scientific curiosity,” she said making a vague gesture in the air.
“Um, water?”
She looked deeply disappointed.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
“Oh, you don’t need to be sorry at all. You can’t help but like what you like and want what you want, can you?”
She was being hyperfriendly again and it was freaking me out
.
“I guess not?”
There was a rapid knock on the door behind me.
“There he is!” Anica said, getting up.
“We met at After Hours, actually,” Murdoch said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.
“Anyway, we were just talking about you this morning.” Anica laughed. Her smile was so wide it made my cheeks hurt.
“Well, actually, everyone’s been talking about you,” Murdoch clarified. “According to our research, the topic of seventy-eight percent of all conversations taking place since the Game opened today have been about you, Kid.”
I was shocked, but I didn’t know what shocked me most, that they had the ability to do real-time statistical research on random conversations or that so many of the random conversations were about me.
“I take it you didn’t know you were so popular.” Anica winked.
“Oh, I don’t think popularity really has much to do with this,” I mumbled.
“It doesn’t matter, Kid. You’ve got buzz. I don’t think you appreciate how special this is,” Murdoch said, smiling.
“I guess not,” I said quietly. I could’ve used a drink now, my mouth was feeling dry, but I was too weirded out to ask for anything.
“So we were reviewing your content, and Kid! I didn’t know you were a producer as well as a spotter!” Anica said, practically pinching my cheek. “You’re just so full of secret surprises.”
“Your tracks,” Murdoch began. “Your tracks are really…” He made an enthusiastic gesture when words failed him.
“What tracks?” I asked, rubbing my cheek.
“I really liked ‘Last Laugh,’” Anica spoke up. “I could totally imagine it being played over a fun-loving photomontage for a Trendsetters ad spot.”
“But those, aren’t…those tracks aren’t…available. I never put them up on the Listening Library.”
“All work produced in the Game is available to sponsors for promotional purposes,” Anica said.
“No offense,” I said to the Hit List rep, “but I never signed a contract with you.”
“Oh, I know,” Anica answered. “But we have the right to share your information with trusted third-party companies. It’s in the contract.”
Murdoch leaned in. “I don’t understand why you wanted to keep your talent hidden from us. We want to use your work in national campaigns, Kid. You’ll get great exposure. Who doesn’t want that?”
“I need to discuss this with my bandmates, you know? It’s not totally up to me.”
“Oh, yes. We completely respect the practice of consulting with friends before making important purchasing decisions,” Anica said, smiling at Murdoch.
30 KNOW WHO YOUR FRIENDS ARE
I logged out of the VIP Lounge and found Tesla lurking by the entrance.
“Hey,” she said, holding out a bag. “I’m sorry about the mix-up at After Hours. I didn’t know…” She trailed off. “Here’s the things you left at Ari’s.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said. “Where is she?”
I scrolled through sponsor messages looking to see if Ari had responded to the texts I’d been sending her all weekend.
#spons: gas density experiments with He, SF6, N20 in Making Sense.
#spons: hungry? the Vending Machine’s got what you want.
#spons: blink-of-an-eye technology testing stations installed in the Arcade. focus your brain for score.
But nothing from Ari. I hoped she was okay. How could she go the whole morning without updating her stream?
“I need to talk to her,” I said. Tesla was acting weird, kind of distracted. “Did they ever decide on how they’re going to score the interrupted War Game match?”
“It doesn’t really matter. Have you heard from Mikey?”
“No, but I heard they paused his game. I was going to see if Ari wanted to drive by to see him after closing.”
“You know, I could give you a ride if Ari…can’t,” she said.
“Good game,” I said.
Tesla looked like she wanted to say something else, but just said, “Yeah, text me.” She headed for the escalators, then called out, “And I really am sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I wasn’t going to stay upset about a misunderstanding at After Hours.
I went to stand in line at Culture Shock to get a burger. I didn’t really want a burger, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to order anything else.
“French fries, see voo play?” I said hopefully.
“Pommes frites,” the lady said, chuckling. “But they aren’t French, so here you go, honey.”
I took my tray and looked around for a place to sit. And there was Ari.
She was sitting with a flock of Craftsters on the far side of Culture Shock, wearing a black UnID logo tee, sipping miso and looking at her intouch®. I weaved my way around the tables, trying not to spill my Poke® cola.
“Hey!” I said, sitting down a few seats away from Ari. “I thought you were dead. Or lost your intouch® or something. Did you hear what happened to Mikey?”
Ari didn’t answer. She poked her sushi with sticks, and turned away from me to say something to Rocket. I saw that she had drawn the •-• across her wrist.
They were deep in conversation, I nibbled a fry. I looked around at the other Craftsters. They kept chirping like I wasn’t there, which was kinda normal. They didn’t ever pay much attention to me. But something was weird. There was something forced about their inattention. Even though no one was looking at me, they were more aware of me than ever before.
I stared at Ari, hoping that if I looked at her hard enough, she would look at me. Look at me.
“Look at me!” I burst out. Some kids from the other table glanced my direction and snorted. But the Craftsters stared at their plates, at spaces over my head. And Ari. She dipped a sushi roll in soy sauce and popped it in her mouth, her violet eyes never once meeting mine.
It wasn’t hard to decode this behavior. I had been dropped.
So Ari wanted to play one of those girlie-games. Start a relationship war. What did I do for her to just put me on her “no empathy” list?
“This is effed up, Ari,” I said, getting up and walking away.
I made my way up to the Studio on the fourth floor. I needed to listen to something, to drown out the intense silence I felt from people who I’d thought were my friends. Ari and the other Craftsters had blocked me from their streams, that’s why my intouch® had been so dead.
Being in the Studio didn’t make me feel better, though. I tried working on the “Last Laugh” track, but I couldn’t stop thinking of Anica and Murdoch listening in, thinking up ways to use the music.
I got to the sample I recorded of Mikey laughing. It was his fake laugh at first, the one he did when he was fooling around. But I let the track play and listened to our conversation and heard my laugh. My real laugh. It felt so far away from how I felt right now. Why wouldn’t Ari talk to me?
I turned it off and loaded another song. The track where Mikey played the bird-wing drum beat. I worked out a simple melody on the keyboard. I leaned close to the mic and whispered:
I blow dandelion puffs into your yard
Every day on my way home
So that you’ll remember me.
The Studio was the loneliest place in the Game without Mikey. I saved changes to A Little Bird Told Me, and got my stuff together to log out before I started to cry again.
My intouch® buzzed. I hated myself for hoping it was Ari, but I did.
It wasn’t her.
#pro_harrison: my office, ms. dade. @KID
“Hey,” Jeremy called out to me. “Harrison’s looking for you. Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”
“I didn’t…I just got his message.” I was holding on to my intouch®. “What’s going on?”
“I’d guess Protecht wants to know about your new friend.” He held up his intouch® screen to me. There was a low-res image on the display, but the
picture was plain to see.
It was me standing uncomfortably close to my Unidentified e-pal at the park last Saturday.
31 PASSWORD PROTECTED
“Where did you get that?” I whispered to Swift as we navigated the back hall of headquarters. “Have you been following me?”
“Not me,” he said, taking my arm, not like a friend or a date, but like he was escorting me somewhere for questioning. “It was sent to me by someone who was ‘concerned’ that you were cheat-coding on me.”
But no one knew I had gone to the city that day. Elle’s Alibi had hidden my coordinates, and the coordinates were in my private messages. No one could’ve seen them without my password…
“Yeah, your friend Aria sure is considerate.”
Would Ari do something like that? Use my password to read my messages and then go to the coordinates to see who I was meeting?
She would, and did. Then sent the picture to Jeremy.
Harrison was stone-faced when we entered his office.
“What did I tell you about your passwords, Ms. Dade?” Harrison said quietly. “Do you know what it looks like to have the Network page of one of our very own agents compromised?” The vein in his neck reminded me of the stress meter in Jeremy’s Buy, Sell & Destroy game. It was throbbing purple.
“In light of the recent incident at the War Game, a Ms. Knowland felt it her duty to keep us updated on suspicious behavior she noticed on your Network page. She’s a friend of yours, I take it?”
My eyes started to sting, hurt and embarrassed tears, like red ants itching their way down my cheeks. I had trusted Ari with everything, including my password. I wanted to change my account settings immediately, to hide, to not feel this stupid and vulnerable.
“Who is he?” Harrison pointed to the picture.
“I don’t know.”
“This is the anonymous person you’ve been corresponding with, and you agreed to meet. What’s his name?”