Boy Nobody

by Allen Zadoff

  I end the call.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  “I KNEW YOU’D COME,” HOWARD SAYS.

  I stand in his bedroom doorway.

  The apartment is empty, his parents gone. That will only make my job easier.

  On the desk monitors behind him, windows are open to dozens of different news sources. Sam’s death and the aftermath from every angle and perspective.

  “Were you there when Sam…

  His voice trails off.

  “I didn’t see her,” I lie. “But I know she didn’t suffer.”

  That part is the truth.

  Howard starts to cry. “Did I have anything to do with it?”

  “You tried to prevent it. We both did.”

  “Is that what we were doing?”

  “Yes.”

  That seems to calm him.

  “She was always nice to me,” he says.

  “She wasn’t who she seemed to be,” I say.

  “Are any of us?”

  The monitors behind him go to screen saver. Goji’s avatar floats in a starry sky, her eyes massive and glowing bright. Her face travels on a journey from one monitor to the next.

  Howard says, “Some columnist at the Daily News said the mayor should run for president in the next election. Can you believe it? They’re already using this for politics.”

  “I imagine there will be a lot of that in the days to come.”

  Howard sniffles, wiping his nose with his sleeve. After a minute, he pulls himself together.

  “I want to show you something,” he says. “I did some more work for you.”

  He flicks the mouse, and one of his screens turns on. Long lists of numbers that I can’t understand.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “When I was working for you, I kept running across trails. Everywhere I went—the blog, the mayor’s schedule—someone had already been there.”

  “The Israelis were involved. Was it them?”

  “I don’t think so. These were hackers. This one kid in particular. Infinite is his name.”

  “Infinite?”

  “That’s his handle. Infinite L∞P. With an infinity sign instead of letters, like that means something.”

  “How do you know about him?”

  “He’s a twelve-year-old dickwad, that’s how. He thinks he’s a genius, and I can’t totally disagree with him, given the things he can do. But he’s arrogant, so he doesn’t clean up after himself. There’s a vapor trail that I followed to Spotify. He listens to Katy Perry. Does that sound like a genius to you?”

  “You’re saying there’s a little kid who’s a hacker?”

  “Not just one. A whole bunch of them, all in different cities. I thought you’d know about them. Because of your job.”

  “I don’t know.”

  But maybe The Program does. I imagine kids implanted all over the country, doing the tech work for The Program while I do the wet work.

  “So you’ve been looking around online,” I say.

  “I was trying to help you,” he says.

  There are seven steps between us. I use two of them.

  “I covered my tracks,” Howard says, fear creeping into his voice.

  “You did your best. I’m not saying you didn’t.”

  I take another step.

  “I know I’m a loose end,” he says.

  A loose end. He’s right. That’s why I’ve come. To clean up loose ends.

  I take another step toward him. He lowers his head and stares at the ground.

  “Kill me if you want,” he says. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

  “I don’t want to kill you,” I say.

  The problem is Mother.

  My rebellion was tolerated, at least for the time being. But she knows only part of it. It’s one thing to breach protocol myself, but if she knew I’d potentially revealed The Program to an outsider—

  I don’t want to kill Howard, but I can’t leave any evidence.

  Howard is evidence. Even though we’ve maintained anonymity to this point, there’s no telling what will happen going forward.

  Howard might not be able to keep his mouth shut. He’ll brag to someone at school. He’ll tell Goji. And he can link me back to the mayor and Sam.

  Kill only when necessary. This is my training.

  I’ve thought it through and decided that Howard is a risk I cannot take.

  It will look like suicide.

  Howard was obsessed with Sam. Everyone in school knew it. He’s mentally unstable, with medical records that prove as much.

  People will say that Sam’s death sent Howard over the edge. The biggest loser in school lost his secret crush, and the grief was too much for him.

  The pieces of the story are already in place. I need only to write the ending.

  “Could I send a good-bye e-mail to Goji?” Howard says. “At least you can give me that before you do it.”

  “Stop saying that, Howard.”

  I look at him squeezed into the corner of his room. It seems he’s always in a corner. Corner of his room, corner of the cafeteria, corner of the hall.

  In a corner being hit. The story of Howard’s life.

  No matter now.

  I can’t take him with me, and I can’t leave him here knowing what he knows.

  But what if I could use him in some way? What if his skills could still be helpful to me?

  There’s always a choice. That’s what Sam said.

  Which means I can choose differently.

  “You found the hackers,” I say.

  “Yes.”

  “Could you find out who they work for?”

  “Very possible,” Howard says.

  Could you find The Program?

  That’s the real question.

  I sit on the edge of Howard’s bed. It’s the only part not covered in dirty clothes.

  “What’s happening?” Howard says.

  Choices.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” I say.

  “You mean you’re going to take me with you?”

  “I can’t do that. But I have another idea for how we can work together.”

  “Like what?” he says, getting excited.

  “Go back to school, go back to your life, but it’s not your life anymore. It’s your cover story. Because you’re working for me now.”

  “Like a spy,” he says.

  “That’s right. And if you have problems in school—”

  “They’re not really problems. They’re part of my cover story.”

  “You got it,” I say.

  “This is incredible, Ben.”

  “We’ll put a system in place. Encoded communications. You may not hear from me for long periods of time.”

  “I understand.”

  “Then I’ll call on you. For your expertise.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Howard, you have to cover your tracks.”

  “Triple and quadruple cover,” he says.

  “Not like—what’s his name?”

  “Infinite L∞P. No. I’m better than him.”

  “It’s not about better or worse. It’s about what happens if you get found out. What happens to both of us.”

  He nods. “I understand the risks.”

  “Okay, then,” I say. “You’ve got yourself a job.”

  He rushes over to the bed and throws his arms around me tightly.

  “We won’t be doing that,” I say.

  “Just one hug,” he says. “Then it’s all professional from here on out.”

  He finishes the hug, then steps back, a smile on his face.

  “Thank you, Ben. Thanks for giving me a chance.”

  He watches Goji’s face float on his computer monitor. He reaches out and touches the screen.

  “Thanks for both of us,” he says.

  I glance at the screen. “She can’t know anything,” I say.

  “Never,” he says.

  I step toward the door.

  “Wh
at will you do now?” he says.

  I look at my watch.

  “Time for school,” I say. “It’s my last day.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  CLASSES HAVE BEEN CANCELED, BUT SCHOOL IS OPEN.

  There are counselors in the gym to assist us. There are clergy in the cafeteria to pray with us. There are teachers everywhere to support us.

  Not us.

  Them.

  Students wander the halls, clumping in small groups. Those who knew Sam are falling apart. Those who didn’t know her pretend to be.

  I pass by Sam’s locker. The floor is strewn with flowers, candles, and photos. Cards are tucked into bouquets, propped up on the floor, taped onto the locker itself.

  Darius stands against the wall keeping silent vigil.

  I clear my throat. He notices me standing there.

  “I tried to protect her,” he says. “You know I did.”

  I nod.

  He says, “You want to know the part that really gets me? I never told her how I felt about her.”

  He kicks at an empty locker, his face a mask of pain.

  “She knew,” I say.

  He looks up. “How can you be sure?”

  “She told me.”

  His face relaxes, and he smiles just a little.

  A girl with black hair walks up and collapses into his arms. I recognize her as one of Sam’s posse that first day.

  “What happened?” he asks her.

  “What happened?” she says back to him.

  It’s the echo of the day. What happened? Followed by I can’t believe it.

  My e-mail chimes, and I check my phone.

  Father sent me something. I follow the links as I’ve been taught to do.

  It’s not my next assignment. It’s instructions. How to leave, which train to take. And a hotel in another city, where I will wait.

  I look back at Darius. He is distracted talking to the girl, so I keep walking, letting my presence fade by degrees.

  Sadness helps. It is distracting.

  I help, pulling my energy back little by little until I am nearly gone from this place.

  “I see you,” Erica says.

  Nearly.

  “What do you see?” I say.

  “Suffering.”

  I give her a half smile, like it might be true.

  It’s not true. I am not suffering.

  I do not suffer.

  “You loved her,” Erica says.

  “I hardly knew her,” I say.

  “You were falling in love. That’s what I should have said. You were in the process.”

  I shake my head.

  “I think you were. Maybe you didn’t know it.”

  I feel a tug deep in my stomach.

  I get still for a moment, explore the sensation.

  Not a sensation.

  A feeling.

  I remember this feeling from a long time ago. It is like sadness, only worse. Much worse.

  It’s grief.

  A deep chasm of grief. I’m standing on the edge looking into endless depths.

  I cannot stay in this place. It’s unbearable.

  I step back from the edge.

  I take the feeling and file it away along with the other things from this assignment. The things I’ve seen and the people I’ve met. Images flash through my mind.

  Standing arm in arm with the mayor, singing together while Sam looks on with a cake in her hands.

  Sam in my apartment in front of the fire.

  Sam in the park. At my feet, unmoving.

  Sam and the mayor, and all the memories that accompany them.

  I do not need these things, only the lesson they have taught me.

  What is the lesson?

  “Are you okay, Ben?”

  What is the lesson?

  Survive.

  No matter what happens to you, no matter the circumstances, no matter what life tosses at you—the losses, the pain.

  You must survive.

  “I’m fine,” I tell Erica.

  She looks at me. I make my face neutral.

  “How are you doing, Erica?”

  “I’m not fine. I want a drink so badly I can’t stand it.”

  “You shouldn’t drink when you’re feeling like this.”

  “Thanks for the public service announcement,” she says.

  She puts a hand on my forearm.

  “Sorry. I’m being a bitch. I know you care. It’s just that I kind of hate you. You turned me down three times. Nobody does that and lives.”

  “Yet here I am, alive and well.”

  “I let you live,” she says. “For Sam’s sake. Maybe I’m getting cheesy in my old age.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Nearly eighteen.”

  “That is old.”

  “Shut up,” she says.

  She punches me in the arm.

  A challenge.

  No.

  Something else.

  People are acting strangely today. Crying one minute, laughing the next. Flirting and hugging and falling apart.

  Grief. This is what it does to people. It makes them strangers to themselves.

  It’s good that I’ve put it away.

  “What am I going to do without her?” Erica says.

  She groans and hugs herself.

  This is not part of my training, grieving people and aftermath. I do not stay for aftermath. Not usually.

  When in doubt, emulate.

  “What are any of us going to do?” I say to Erica.

  This seems to comfort her.

  “Call me if you need anything,” she says.

  “I will.”

  “Promise me?”

  I don’t promise. I drift away.

  I have instructions from Father now, and it’s time to go.

  I continue through the halls, my energy receding.

  I move past clusters of grieving students, past teachers trying to comfort them, past empty classrooms and full halls. This is not my school anymore. I am no longer one of them.

  Maybe I never was.

  Eventually people stop looking at me, stop meeting my eye.

  There is nothing to meet.

  There is nobody here.

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  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Boy Nobody may be a solo act, but I most certainly am not.

  I’d like to thank Rich Tackenberg, tech blogger and friend, whose analysis of technology and social media trends was enormously helpful to me in the preparation of this book.

  Thanks to Kate Sullivan, my incredible editor, who found Boy Nobody, championed it, and gave the series a home.

  Special thanks to publisher Megan Tingley, who invited me into the LBYR family. And what a family it is—Andrew Smith, Melanie Chang, Eileen Lawrence, Victoria Stapleton, and Amy Habayeb, to name only a few. I look forward to making the journey with all of you.

  Thanks to Sally Willcox at CAA for her tireless efforts to bring Boy Nobody to the big screen.

  Finally I’d like to thank my agent, Stuart Krichevsky, and the SK team—Shana Cohen and Ross Harris. Stuart has guided me, grown with me, and believed in me over several years, several projects, and several bumps in the road. That’s my idea of a great agent.

  Contents

  TITLE PAGE

  WELCOME

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 
; CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by Allen Zadoff

  Cover design by Tom Sanderson

  Image of boy © Arcangel Images; images of woods and city © the-parish.com

  Cover © 2013 Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.