Top 8 (18 page)

I sat on my bed, my laptop on my lap, staring at my Friendverse profile. It was blank.

When Connor had told me I'd been hacked, it had taken most of my inner resources not to hurl myself backward off the rock.

After I'd stopped swearing — and frightening off the random freshmen nearby, who were just trying to enjoy their lunches — we'd gone to the library together. That was where Connor had been spending his Independent Study period doing Internet Liaison work for Dr. Trent. When he'd seen my profile, he'd come looking for me.

“I thought you couldn't access Friendverse from the school computers,” I said, as I watched Connor log on.

He shook his head. “Who told you that?” he asked as he brought up my profile from his buddy list.

I tried to remember, but the answer wasn't coming. We looked together at my profile, which had been last logged on to that morning — when I had most decidedly not logged on. It wasn't as damaging as last time — there were no comments propositioning my best friends' boyfriends, or spilled secrets or spelling mistakes — but in a way, it was almost as bad.

The profile was blank. Everything — all my interests, my comments, my music, my basic info — had been deleted. The only clue that the hacker had been there at all was the fact that my screen name had been changed to
Madison MacDonald SUCKS.
I felt like someone had slapped me.

“How could this have happened?” I asked, staring at the screen. “I mean, how could this have happened
again
?”

“Well,” Connor said, taking out a notebook and pencil — clearly, he was taking his Internet Liaison responsibilities seriously — “has there been any unusual activity on your profile recently? An increase in profile views? Strange buddy invites?”

“No,” I said, thinking. Then my stomach dropped. “But my laptop was stolen, then returned, this morning,” I whispered. I shook my head. Someone had broken into my locker for the purpose of hacking me again? Seriously? “The hacker stole my laptop so they could hack me again, didn't they?”

It just made the hacking feel even more personal. Clearly, they weren't done yet — they still wanted to do
more
damage to my life. And the fact that they'd returned the laptop was chilling — it meant they cared more about hurting me than they did about making money by selling the pieces on the black market, or whatever.

“I think so,” he said grimly. “If someone wanted to hack your profile again — and it seems that
is
what they wanted to do—and they couldn't figure out your password this time, they would have needed your laptop to do it.”

I'd clutched my laptop to me little more tightly. “But how would that have helped?”

“Your password was probably stored somewhere on your computer,” he said. “Frank Dell would probably be able to tell you more about it. But even if they couldn't find the information stored on your laptop, there are keystroke monitoring programs that can retrieve the most recent words you've typed.”

And the last thing I'd written had been my Friendverse password, when I'd logged in before bed. I groaned, staring at the carnage in front of me.

“You should change your password,” Connor said.

I nodded. He logged out and I logged in, changing my password to
OMGWTFSERIOUSLY??
as he looked the other way. I didn't feel up to putting in all my information
again
, but I did change the screen name to, simply,
Madison.
Then I logged out and stared at Connor bleakly.

He shook his head and gave a little laugh. “I guess you really pissed someone off,” he said.

“Yeah,” I said. But
who
? It wasn't Connor, it wasn't Kittson, it wasn't Travis, and it wasn't Sarah. Who had I made so angry that they would have done this to me, not once, but twice?

“At least we caught it early this time,” he said, in the tone of someone who is determined to find the bright side. He and Schuyler really did have a lot in common, and I tried to shift my thoughts from my own baffling situation to their happier one.

“So what's the plan for tonight?” I asked, trying to smile.

As Connor and I walked back to the Student Center, he told me about the plan — dinner, a movie, coffee — which I assured him Schuyler would love. I also told him that her favorite flowers were Gerbera daisies, just in case he wanted to do anything with that information.

Then I went to my remaining classes with my head spinning. When I met up with my friends after classes were over, I decided not to tell them about the second hacking — if they saw my Friendverse before I'd had a chance to restore it, I could just tell them I was rethinking the layout or something.

But Ruth could clearly tell something was up; she was looking at me closely and kept asking me if everything was okay. I told her everything was. I'd talk to her about it later, alone. Schuyler and Lisa had entered into full-on Friday night mode, and I didn't want to harsh their vibe. Lisa had a date with Dave, and Schuyler had her date with Connor. Ruth was babysitting, and as everyone informed me of their plans, I realized I was the only one with nothing to do.

Of course. It was my first weekend back home without Justin as my boyfriend. I wondered what he and Kittson were doing tonight. Strangely, the thought of them together really didn't bother me all that much anymore.

But the fact that I was the dateless, planless loser who was sitting home alone really
was
bothering me. Even Travis had a date — before he'd gone out, he'd informed me that he, Olivia, and twelve other friends were going to the movies. This seemed to count, to Travis, as their first date.

My parents had invited me to go out with them and their Scrabble group, but I felt that I could only sink so low, and had refused.

So there I was on my bed with only my laptop for company.

I was just about to order some food and see what was on TV when the house phone rang.

I grabbed the extension, contemplating if I should just let the machine get it, when I saw the name on the display read ELLIS. My heart began to pound a little, and I answered.

“Hello?”

“Madison?”

There it was, that fantastic, slightly gravelly voice. I tried to remind myself to breathe, and that I was perfectly capable of forming complete sentences.

“Nate? I mean, hi, yes, it's Madison. So. What's up?” Well, so much for the “complete sentences” thing.

I could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “Are you busy tonight?” he asked.

 

“So this is a drive-in,” I said, looking at the cars parked in rows across the field, and the huge screen set up at one end of it. We had paid for our tickets (well, Nate had paid and wouldn't let me pay my share, so I had insisted on getting the popcorn and drinks) and gotten our speaker when we had pulled in.

I was truly surprised to find myself there; Nate had refused to tell me where we were going, but had simply said to be ready to go in twenty minutes.

I'd immediately texted Ruth and Lisa, frantic. (I didn't want to interrupt Schuyler's date with Connor.) Lisa had been appalled that I would accept such a
last-minute date, but had been able to see past this and tell me to wear my jean mini and black V-neck. Dave had then commandeered her phone to tell me that he thought that was a hot outfit, and not to do anything he wouldn't do (winky face). Lisa had then told me that she and Dave had to have “
une petite conversation
” but to text her when anything—
anything
—happened. Or didn't happen.

I hadn't heard back from Ruth, but I figured she was already baby-sitting, and had more important things to worry about — like keeping small children alive.

But I kept my phone pulled slightly out of my purse, which was resting at my feet, so that I could see if I got a new text.

“This is a drive-in,” Nate confirmed, taking a sip of his Coke. He raised an eyebrow at me, and I immediately felt jealous of his ability. “I thought you said on your Friendverse that you loved them.”

I smiled at him. “Been looking at my profile, huh?”

“Well, you know,” he said, placing the cup in the cupholder. “Occasionally.”

“I love the
idea
of drive-ins,” I explained. “The fact that I've never been to one is beside the point.”

“If you say so,” he said with a smile. “Well, welcome to southern Connecticut's only drive-in.”

We were in New Canaan, about to see an Audrey Hepburn double feature of
Charade
and
Wait Until
Dark
. We were sitting in Nate's surprisingly pimped-out red pickup truck, with the speaker hung over the driver's side window. The truck had a huge front seat with — my favorite feature — bench seats. Not that we were
going
to be making out or anything, but, you know, in case the possibility arose, bench seats just made it easier.

The thought of making out with Nate suddenly caused me to feel very warm, and I gulped down some Diet Coke.

“So,” I said, once my temperature had been restored to something more like normal, “is this where you've seen all your obscure old movies?”

“You got me,” he said. “
Charade'
s one of my favorites. I've never seen
Wait Until Dark
, though.”

“I have,” I said. “A few times.”

Both of his (very cute) eyebrows went up. “Really?”

I liked being able to surprise him. “Really,” I said. I explained that we'd done the play last year for our fall mainstage, so I'd watched the movie a lot for reference. “Remind me,” I said, “to tell you the infamous Poison Jelly story.”

“I'm going to hold you to that,” he said.

It was beginning to get dark out; the first stars were starting to appear over the field, and I could hear the projector start up. A few moments later, the previews began. I pushed off my flip-flops and tucked my
legs up under me. There was at least a person-space between me and Nate, but I was acutely aware of his proximity.

When Audrey Hepburn returned to find her Paris apartment empty, Nate moved a little closer to my side of the seat.

When she met Cary Grant for the second time, I shifted ever so slightly toward him under the ruse of reaching for my Diet Coke in the cupholder.

When Audrey and James Coburn were facing off in the phone booth, Nate rested his arm on the back of the bench seat, right above where my shoulders were.

When Audrey discovered who Cary Grant really was, and they started kissing as she repeated all his names, I moved close enough so that there was only room for a really, really small person between us.

There was a 20-minute break between the films, and I used it to get us some popcorn and send this text:

 

SENT 1 of 64

To: Lisa Feldman, Ruth Miller

Date: 4/11, 10:05
P.M.

 

OMG we're at the drive-in and he's thisclose to putting his arm around me. Two words: Bench. Seats. Wish me luck!!!

 

I got an immediate response back from Lisa.

 

INBOX 1 of 86

From: Lisa Feldman

Date: 4/11, 10:07
P.M.

Go Mad!!! Tres bien! Justin who?

 

I smiled at that and turned my phone to vibrate. In actuality, I hadn't thought about Justin all night, with the exception of realizing that it was really nice to see a movie where things weren't blowing up all the time and people weren't naked for no reason.

By the time the second movie was about to start, it was completely dark out, and lightning bugs, the first of the season, were beginning to dart around. When I got back to the truck, I saw Nate standing next to it, taking pictures of the darkened screen.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he said with another of those contagious smiles. “That's a lot of popcorn,” he said, gesturing to the tub I was carrying.

“Well, it's not a movie without popcorn.” I nodded at the camera. “Giving into your weakness for things that are beautiful?” I asked.

“You got it.” He closed his camera and put it back in his pocket. When we were both back in the truck, I noticed that Nate had slid almost to the center of the seat. I smiled, put the popcorn between us, and slid right next to him.

By the time Audrey Hepburn was vanquishing the murderer, his arm was firmly around my shoulders, and my head was resting on his shoulder.

 

“So,” I said, as we drove through downtown Stanwich to Nate's favorite coffee shop, “I was playing the Audrey Hepburn part, and since the character is blind, every prop that was used had to be pre-set really carefully. Including the
knife
she uses to kill the murderer so the play can, you know, end.”

“I think I see where this is going,” Nate said.

We were driving, so we had our seat belts on (darn it) which limited how close together we could sit. But my legs were definitely swung over toward his side of the truck and there were definitely some
Omg are we going to kiss tonight?
butterflies in my stomach, which was both wonderful and excruciating.

“Right,” I said, using all my willpower not to reach out and touch his hair. “So Rhiannon King was in charge of props, but on the closing night of the show, she had decided to make out with her girlfriend in the lightlock instead of pre-setting any of the props.”

“Yikes,” Nate said, pulling into a space in front of Stanwich Sandwich & Coffee and killing the engine.

“Exactly. So there I am, trying to be blind and kill Mark Rothmann, who was playing the murderer. But
there was no knife there. And I seriously didn't know what to do.”