He took off without looking back. I stood there awkwardly with Frankie, not sure what to say.
She studied me. “I really can help, Angel. I think it’s nice that you’re trying to help Mr. Matthews. You’re a good person. I’ll see you later.”
I should have said something—corrected her impression of me or apologized for trying to freeze her out—but instead, I said nothing.
She strode off, her socks still mismatched in height. I almost yelled at her to fix them, but I managed to restrain myself. I was still a bit surprised how easily I’d let myself be maneuvered into being on a homecoming committee and in charge of a trio of kids trying to save their vice principal.
I just hoped everyone understood this was a onetime deal. I preferred to work alone, and this arrangement wasn’t going to change that.
Ever.
Chapter Twelve
ANGEL SINCLAIR
Everyone at school was talking about Mr. Matthews’s accident. After Headmistress Swanson’s morning announcement, telling the students in the most generic way possible what had happened, his name was spoken constantly. It was in the whispers and murmurs of conversation as I walked down the hallway, between students at lunch, and in classrooms before the lessons started. The only silver lining was that Mr. Matthews’s accident overshadowed everything else, including my spectacular self-knockout.
Once again, I owed him.
I headed toward my next class, a cybersecurity course called Red Teaming and Security II. Piper, Brandon, and Wally were in my class along with one other student, Wen Hai Chan. It was advanced material.
It was my favorite class.
Mr. Franklin was our teacher. He was about thirty years old and cool. He’d studied computer science and technology at Virginia Tech. Unlike the other computer science teachers I’d had, he was plugged in to what was new and interesting in the field. He challenged us and didn’t seem to mind if sometimes we knew more than he did.
I sat next to Piper, and she gave me a fist bump. She was the daughter of the Irish ambassador to the US and she, along with Lexi, Brandon, and Wally, had played a critical role last year in saving our high school from terrorists who had tried to take it over. Until recently, I had considered Piper my closest friend at school, even though we’d never really done anything together other than intern at X-Corp. After the past day of interaction with Frankie and Wally, I began to see the difference between an acquaintance and a friend. I wasn’t sure what it meant in the scope of things, but I’d started mentally collecting data.
After we were all seated, Mr. Franklin told us to close our books and pull out our notebooks.
“Today I’m going to throw the curriculum to the wind and introduce a new subject that has recently been in the news and that I personally find fascinating. I’m talking about the role of AI, or artificial intelligence, in cybersecurity.”
The classroom fell silent. All five of us were riveted on his every word, just as he knew we would be.
Mr. Franklin smiled as he started walking and speaking. “Some of you may be aware that several new advances in the field have more tightly intertwined artificial intelligence and computer security. Some people refer to this growing phenomenon as machine learning. Have any of you heard that phrase before?”
I immediately raised my hand. “From what I’ve read, machine learning is similar to how our brains operate in terms of memory recall and knowledge storage. The artificial intelligence of, say, a computer has the same ability as a human brain. It can learn from data and improve function over time. Or to put it simpler, it can get smarter.”
Mr. Franklin nodded in approval. “Yes, Angel, that’s an excellent explanation. Now, how does that tie into cybersecurity?”
While I was thinking, Piper raised her hand, and Mr. Franklin called on her. “I suppose it could be useful if those of us working in cybersecurity could train artificial intelligence systems to detect threats,” she offered.
“Excellent, Piper.” Mr. Franklin beamed. “But how would that work?”
We all considered the question for a moment. It was so quiet that I could hear the tick of the clock as we tried to figure out the answer.
“If AI systems could detect irregularities that were actual threats, they might be able to weed out the regular irregularities,” Wally suggested. “It would be a start, anyway.”
“Yeah, I see where you are going with that,” Wen Hai added. “If you could train an army of AI systems, you could eliminate the need for humans and still have more brains working to protect critical information. More brains equals more protection. At least that’s the theory, right?”
“Right. That’s the theory. But now that’s becoming a reality. It just so happens a couple of cyberscientists working with an AI group in Paris have made interesting advances into this exact field. Gustav Monteray and Omar Haider, the two leading experts in this field, have said it should soon be possible for AI systems to replace dozens of humans who are monitoring networks and firewalls.”
“Computers replacing humans?” Brandon scoffed. “Didn’t I already see a movie or six about this? Look how well that turned out.”
Piper smacked him on the shoulder as Brandon grinned and gave Mr. Franklin an innocent look.
“Mr. Franklin, are you saying we’re going to be out of a job in a couple of years?” Wally asked.
“I think your jobs will be safe for the time being,” Mr. Franklin replied. “The problem the scientists and bioengineers are having is that so far AI is unable to accurately utilize situational and environmental awareness as well as humans can. Since cyberthreats change and evolve so quickly, it’s hard for the AI to assess the right course of action based only on established methods.”
“No gut feeling,” I murmured.
“What’s that, Angel?” Mr. Franklin asked me.
I considered the best way to explain my thinking. “Well, an AI system isn’t going to get a gut feeling. I’ve found that sometimes the best hacks can happen when you go with a gut feeling. It’s like being able to put yourself in your opponent’s shoes and figure out that if it were you, what would you do next? Then, of course, you have to apply a Red Team strategy to make sure you aren’t doing what your opponent actually wants you to do.”
Everyone was looking at me, wide-eyed. Wally’s right eye twitched nervously. I backpedaled quickly. “I’m, ah, speaking hypothetically, of course. Not that I’ve hacked…much…or anything.”
I could tell by the way Mr. Franklin was looking at me he knew better, but at least he didn’t push me on it.
“Man, you guys realize where we’re headed with this, right?” Wally’s eyes lit up excitedly. “AI systems will be hacking our brains. And we think we are so smart.”
“That’s crazy,” Brandon scoffed. “It’s not going to happen. Regardless of the advances, AI is not organic like a brain.”
“No, it’s better,” Piper said. “The gut feeling may be missing, but the processing capability would, by far, make up for that, in my opinion. Research indicates the human brain is capable of juggling about three to five variables at any given time while deciding. AI can account for hundreds of variables at the same time and then process them in a span of mere seconds. It’s tough to beat that, even without a gut feeling.”
Mr. Franklin seemed happy with our discussion as he perched on the corner of his desk and listened to our theories. We went on for a bit more until we started getting out there and Mr. Franklin stopped us.
“The reason I brought this up is that there is a meeting on this very topic coming up in Washington, so I thought it an interesting subject to bring to your attention,” he said. “All of this means your homework for the next couple days is to learn more about it, read about the conference and what the scientists are trying to accomplish. We’ll discuss it further in class.”
We spent the rest of the class working out of our textbook, but my mind wandered back to Mr. Matthews and how he was doing. I was still thinking about him as I wal
ked toward AP Chemistry. Chemistry was way too easy for me, but that was cool. I could do the minimum and still pass with an A. Just the way I liked it.
Someone stepped into my way shortly before I was about to enter the classroom. I looked up at Mary Herman. Oh, for crying out loud. Could I never escape her?
“How’s your forehead?” she asked and snickered.
The bump had hardly crossed my mind all day, thank goodness. But the shame hadn’t, and apparently Mary wasn’t going to let me forget it.
“I’m good. Thanks for asking.” I tried to move past her, but she blocked me.
“I heard you almost got smashed by some bleachers. Sorry they missed you. Now they’ve closed the gym until they inspect all of them. We’ve got to go to another school for swim practice. Way to go, loser.”
“I’m the loser?” I should have kept my mouth shut, but the heat crept up my neck to my face. “People could have died, and you’re upset because you’re inconvenienced? You’re the loser.”
A teacher walked by, giving us an interested look—probably because of my raised voice—so I slipped past Mary while she was looking. I walked into class, tossed my backpack under an empty table, and perched on a lab stool. A glance out the window indicated it was a sunny, pretty day. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cheer me up. I was mad at Mary and stressed out about Mr. Matthews, fighting for his life.
“Anyone sitting here?”
I looked up as Colt McCarrell slid onto the stool next to me.
For a smart girl, it was baffling how quickly I lost the ability to form coherent thought. “As in the chair next to me?” I blurted out.
He smiled. “That would be the one.”
“No one is sitting there. Go ahead. If you’re sure…you know, you want to sit there and nowhere else.” I glanced over my shoulder. There were plenty of empty stools left, including one next to Patty Trent, one of the prettiest girls in school. She looked disappointed when Colt shrugged out of his backpack and pulled out his book, notebook, and a few pencils, putting them on the table.
My face heated as kids behind us started whispering. I knew they were gossiping about me. Why would the most popular guy in school want to sit next to me when he had a lot of better options? I didn’t know if Colt could hear them or not, but he didn’t seem worried or concerned about it. His athletic frame filled up his half of the table. He had large hands and long fingers, excellent for football and pitching, I supposed.
I tried to ignore him and tried to sit on the very edge of my stool, as close to the window as possible, so I didn’t invade his space in any way.
He leaned over toward me, lowering his voice. “Hey, Angel, what do you think happened to Mr. Matthews?”
“I’m not sure…yet.”
“He’s a good guy. My dad is friends with him. Do you think he’ll be okay?”
I wasn’t sure how much he knew, especially since Headmistress Swanson hadn’t given students much insight during her announcement today—she’d left out the fact that he was under criminal investigation. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
Colt looked at me, and I mean really looked at me. “I hope so, too, Angel, because this school needs him.”
Chapter Thirteen
ANGEL SINCLAIR
Any further conversation was interrupted by the start of class. Unfortunately, Colt and I didn’t have another chance to talk. As soon as the bell rang, Sam Garrison started talking to him about football practice. No way was I waiting around like some kind of groupie, so I slipped toward the locker room for PE and my last class of the day.
Somehow I survived PE, even with Mary glaring at me every chance she had. We played softball again—God forbid. Mrs. Roy hovered, which made me nervous, and Frankie, apparently thinking I needed to be distracted from my nervousness, didn’t stop talking for the entire hour. It got so bad I had visions of duct-taping her mouth shut. By the end of class—during which I thankfully hadn’t had to bat—my head hurt. It wasn’t from my injury.
As soon class was over, Frankie and I changed out of our gym clothes. I still hadn’t figured out a way to apologize for my insistence she not come with us, so I did what any self-respecting introvert would do—I ignored the issue.
Together we hurried to the parking lot, where we found Wally waiting for us next to a beat-up gray Honda.
“This is your car?” Frankie glanced over the hood and windows.
“What?” Wally shrugged. “You were expecting a Lamborghini?”
“That would be nice.”
I elbowed Frankie in the side, and she glared at me. “Just kidding. It’s a great car, Wally. Really. Loads of character.”
“Yeah, loads,” I agreed with too much enthusiasm. “Let’s go.”
Wally held open the passenger door on the driver’s side. “Okay, who goes in the back and who goes next to me? Don’t fight over me, ladies.”
“I’ll get in the back.” Frankie slid in quickly before I could protest. “Angel can navigate. I’m terrible with directions.”
“I could navigate fine from the back seat,” I grumbled. But since she was already buckled in, there was no sense in arguing. I walked around to the passenger seat and got in. The car was clean inside. Worn, but functional.
I gave Wally the address for the hospital, and he punched it in on his phone’s GPS before turning the key in the ignition. I ran my hand over the leather armrest. “The car is in good shape, Wally.”
“Yeah. I take care of her. I paid for this baby after working for two summers.” Wally backed up and pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ve got some history.”
“I’m impressed.” I’d always had a difficult time saving money. I typically sank it into my computer and/or the latest software.
Frankie leaned forward between the seats. “What are you guys thinking in terms of Mr. Matthews? Do you think he has a secret that caused him to go all psycho?”
I thought about the bleacher mechanism rolling up on his foot and the way he hadn’t even flinched. I had a feeling Frankie was thinking the same thing. Mr. Matthews had a secret, all right, but what was it?
“Going psycho doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Even if Mr. Matthews had a secret or was despondent over something, he’d never hurt anyone else. He’s not that kind of person.”
“Agreed,” Wally said without hesitation.
“But what if he’s taking medication or something?” Frankie persisted. “Sometimes drugs, even prescribed ones, can make people do weird things.”
Wally and I fell silent, because she had a point. If he were strung out on drugs, it might account for the fact that he didn’t feel the pain in his foot when the bleacher rolled on top of it. But it didn’t add up. Not that I was an expert on drugs, but his eyes and expression had been clear and sharp. He certainly hadn’t seemed strung out when he’d been talking to my mom and me. Still, I couldn’t be sure, which was why we were going to try to talk to him.
“I do know he’s not married and he doesn’t have a girlfriend,” Frankie offered.
I twisted around in my seat. “Really? How do you know that?”
“Headmistress Swanson said so when my mom asked if she was going to call Mr. Matthews’s wife.”
“Is he divorced? Have kids?” Wally asked. “Family?”
“I don’t know,” Frankie said, lifting her hands. “The conversation didn’t go that far. Do you know, Angel?”
I didn’t. It suddenly occurred to me how sad it would be if Mr. Matthews didn’t have anyone to visit him in the hospital, even though Headmistress Swanson said she’d been there last night. I mean, having a visit from your boss was okay, but I don’t think it was the warm, fuzzy kind of visitor that made people get well faster. While we weren’t Mr. Matthews’s family, exactly, we were still his students. Maybe that was the next best thing to a family. I was glad we were going.
We reached the hospital seventeen minutes later and drove around for another five until a spot opened in the underground parking lot. We climbe
d out of the car and headed for the elevator. After we wandered around for a bit, a nice orderly directed us to a nurses’ station. The nurse located Mr. Matthews’s room for us.
“He’s in the intensive care unit,” the nurse told us. “Are you family?”
Before anyone could answer, I piped up. “I’m his niece.”
She studied me for a moment and then looked at Frankie and Wally. “And they are…?”
“My friends.”
She looked at our school uniforms.
“We go to Excalibur Academy High School,” I offered.
“Nice school. Do you have any ID?”
“Will a student ID work?”
She nodded, so I handed mine over, and she typed some information into her computer. Finally, she stood and motioned for us to follow. We took the elevator up a couple floors, and she led us to a waiting room with plastic chairs and the smell of bad coffee permeating the air. A middle-aged woman knitting was the only person in the room.
“Wait here,” the nurse instructed and disappeared.
Wally wandered over to the vending machine, and Frankie went to the bathroom. I sat in the corner, as far away as I could get from the woman who was knitting. I had no desire for small talk.
“Hello, young lady,” she said anyway.
Crap.
“Uh, hi.”
“How are you?”
I was in a hospital, which should have been a clue as to how my day was going, but all I said was, “I’m okay.”
She didn’t respond. Maybe I had handled that badly. Remembering Gwen’s advice to be nice, I tried again. “That’s a cool hat you’re making.”
“Thank you. It’s for my fourth grandson. He’s due in two weeks.” Her knitting needles clicked so quickly, I could barely figure out what she was doing. “What brings you to the intensive care?”
“I’m here to see my…ah, uncle. He was in an accident.” I started to rise and join Frankie in the bathroom. No offense to her, but talking to strangers—well, anyone—was not my thing.
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