Click'd

by Tamara Ireland Stone

  She stood up and paced the room. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the screen. She had over 1,200 users, but none of it mattered without a working leaderboard. If she couldn’t fix it by the end of the day, she would have to use the CodeGirls group as the example in her demo.

  And that’s when she had a horrible thought.

  “No,” she whispered.

  She reached for her phone, opened Click’d, and switched over to the CodeGirls group. She clicked on “leaderboard” and her heart sank deep in her chest.

  It was empty, too.

  Her CodeGirls were gone. Wiped out. All of them.

  Courtney lived in Arizona. Kaiya was back in Boston. Alexa was in Georgia, Maya was in Denver, Zaina was in Chicago, Rachel was in Florida, Li was in Texas, Layla was in Oregon, Shonna was in Illinois, and Jayne lived in North Carolina. Seeing those ten names on her leaderboard, knowing they would always be there because her CodeGirls leaderboard would never change, made her feel connected to them, even though they were far away. She remembered the day they’d run around the lab, tapping phones and watching their leaderboards come together. She could never re-create that moment. And without the phone tap, she wasn’t sure she could even re-create the leaderboard itself.

  The bell rang and Ms. Slade rested her hand on Allie’s back. “Hey, it’s okay. Remember, it’s code. It’s inherently fixable.”

  Allie folded her hands on the desk and let her head fall.

  Last night, for a brief time, she had a working app without a photo glitch, more than a thousand users, and tons of data. But two empty leaderboards meant she had nothing to show the judges the following day. It might be fixable, but she had no idea how she was going to figure it out in less than twenty-four hours.

  “My app relies on the leaderboard. Even if I’m able to find the problem and fix the code, how am I going to re-create a leaderboard by tomorrow?”

  Ms. Slade was quiet while she studied Allie’s screen. “May I?” she asked, and when Allie nodded, she reached for the mouse.

  “Hmm…” she said as she looked over all the information in the various database tables. Allie watched her work, trying not to jump out of her seat and run back to the quiet corner in the library. She thought about those colorful beanbag chairs and the way the light streamed in through the tall windows.

  “Well, as far as I can tell, you have two problems to solve. First, you need to figure out what’s wrong with the algorithm that ties everything to the leaderboard. And once you figure it out—which I know you can do—you need to create a new leaderboard filled with people you can physically locate. A bunch of your users don’t even go to school here.”

  Allie groaned. She knew she was right.

  “I have an idea, but I don’t think you’re going to like it. What if you delete all your users and start from scratch?”

  Allie’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “Well, not delete,” Ms. Slade explained. “Just unflag every record for now, so you can start clean and work with a smaller user base. You can always re-flag everyone when it’s fixed and the competition is done.”

  “But I added over a thousand users this week! That’s huge. You said it yourself, the judges look for things like that.”

  “And that’s true, but they also look for working apps,” Ms. Slade said plainly.

  Allie put her elbows on the desk and dropped her head in her hands, and Ms. Slade scooted in closer and rested her hand on Allie’s shoulder.

  “It’s not the end of the world! You’ll get all those users back in no time. Just remember, you were selected for the Games for Good competition based entirely on your CodeGirls summer project, back when you had twenty users and an incredible story to tell. Focus on that. And keep in mind, you had an extraordinary week. There was pure enthusiasm in every corner of this campus. For your game, Allie. For this thing that didn’t even exist three months ago—not until you used your imagination to create it, and your skill and passion to bring it to life. You did that.” She squeezed her hand hard. “You.”

  Allie wanted to cry, but she nodded instead.

  “I think Mr. Mohr is the only one who wasn’t excited about it.” Ms. Slade joked, and Allie couldn’t help but smile. “And based on that note he just wrote, you even made him come around. You took your app through the most brutal beta test imaginable, and it passed with flying colors.”

  Allie laughed. “How can you even say that?” she asked as she held up her phone, touched her icon, launched it, and watched it crash.

  Ms. Slade raised an eyebrow. And then she looked at Allie and played with her earrings. One was a little wrench. The other was a tiny hammer. “You have all the tools you need to fix this. And after you knock those judges’ socks off tomorrow, you can get all those users back.”

  Allie pictured unflagging all twelve-hundred-plus names. She wouldn’t have to worry about losing any of the data, and she could focus on a smaller, more manageable sample size. She was basically starting from scratch, like she did over the summer with the CodeGirls.

  “Okay,” Allie whispered.

  Ms. Slade snapped her fingers. “Hey, and if you can get the code fixed by the end of lunch, you can make our advanced CS class your user base. Their profiles and answers are already in the system. Just flag them when you’re ready, and as soon as they walk into class, you can start matching. Your leaderboard will be back up and running by the end of sixth period.”

  It was a good solution. So why did it make her feel like such a failure?

  Allie sighed. “I’ll be right back where I was on Monday.”

  “Was Monday so bad?” Ms. Slade asked.

  Allie remembered sitting with Maddie, Emma, and Zoe on the little path between the garden and the science building, watching over their shoulders as they each took the quiz. She pictured the four of them running around campus, listening for bloops, watching for clues, and trying to find one another. She remembered how the four of them clicked on the staircase by the gym, and the woo-hoo sound that told them to snap a selfie together. Allie thought about the look in their eyes when they told her how much they loved her game.

  “No,” Allie said. “Actually, Monday was really good.”

  Allie didn’t move when the lunch bell rang.

  “Ms. Navarro,” Ms. Slade said. “You’ve been sitting in that same spot for almost four hours.”

  “Yeah,” Allie said without taking her eyes off her screen.

  “Get up, please. Go outside. Say hello to your friends. Get some food.”

  “I’m not hungry.” As Allie said the words, she felt her stomach grumble.

  “Go. Now.” Ms. Slade leaned over her shoulder and picked up the mouse. Allie didn’t even realize she’d done it until she reached out to use it and it wasn’t there.

  Allie let out a heavy sigh. “Fine,” she mumbled as she scooted away from her desk. “I’ll be back in ten.”

  She stepped into the hallway and took a deep breath, pulling the late summer air deep into her lungs. She walked quickly toward the quad, taking the long way and avoiding the busier routes. When people spotted her, she ducked into the closest bathroom, or turned toward a wall and pretended to look for something in her backpack. It took longer than it should have, but she finally reached the lunch line, and when she did, she stood with her head low, hoping no one would notice her. She couldn’t wait to get back to the lab, where she could put on her headphones and focus on her code again.

  Allie took her sandwich to go. When she opened the computer lab door, Nathan was standing at Ms. Slade’s desk.

  She stared at him.

  “I’m just filling Nathan in,” Ms. Slade said.

  Allie bit down hard on her lip. “Did you know?” she asked him.

  “Know what?”

  “That disconnecting ClickPics would wipe out the leaderboard.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But you said you tested it.”

  “I did. You tested it, too.”

&nbs
p; “Just to be sure it was completely disconnected from the photos app. You said you tested it against the leaderboard a bunch of times, and I believed you.”

  “I did.”

  “Then why don’t I have a working app, Nathan?” she yelled.

  Allie stared at him. She could feel her eyes narrowing.

  “I didn’t do this on purpose,” he said.

  “How am I supposed to know that?” Allie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. She couldn’t cry. If she did, Nathan would think she was sad, and she wasn’t sad. She was angry. She was angrier than she’d been in her whole life.

  “Because I—”

  Allie cut him off. “Because you couldn’t stand the idea of losing to me.” Allie looked at Ms. Slade. “I trusted him. And he trusted me. Only I didn’t let him down.” And then she turned back to Nathan. “By the way, how is the hardware store working out for you? Everybody still being charged for paint?”

  Nathan didn’t say a word. He looked down at the ground and shook his head. “I was trying to help,” he said to Allie. And then he looked at Ms. Slade. “I worked on her code for hours. I tested it on Wednesday night and again in the lab, and it was working just fine.”

  “Except it isn’t fine,” Allie said.

  “Do you really think he sabotaged your game?” Ms. Slade asked.

  Years of anger and frustration bubbled up inside Allie. She’d lost to him too many times. And she’d seen that smug look on his face after every one. She thought this time would be different, but she was beginning to realize she was wrong.

  “I don’t know,” she said calmly. “But we’re less than twenty-four hours away from the biggest competition of our lives, and he has a working game, and I don’t. I think that’s kind of hard to ignore, don’t you?”

  Nathan shook his head. He wasn’t about to take the blame. “Did you write the last line exactly the way I said to? Because that was what tied it all back to the leaderboard.”

  “Of course I did,” Allie said. She couldn’t even look at him.

  “You followed his instructions exactly?” Ms. Slade asked. “You didn’t change anything else?”

  “No.”

  “You must have missed something,” Nathan said.

  Allie narrowed her eyes on him. “I didn’t.”

  “Where’s the printout I gave you?”

  “In my backpack.”

  “Great. Let’s get it. I’ll help you fix it, right now.” Nathan pointed to Ira.

  Allie laughed loudly. “Are you kidding? I’m not letting you anywhere near my code!” Nathan still looked confused and hurt, but that didn’t keep her from getting right in his face. “Excuse me. I have a ton of work to do and no time to do it.”

  She turned on her heel and walked away. She sat down in front of her computer, pulled her headphones over her ears, and turned her music up as loud as it would go.

  Right before fifth period, Ms. Slade walked to the back of the room and sat down next to Allie. “How’s it going?”

  Allie looked up at the clock. There was no way she’d have everything done in time to make her sixth-period class into her new installed base.

  “It failed the last test. I’m pretty sure I know what to do next, but I still have to test everything again.”

  “That’s okay,” Ms. Slade said calmly. “We’ll just need to find another concentrated group of people you can reach before the day is over. What other options do you have?”

  Allie thought about it. Emma, Zoe, and Maddie could meet her after school, but that would only get her three people on her leaderboard. She wouldn’t see her soccer team until their game on Sunday. She could call a leaderboard party on the blacktop, but that was too risky. And besides, she didn’t want to stay after school. She couldn’t wait to get home. She was counting the minutes until the bus pulled up in front of her house and the doors slapped open.

  The bus.

  That was it.

  “There are probably thirty people on my bus,” she told Ms. Slade. “And they’ve all joined this week, so I already have all their information in the database.”

  “Perfect,” Ms. Slade said, patting her hand. “As Captain Picard says—”

  “Make it so,” Allie said, finishing Ms. Slade’s sentence. Everyone knew it was her favorite Star Trek line. Allie didn’t even need to turn her head and look at the poster on the wall behind her.

  “Attagirl,” she said as she left Allie alone with her code and walked back to the front of the room to teach her next class.

  Allie worked all through fifth period and into sixth. By the time seventh period was about to start, all her tests had passed and she was ready to push out the update.

  She checked the calculations. She made certain there weren’t any mistakes. Everything looked solid, so she flagged the database table with everyone that rode Bus #14.

  If she’d done everything right, the drive home would be full of bloops and taps and flying phones. It would be just like that day in the Fishbowl with her CodeGirls. Everyone’s leaderboards would be full in a matter of minutes.

  Zoe would be #1. Marcus would be her #6. Penny would be #7. It would all fall into place, exactly the way it had earlier that week.

  Right before the final bell was about to ring, Ms. Slade returned.

  “I’m sending out the update,” Allie told her. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to press the button. She kept staring at the code, wondering if she was missing anything.

  “You should be so proud of yourself,” Ms. Slade said.

  Allie smiled. “I will be if it works.”

  Ms. Slade smiled back. “You should be, even if it doesn’t.”

  Allie combed her fingers through her hair. She didn’t want to ask the question that had been running through her mind all day, but she didn’t have a choice. “What happens if…if it doesn’t work? Do I have to drop out?”

  Ms. Slade nodded. “I’m afraid so. But you can be in the Games for Good Pavilion.”

  Allie brought her elbows to the table and rested her chin in her hands. She’d been so focused on the stage presentation, she’d forgotten all about the Games for Good Pavilion. Now she pictured a kiosk with her beautiful logo on a sign above a bright monitor, and her stomach clenched into a tight knot.

  Ms. Slade reached for Allie’s spiral-bound notebook and wrote something on the first page. Then she slid it back to her. “That’s my cell phone. Call or text me and let me know what’s going on. It doesn’t matter what time it is.”

  “Thanks,” she said. And then Allie pushed the UPDATE button, reactivating Click’d for all the people on Bus #14.

  At the end of the day, Allie ran straight to the office. As promised, there was a packet waiting for her on the counter with a Post-it note on top that read Assignments for Allie Navarro. She quickly scanned the contents, raced to her locker to grab the books she needed, and took off for the roundabout, texting Zoe on the way:

  Allie

  meet me on the lawn by the bus

  need your help!

  She ran as fast as she could, feeling her backpack thump against her spine with every step.

  Allie couldn’t help noticing that everything was different. No one was racing through the halls, trying to locate a match. People weren’t tapping their phones in the air or squealing with delight as they looked at their newly posted leaderboards. No one was taking ClickPics. And she didn’t hear a single bloop.

  She pushed her way through the crowd, ignoring everyone as they tried to stop her with questions about Click’d.

  “What happened?”

  “I heard it would be back up by the time school got out!”

  “Where is it?”

  As she turned at the flagpole, she spotted Zoe up ahead. She took off sprinting and didn’t stop until she was standing in front of her, panting.

  Allie told her about fixing the glitch and rewriting the code. “It’s all up and running, but this thirty-minute bus ride is my last chance to fill up my l
eaderboard for the contest tomorrow.”

  “What do you need me to do?” Zoe asked, and Allie wanted to hug her.

  “Open Click’d.”

  The two of them started walking toward the bus while Zoe pulled out her phone and tapped her finger against the glass. As soon as Allie reached the top step, she heard bloop-bloop-bloop.

  Zoe’s phone let out the same sound.

  Allie smiled and held her phone out, and Zoe did the same. When they tapped them together, their leaderboards popped up on their screens.

  Allie stood at the front of the bus. It was almost completely full. People were turned around in their seats, talking to one another.

  “Hi!” she called out. “Can I have your attention, please?” The noise level gradually dropped, and soon, everyone was staring at her.

  “Hi,” Allie repeated nervously. “So…hey…I need a favor.” She fidgeted with her hands, wringing them in front of her. “I just released an update of Click’d, but I only sent it to you guys—to everyone on bus fourteen.” She briefly explained what happened with the photos and how she’d fixed the glitch but lost the leaderboard and had to start from scratch. “In order to participate in tomorrow’s Games for Good competition, I need a working leaderboard and at least twenty members. And that’s where all of you come in. I need you to be my beta testers for the new version. Please don’t invite anyone else to join yet—they can’t anyway, because they aren’t in the system anymore.” Her gaze traveled around the bus and she met eyes with a few people. “You guys in?” she said, giving them a hopeful smile.

  “Sure,” someone in the back yelled.

  “Of course,” Penny said.

  “What do we need to do?” Marcus asked from his spot in the third row.

  Allie smiled at him, and then she addressed the group again. “Just launch Click’d and it will prompt you to install the update.”

  Marcus reached for his phone and everyone else on the bus did the same. Zoe and Allie walked to their seats and sat down.

  Every time a new person stepped on the bus, someone nearby explained what was happening, and soon everyone had downloaded the update and the bloop-bloop-bloops began flying as screens flashed red. People tapped their phones together and watched as their leaderboards changed before their eyes.