Chat Room
Kristin Butcher
orca currents
Copyright © Kristin Butcher 2006
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Butcher, Kristin
Chat room / Kristin Butcher.
(Orca currents)
ISBN 1-55143-529-2 (bound) ISBN 1-55143-485-7 (pbk.)
I. Title. II. Series.
PS8553.U6972C43 2006 jC813’.54 C2006-900469-2
Summary: Is Linda the victim of mistaken identity?
First published in the United States, 2006
Library of Congress Control Number: 2006921144
Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP), the Canada Council for the Arts, and the British Columbia Arts Council.
Cover design: Lynn O’Rourke
Cover photography: Getty Images
Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers
PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468
Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA
8R 6S4 98240-0468
www.orcabook.com
Printed and bound in Canada
Printed on 50% post-consumer recycled paper,
processed chlorine free using vegetable, low VOC inks.
09 08 07 06 5 4 3 2 1
For Donna,
who understands the most important
part of chatting is listening.
chapter one
Back in elementary school, assemblies meant sitting on the floor. In high school things are different. Because we’re older now, we sit in actual chairs—at least that’s the theory. If you’re one of the first people into the gym, the system works fine. But I always arrive after every seat’s been taken. If there’s not a person sitting in it, it’s being saved for someone. Basically, it’s a school-wide version of musical chairs, and I’ve always sucked at that game.
Take Friday’s assembly. The gym was packed as usual, but for once it looked like I was going to get lucky. There was an empty seat at the end of the third row. I would have preferred something a little farther back, but it was that or nothing. So I grabbed it.
Unfortunately Janice saw me and started waving from the middle of the row. I wanted to pretend I didn’t see her, but I knew if I did she’d unleash that bullhorn voice of hers, and in two seconds I’d have every kid in school staring at me. So I bumped my way through the line of knees separating us and shriveled into the seat beside her.
“What class are you missing?” Whispering wasn’t a skill Janice had ever learned, and, even though everyone around us was talking, her voice drowned them out.
“Math,” I said, shrinking a little deeper into my chair. I intentionally avoided asking her what she was missing, but that didn’t stop Janice.
“It’s biology for me. Thank God! If I had to miss band I’d be ticked, but I can definitely do without forty minutes of Bio-Bernstein droning on about reproduction. What have they dragged us in here for anyway?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. The gym riot maybe? There are posters about it up all over school.” I nodded toward a group of students huddled around the microphone. “It looks like student council’s running the assembly, so I bet that’s what it is.”
Janice rolled her eyes and flopped back in her chair. “Oh, joy! Just what we need —another chance for Wellington High’s favored few to show off.”
I wasn’t sure if Janice was referring to the gym riot or student council running the assembly. Probably both. She was against everything social.
Janice Beastly was queen of the grumps. Her real name was Beasley, but she was so negative and in-your-face that everybody called her Beastly. It didn’t help that she was built like a wrestler with a voice to match. She didn’t have a lot of friends. None, actually, unless you counted me.
Even that was only friendship by default. I didn’t like Janice any more than anyone else did, but when she showed up at the start of grade nine, she adopted me. And since her locker was right beside mine, I was stuck.
Maybe I should have been grateful, because except for Janice, I don’t have many friends either. Not that people hate me. At least I don’t think they do. I’m just not part of any crowd.
The microphone squealed.
“Sorry about that,” said the boy standing in front of it. It was Marc Solomon, student council president and one of the most popular guys in school. He grinned. “But now that I have your attention, let’s get this party started. The first thing on today’s agenda is the big gym riot coming up next Friday.”
Behind him the student council started clapping and cheering, and in a matter of seconds the audience joined in.
Marc leaned into the mic. “That’s the spirit, Wellington!”
“Oh, spare me,” Janice muttered.
Marc held up his hands for quiet. “As always, the riot’s going to be a blast, and this year we’ve added a whole bunch of new events like tricycle basketball, egg toss and a chain-gang relay.”
“What’s that?” someone hollered.
Marc grinned again. “I’ll get to that. That and all the other details.” He turned and gestured toward a pretty blond girl standing behind him. She smiled and waved. “Thanks to our student council vice-president, the teachers have agreed to give us gym riot planning time,” he paused, “last period this afternoon.”
“Hey, that’s my band class!” Janice protested, but her complaint was lost in the roar that erupted around us.
When it got quiet again, Marc motioned for a boy in the front row to join him at the microphone. Hesitantly, the kid stood up. It was Chad Sharp. I recognized him from French class.
“Right now, though, I want to tell you about a totally new and exciting feature that’s just been added to the school’s website.” Marc clapped Chad on the back. “And this guy here is the mastermind behind it. For those of you who don’t know him, let me introduce Chad Sharp.”
There was a bit of applause, and Chad’s cheeks went red. I felt sorry for him. If I had to stand up in front of a thousand kids, I’d probably die.
Marc gestured for Chad to take over the mic, but Chad shook his head.
“A man of big ideas, but few words,” Marc said, resuming his spot in front of the microphone. “But that’s okay. The important thing is that thanks to Chad and the parent council, we now have a chat room on our school website.”
An instant buzz spread through the gym.
“You heard right.” Marc nodded. “A chat room. Actually, it’s lots of chat rooms. There’s something for everybody. If you want to compare notes about movies or music or the newest fads, you can visit The Hot Spot. For you athletic types, there’s a sports chat room. Want to talk about the stuff going on at school? Go to the Wellington Room. If you just need to let off steam, there’s a chat room for that too. There’s even a Homework Help chat room.”
Excited pockets of chatter sprang up around the gym, and it took Marc a good minute to get everyone quiet again.
“There will be some rules, of course,” he said. “This could be a really good thing, so we don’t want anybody messing it up.”
“What kind of rules?” someone asked.
“Well, for starters, only Wellington students will have access. Secondly, when you enter a chat room you have to use a nickname. And thirdly, you can’t gross out or talk about other students.”
A
hand went up. “If your identity is secret, how will anyone know if you’re breaking the rules?”
“Good question,” Marc said. “The office will monitor the chat rooms. When you log on, you’ll exchange your student number and e-mail address for a nickname. No one will have access to your personal information except the site administrator—a.k.a. Mr. Barnes in computer science. To everyone online, you’ll be anonymous. But if you break the rules, the office will track you down and you’ll be toast. Any other questions?”
Hands shot up all over the place.
“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Janice grumbled, making it impossible for me to hear the questions and answers. Even a glare from the girl in front of Janice didn’t shut her up. “I can’t believe the principal is going along with this lame idea. Chat rooms are nothing but hangouts for perverts. Anybody who visits them is asking for trouble.”
chapter two
“You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”
I shrugged, feeling defensive. Janice was getting to me. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Yes, you have. You just don’t want to admit it.” She shook her head in disgust. She probably would have stalked off if she could have. We were penned in by kids exiting the gym so she simply looked away.
“Why are you so against it?”
That was the wrong thing to say. Janice was in my face before I even finished the sentence.
“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
“You don’t have to yell.”
“Apparently I do!” she retorted at full volume, drawing dirty looks from several people. “Chat rooms are for sickos. Perverts, voyeurs, psychos—that’s who hangs out in them.”
“Shhhh,” I growled back. Then through clenched teeth I added, “You’re exaggerating.”
But Janice didn’t get the message. She ripped into me again, louder than ever. “That just shows how much you know. Or should I say how much you don’t know? While you gullible little innocents are blabbing your faces off online, the crazies lurk in the background, taking it all in. Then when you least expect it, they pounce, and it’s lambs to the slaughter.”
I shook my head. “It isn’t that kind of chat room. It’s on the school’s website! Jeez. Do you really think the teachers and the parent council would give it the okay if it wasn’t perfectly safe? You heard Marc Solomon. It’s only open to Wellington students.”
Janice let out a huge snort. “So flippin’ what? You think there are no perverts at this school? Get real, Linda. Look around!”
“Yeah, like right beside you,” a guy behind us sneered. “They don’t come any more perverted than Beastly.”
Right away Janice whirled on the guy, and I had to do a quick sidestep to keep from becoming a sandwich.
“How would you like your face rearranged?” she snarled, puffing up with anger.
Janice is a pretty big girl, but the guy didn’t even flinch. In fact, he smiled. “You might want to look in the mirror, Beastly,” he drawled. “Seems to me you’re the one whose face could use some rearranging.”
Encouraged by the grins and snickers of the kids around us, he added, “Have you ever considered plastic surgery? Or a paper bag maybe?”
Instant laughter from the crowd. Instant blood boil from Janice. She lunged at the guy, but he was ready for her.
If you ask me, he was hoping she’d attack him. Janice’s short fuse isn’t exactly a secret, and with the way he was baiting her, he had to know it was just a matter of time before she lost her cool.
He didn’t actually hit her. It was more like she ran into his hand—at least that’s what everybody told the teacher who came to break things up. But I’m not so sure. Seems to me the guy’s fist had to have had some force behind it to make Janice double over the way she did. It served him right when she barfed all over his shoes.
On the bright side, Janice and I suddenly had a clear path out of the gym. I wasn’t crazy about being in the spotlight—it was kind of like riding on the main float of the Santa Claus parade. But, since Janice’s aroma had people holding their noses and turning away, I hoped they wouldn’t notice me trailing behind.
“Are you okay?” I asked, standing uselessly beside her in the washroom while she splashed water on her face and the floor.
“Yeah. I’m just dandy,” she retorted sarcastically. “I love throwing up at this time of day. It gives me more room for lunch.”
I didn’t say anything. Even though Janice had sort of brought the situation on herself, I felt a little sorry for her. Guys aren’t supposed to hit girls. It’s an unwritten rule. Janice might not look like your usual girl and she certainly didn’t act like your usual girl. That didn’t mean she didn’t feel like a girl inside.
“The guy is a jerk,” she muttered. “Exactly the type of moron you’re going to hook up with in a chat room.” Then she wiped her face with a paper towel and stalked out of the washroom.
I have to admit I didn’t completely disagree with her. I had my doubts about chat rooms too. I’d never visited one, so I didn’t have any firsthand knowledge, but I’d heard a lot of horror stories. Computers getting hacked or infected with viruses. Kids getting sucked into cults. Some of the stuff was pretty scary.
But I wasn’t going to admit that to Janice. She’d just think she’d talked some sense into me and let me know it with a great big I told you so. Well, thanks but no thanks. Janice Beasley could be as pushy as she liked; I was not going to let her do my thinking for me. I might visit the school’s chat room or I might not. I hadn’t decided yet. But that was the whole point. It was my decision.
I’m not really a big computer person. I have an e-mail address, but, except for the occasional joke from my cousin in California, the only messages I get are advertisements for pre-approved mortgages and cheap meds. I use the Internet if I need to research an assignment for school, but that’s pretty much it.
That night though, I sat down at the computer right after supper. I still hadn’t decided about the chat room, but I was tossing the pros and cons around in my head.
While I thought about it, I decided to check my e-mail. There were three new messages. The first was from the president of some war-torn African country. He wanted me to look after his money for him. I was flattered that he put so much trust in me considering we’d never even met. But I didn’t need the responsibility. Delete. The second e-mail was from a lottery, notifying me that I’d just won two million dollars. It was a nice thought, but I’d won that lottery before, and I still hadn’t received the money. Delete.
The third message was from Janice. All it said was “Don’t be an idiot.”
I sighed and shook my head. I should have known Janice wasn’t finished ragging on me. She was just trying a different approach. I could almost see the determination on her face as she pounded the computer keys.
Well, too bad. I could be stubborn too.
Delete.
“B-bye, Janice.” I smiled as the message vanished into cyberspace. Then without a second’s hesitation, I clicked on Google and typed Wellington High School home page into the search window.
chapter three
Right away a photograph of the school popped up onto the screen. It was Wellington High all right, but not really. The orange brick walls climbed two stories just like always, but they were missing their usual graffiti. At the main entrance there were flowers instead of cigarette butts. The silver flagpole out front was the same, but the normally limp Canadian flag at the top looked like it had been starched. It was snapping in the breeze against a brilliant blue sky.
The picture was so perfect it could have been a postcard. I imagined myself filling out the back and sending it to my cousin. “Having a wonderful time—wish you were here.”
It suddenly struck me that in all the months I’d been at Wellington, I’d never visited the school’s website—not even once. So I spent the next few minutes checking out what was there.
It was pretty basic. There was
a history of the school, a map of the building, a code of behavior, a calendar of events and a staff directory complete with e-mail addresses.
There was a link to the school board office and even a page where teachers could post assignments. Yeah right, like kids were going to check to see if they had homework.
Right below the photograph of the school, there was an icon that looked like a big sun. It was pulsing red and yellow, and in the middle of it, also pulsing, were bold, black letters that said New!! Student Forum.
I started to snigger. Student forum? It sounded so intellectual. Was the fancy title supposed to improve the quality of online chats or was it meant to pacify parents?
I clicked on the link, and the screen changed into a big rectangle divided into about sixteen cells of pictures— photographs of kids doing all kinds of school activities. I didn’t recognize anyone in the pictures. That’s because they weren’t actually Wellington students. They were models pretending to be students. One by one, the pictures started to flip, until they were totally gone and replaced with the heading, Wellington High School—Student Forum.
Below the heading, in the bottom right-hand corner, were three subheadings— Rules, Registering and Forums.
Holding my breath, I clicked on the Forums link.
I don’t know what I expected—maybe sirens and a flashing screen notifying the world that I was on the page—but of course that didn’t happen. No one knew I was there. How could they know? I hadn’t registered. And as long as I didn’t, I was anonymous. I started to breathe again.
There were cartoon icons for each chat room and a menu that showed who was logged on. Nervously, I pulled down the menu for the Homework Help room. If my computer left some kind of electronic trail, at least my parents would be impressed with my wholesome choice. There were just three kids inside—Dash, Henny and Plato.
Chat Room Page 1