“What?” He had a hand still on his backpack, as if he hadn’t decided whether to stay.
“Nothing,” Peter said affably, always the one to smooth the situation. “Just sittin’ here pulling our dicks.”
“Yep,” Vanhi said sarcastically, “just people with dicks, pulling them. Story of my life.”
Alex looked them over skeptically, then threw his bag down and walked to the back row of terminals. When the first bell rang, Charlie realized he hadn’t finished his calculus homework and cursed under his breath.
On the way out, Vanhi caught his arm. “What’s the matter with you? I remember when you would have gone ballistic if someone talked about kicking one of us out.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“That’s my point. You didn’t say anything.”
“Sorry.”
“Charlie, I get it. You’ve had the shit kicked out of you slowly for two long years. But it’s a new start. Senior year. You have to come back. You were class president! You had straight A’s. Look at you now. I want the old Charlie back. My best friend.”
Charlie put a hand on her shoulders. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with this guy.”
He knew she was trying to help. Everyone tried to help. But none of them had experienced what he had, except Peter, whose own mother died long ago. Peter was the only one who didn’t treat him like a delicate freak. Peter understood: compassion was a reminder.
“Vanhi, I’m okay. I promise.”
As she left, frowning, Charlie felt his phone buzz in his pocket. A strange text was waiting for him:
GFY!
Charlie knew what that could mean. It was code for “good for you.” Or “go fuck yourself.”
There was no return number.
He remembered his and Peter’s exchange with the chatbot last night, the so-called God AI.
Tell it to go fuck itself.
And so they had.
And now this back: Go fuck yourself!
But they’d been surfing anonymously, through Tor. There was no way that site knew Charlie’s name, much less his cell phone. So it had to be a coincidence.
Charlie typed back:
Who is this?
This time, there was no pause. He phone buzzed almost instantly, a fraction of a second after he hit Send. There wasn’t even time for a person to type.
It’s your Daddy, God.
Mommy says hi.
I have a job for you.
3 CLASS OVER
Everything was slipping away for Tim Fletcher. Of course, it didn’t seem that way on the outside. He was the captain of the football team. The players followed him around like dumb animals and did his bidding. And the girls, well. Duh. He could pick anyone, and so he picked Mary Clark, because she was Mary Clark, perfection, a female version of Tim. Tim’s father owned a bank, so they were rich. They belonged to the best country club. Everything was exactly as it should be. Exactly as it had always been. He was a walking cliché, and fucking proud of it.
And yet …
He could feel it. He wasn’t smart, not like the nerds with their faces in books, but he wasn’t dumb either. He had inherited a Waspy understanding of power.
He could feel the power shifting. In his dad’s day, you’d graduate, play ball in college, inherit your dad’s bank, and marry a girl that looked like mom. The nerds would become your doctors and lawyers and accountants. They’d do well, but not too well. You would chat with them as they did your books or listened to your lungs, and then they’d go home to the suburbs and you’d hit the links at Oak Haven.
But now, his dad’s finances were hurting. Generations of alcoholism and mistresses had shrunk the family fortune, and they were riding on fumes. His parents kept up appearances, but through the walls he heard them fighting. At school, he was still king. Yet he saw the world change around him. At home in Austin. In Silicon Valley. The same kind of kids he dominated at Turner High were squeezing his dad’s bank with apps made in college dorm rooms. The old ways weren’t working anymore. Everything was disrupted. Where the hell did that leave him?
He watched Mary do her homework. She didn’t know he checked her phone when she wasn’t there. Why the hell was she googling Charlie Lake, that loser? They hadn’t been on student council together in years, since he flamed out. Even still, Tim had always viewed their friendship warily.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Mary would say, putting a carefully manicured hand on each of his broad shoulders. “I’m with you.”
So what was she doing now?
What Tim wanted, no, needed, was control.
He slid the silver box across the table to Mary.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She laughed nervously and untied the red bow.
Inside was a rose-gold bracelet. It cost a small fortune.
“Put it on.”
“Tim, this is crazy. It’s not even our—”
“Put it on.” His voice was a little less warm.
Mary tried to clasp the bracelet around her wrist, but her fingers shook a little.
“Let me.” His thumb dug a little into the space under the bone in her delicate wrist.
She winced.
“Sorry.” Tim held has palms up to her, open. “Big hands.” As the bell rang, he smiled broadly and stood up. “It looks great on you.”
He walked to the door, past the STD poster showing how sex with one person was really sex with everyone. “You’ll always be mine.” He gave her his handsomest grin.
4 NEXT LEVEL
Charlie showed him the text.
Peter’s eyes went wide. “Do you know what this means?”
“Yeah, some freaky AI chatbot is cyberstalking me. Or you’re pranking me.”
“I wouldn’t mention your mom like that.”
For once, no irony was in Peter’s voice. He was devilish, Charlie thought, but he wasn’t cruel.
“So then what the fuck?”
Peter read it again:
It’s your Daddy, God.
Mommy says hi.
I have a job for you.
The word job was a link.
“It’s like the one I got. But different.”
“You got one, too?”
“Yeah.” Peter fished out his phone.
They were standing by the lockers outside the room of the counselor, Mrs. Fleck, with its gaudy posters about feelings and perseverance. Mrs. Fleck was the rumored owner of many cats.
Peter opened his texts.
You got ballz.
Fuck me? No—Fuck YOU!
Do you BElieve in me? I BElieve in you.
Now … SHOW ME.
The SHOW was a link, too.
“Did you click on it?” Peter asked.
“No. Did you?”
“Not yet. I wanted to do it together.”
“Fine, let’s use your phone,” Charlie said. “I’m not looking to download some rootkit.”
“I don’t think that’s what’s going on here.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows. “We insulted it. And now it wants us to click a link? No thanks.”
“Look, I found the site, right?”
“Right.”