Geektastic

by Mary Frame

  “Ugh, that’s just like him.” I drink some of my beer.

  When I put the glass down, Reese is watching me. “What is going on between you two?”

  “Why do you look so tired lately?” I counter.

  Reese is so easy to get off track.

  She grimaces. “I haven’t been sleeping much. School is a lot of work, and then when I stay the night with Fitz—”

  “Wait. Stop there.” I hold up a hand. “No, I don’t want to hear about your sleepless nights with my brother.”

  “Then tell me why you’re avoiding my question about Jude.”

  “Why do moths like light?”

  Her whole face brightens. “They actually don’t, it’s a behavior called transverse orientation . . . Wait a minute.” She opens her mouth to call me out, but before she can speak, someone steps up to the bar in between us.

  “Good evening, Annabel.”

  “Hey, Rudy,” I say. Probably the only time I’ve been relieved to see him, since it’s saving me from a conversation about Jude and myself. However, it doesn’t bode well that he stepped between Reese and I and we’re sitting at the bar with no graceful way to exit the conversation.

  Let the vortex of conversation begin.

  “Who’s your friend? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  He’s eyeing Reese like she’s a steak dinner.

  “This is Fitz’s girlfriend, Reese. Reese, this is Rudy.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Reese says formally, putting out her hand.

  Rudy shakes it but he’s already deflating. Mission accomplished. “May I purchase either one of you a drink?”

  “That’s mighty kind of you, but we’re still working on the ones we have.” I motion to Reese’s mostly full beer and my own, which I’ve only taken a few sips from.

  “Are y’all coming to the charity Turkey Trot on Saturday?” He nods to one of the flyers behind the bar pimping the annual charity event dance-off.

  “Hadn’t intended on it,” I say.

  “I’m not much of a dancer,” Reese says.

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  So, maybe I’m not that great of a friend since I’m bailing, but Reese is terrible at conversation. If anyone can get rid of Rudy, it’s her. I try to message her with my eyes as I run off. It must work, because I pee and lollygag and wash my hands three times, and when I get back, Rudy is in the corner of the bar talking to a bachelorette party. They must’ve come in while I was taking my sweet-ass time.

  “Thank God you got rid of him.”

  “He likes to chat,” Reese acknowledges. “Ask him for the time and he’ll tell you how to build a watch.”

  “How did you accomplish the Herculean feat of making him go away?”

  “I started talking about string theory and singularities and then the group with the penis crowns came in and did the rest of the work for me.” She nods over at the party.

  I laugh.

  “Are you ready to talk about Taylor yet?”

  “Nope.”

  “I saved you. You owe me.”

  “I owe you jack shit.”

  “Then let’s talk about Jude and how y’all are meant to be together.” She bats her eyes like a love-struck loon and I want to strangle her.

  “You’re gonna make us fail the Bechdel test.”

  “Well, you don’t want to talk about work, and you don’t wanna talk about Taylor, so I have limited options. You gotta let stuff out sometimes, Annabel.”

  “I got nothing to say about Jude. It’s lust. A biochemical reaction because I like his pheromones.”

  Reese tilts her head. “If you’re going to use a scientific explanation for your lack of belief in love and romance, then I would like to point out that, biologically, it’s advantageous for females to have a monogamous relationship due to the length of time it takes to produce and equip offspring with the necessary skills for survival.”

  I groan and slap my forehead. “I’m not arguing about this with you.”

  “That’s probably wise. So we don’t fail Bechdel, tell me about Taylor.”

  I stare at her.

  She stares back, blank faced.

  I take a long drink of the tepid beer in front of me. I’m going to need it even to reveal a smidge of this.

  “Taylor and I were best friends when we were kids. Well, there were three of us who were all besties. Taylor, Chad, and myself.”

  “What happened?”

  “What happened is . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “We’re not friends anymore. But I keep running into her, and today I couldn’t run away and hide like I normally do.”

  Reese gasps. “I’m the one who hides in bushes, not you. You’re supposed to be the strong one.”

  “Well guess what, buttercup? I hate to shatter your worldview, but you aren’t the only geek in this friendship. I’m a total weirdo. I just try to hide it more than you.”

  “I’ve discovered it’s better off to own your weird.”

  I snort.

  “So why couldn’t you run and hide today?”

  “Taylor came in to drop off an announcement at the paper and I was covering the front desk. She’s marrying Chad.”

  “And this bothers you because . . .”

  “I don’t want Chad, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

  I take another drink, trying to wait out Reese, but she’s not talking and she’s staring at me like a creep, waiting for me to continue. I sigh and give in. A little. “It bothers me because . . . it’s hard to see her. Since we aren’t friends anymore.”

  “And you don’t want to tell me why that is?”

  I decide to go for minimal words, maximum impact. “She lied to me.”

  “Ah. ‘It is easier to forgive an enemy than to forgive a friend.’ ”

  “Feels true.”

  “William Blake.” She takes a sip of her beer and then puts a hand on my shoulder. “I won’t ask you for details if you don’t want to disclose them, but I do want you to know I’m here for you if you ever change your mind.”

  I lean into her. “You’re so nice. And smart. I can see why Fitz loves you. Thanks, Reesey-poo.”

  “I can see the liquor is starting to kick in.” She stares at her own beer. “I think mine is, too. The lack of sleep is making me a lightweight.”

  I sit up suddenly, and she must be right because the room spins a smidge before righting itself again. “We should dance.”

  “There’s no music. I’m a terrible dancer. But sure.”

  I grin. She’s such a pushover. “You’re a good friend, Reese.”

  She straightens, a smile growing on her face. “I am? I mean, I am. You’re my only friend, so there is that.”

  A few hours later, we’ve danced with each other and the bachelorette party—but not Rudy. I switch from beer to water but Reese does not.

  She can normally drink jars of moonshine without getting buzzed, so the lack of sleep must really be affecting her. By ten o’clock I have to walk slash carry her home, listening to her talk about Fitz almost the whole time and how much she misses him.

  “You saw him this morning.”

  “It’s been so long!”

  Once we make it to Jude’s, the house is surprisingly quiet and empty. “No party tonight?”

  “Jude’s been real busy. We haven’t been having as many fancy shindigs as we used to.”

  “What’s he been busy with?” Does she know anything about what he’s involved in?

  But she just shrugs. “I dunno.”

  Beast is in the living room alone, watching a movie. No sign of Jude.

  I help Reese put on a clean shirt and put her to bed.

  “Tell Fitz I love him.” She collapses face-first onto the mattress.

  “Tell him yourself, weirdo,” I murmur before tucking her in and shutting her door behind me.

  By myself in the quiet hallway, I stop to listen. The muted sound of voices from
the TV echoes down the hall. I glance in the opposite direction, down the darkened corridor, toward Jude’s bedroom.

  I should go home, but my feet carry me to the back.

  Light emanates from under the doorframe.

  I knock.

  He takes so long, I almost leave. Half of me doesn’t want him to answer and the other half wants it a little too much, and not only because I don’t wanna be a pathetic loser.

  The door swings open. He’s wearing jeans slung low on his hips, and a plain white T-shirt hugs his chest. I remember that chest. Tan skin stretched over firm muscle. My eyes lift to his face and I swallow.

  Glasses.

  He’s wearing the damn glasses again.

  My heart stutters and my stomach flips, but my voice is thankfully strong. “I’m in.”

  Chapter Seven

  It is a great misfortune to be alone, my friends; and it must be believed that solitude can quickly destroy reason.

  —Jules Verne, The Mysterious Island

  Jude

  When I open the bedroom door to find Annabel outside it, I’m equal parts elated and cautious.

  There’s something in her eyes, a frazzled, hyper look she tends to get that screams to tread softly.

  “Come in, then.”

  She moves past me and I shut the door behind her as she walks into the center of the room, glancing around, her eyes lingering on the bed where Mr. Bojangles is sleeping near my pillow.

  Is she thinking about the last time she was in here? I hope she is. I’ve thought about it nearly every day.

  She sits next to Mr. Bojangles, dropping her purse on the floor. Her eyes meet mine.

  “So. Tell me a story.” She pets my furry, white feline. He stretches his limbs out on a yawn, and his purring fills the space between us.

  I push away from the door and amble toward her. “I suppose I should start with Grace’s little project, because that seems to be the source of the issue. She was working on an interesting program. She created software capable of detecting data breaches and tracing their source.”

  “Don’t they already have stuff like that?”

  I sit next to her on the bed, a couple feet away. “Similar. Not the same. Grace’s program can catch even the sneakiest breaks in a firewall and then it does something unique. It attaches itself to the intruder and works back to find the source—no matter how many different IPs and channels they’re moving through. It also snapshots information and secures it in case of ransomware attacks. She’d been running unauthorized tests on it, infiltrating governmental databases.”

  “So you think, what, something about this program led her here?”

  “I’m not sure. A week after she left, we received an encrypted message, coordinates to Blue Falls. Specifically, the university.”

  Her head tilts. “That’s why you run all these . . . extracurricular activities for people from BFU. You’re trying to get intel.”

  “Partially. There was a reason she sent me those coordinates, along with a request to follow the money trail. Someone is funneling significant funds through the university. I just don’t know who or why. Running the games is also a way to make money, too. It’s enabled me to enroll Beast in higher education, which he’s never had the opportunity to pursue. It is also a way to ingratiate myself with a section of the community that may be involved in what Grace is chasing, and connections are never a bad thing to have.”

  “So you have no idea what Grace is doing other than it could be connected to this program she was developing?”

  “I’ve been trying to get my own intel, but it’s challenging. Grace typically requests simple things, like leaving her money in places she can access later. I do think the dark vans may be involved as well.”

  “Who do you think is in the vans?”

  I rub my beard. “If I had to guess, FBI.”

  “Really?”

  “It fits their general MO. Except they normally have logos on their vans to make them blend. Someone has been retasking satellites for local coverage, too, which only those working for a government agency could do.”

  “Why would someone in Blue Falls want Grace’s program? And why would the FBI be here, too?”

  I tap my lips in thought. “The University has the best CS department this side of Texas. It’s not out of the question that someone attending or teaching could be involved. Someone either found what Grace was working on and is trying to replicate it, or they stole it and she followed them here. Her software would be useful for a variety of reasons. They could sell it themselves, or they could use it to eliminate their competition.”

  She rubs Mr. Bojangles’s head with gentle fingers. “This could be a heavy story.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I ask you a more personal question?”

  I meet her eyes. “Of course.”

  “Beast and Grace are brother and sister. How do you fit in? Why are you helping them?”

  “It’s hard to explain. We’re not blood, but we may as well be.”

  She watches me, waiting for me to continue.

  Maybe I should tell her everything. My whole story. I know she’s curious. She’s attempted to weasel it out of me many times in the past. Some innate intuition tells me it would be helpful to reveal my own shameful past, to show her she’s safe to share her own when she’s ready. Because Annabel has more defenses than Area 51.

  “To really understand everything, I have to tell you about my past.”

  “I won’t put your personal story out for print. No one would give a shit anyway,” she jokes with a small smile.

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “I originally hail from Valdosta. That’s where my family is. My parents were . . . It’s difficult to find adequate phrases to aptly describe them. They were very religious. Not the love your neighbors and go to church on Sundays type, but the Harry Potter is the creation of Satan type. To them, going to church daily and praying for hours while flogging yourself is barely enough to make up for the unending sins of humanity.”

  “Wait.” She lifts a hand. “I’m sorry, Harry Potter?”

  I shrug. “Witchcraft.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh.”

  “Oh. Yes. I had to sneak around to pursue my interests in computers and technology. Luckily, I made a few friends at the library, kind librarians and volunteers who would help me and let me work on the computers past the time limits and sometimes even after closing.

  “I spent a lot of time teaching myself. I quickly developed a keen interest in gaming and software. But I still could not pursue such types of recreational activities at home. My parents were quite convinced technology would be the downfall of our society.”

  “They might not be wrong.”

  “Maybe not, but it wasn’t a mild distaste for smartphones that compelled them, but the power of religious fervor. They were beyond anything that could be imagined. More than fanatical. It’s hard to explain, but it wasn’t normal. It was more comparable to a cult. We had no TV, no radios, no links to anything outside the church. There were no holidays. No birthday celebrations or gifts or anything that could lead to gluttony or greed or any kind of deadly sin. Any mention of such things made them very . . . angry.”

  As if sensing my distress, Mr. Bojangles pads over to me, settling himself into my lap. I rub his head and continue the tale.

  “The library is where I met Grace. Of course I noticed Beast first. He was large even as a young teen. They were always together.”

  “He’s hard to miss.”

  I nod. “I didn’t have friends. I wasn’t sent to school, because they take the Lord out of the classroom—even at parochial schools—too much for my parents’ liking. Beast and Grace were always there at the same time I was, and Grace was on the computers a lot. Beast was formidable, and I avoided them initially. But then I noticed things. They took care of each other. He would look after her, scare off anyone who tried to get near her, even made her take breaks for food and water. He was
always protecting her. You wouldn’t know they were related. Grace is tiny and blonde and resembles a frail pixie. She wasn’t more than seven or eight at the time.

  “I became a bit fascinated with them, actually. Who they were. Where they came from. I was jealous of their bond because I had no one. I was all alone in the world. I often found reasons to lurk nearby. Quite creepy, really.”

  Annabel smiles but doesn’t respond. She’s listening, leaning toward me. She pets Mr. Bojangles on my lap.

  “Then one day, I was walking behind Grace and I caught a glimpse of what was on her screen. It was a scanning algorithm searching for open shares. When I confronted her about it, to my surprise, she told me exactly what she was doing and then let me watch her finish opening a backdoor to infiltrate.”

  I hadn’t realized: she’d been paying attention to me, too. I was shocked at what she was willing to share. It was not what I had anticipated.

  “It was a story that had been on the news. Some black hat had hacked into a nonprofit, no-kill cat shelter. They had recently completed a big fundraiser and the hackers took every last dime. Grace tracked them like it was nothing. She returned the money, then sent the proof and location of the bad guys to the authorities. Anonymously, of course. Then she asked if I wanted to work with her. And I did.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “It was. It’s also how I got Mr. Bojangles.”

  We both look down at him.

  She scratches his little white head and his eyes fall shut in ecstasy. “So you guys just, what, lived together after that?”

  “Not right away. Grace and Beast were already living on their own. Their parents were deceased. They wanted to put Beast in a facility. Grace couldn’t let that happen. She was stealing money for their support, but only from black hats and only when she couldn’t return it to the original source. It was barely enough for them to live in a crap apartment and have enough for basic life necessities. She felt that justified the illegal behavior.”