Trouble Makes a Comeback

by Stephanie Tromly

  “Well, to be fair, this propulsion stuff’s decent.” Felix tapped the screen. “This one’s a workaround for a satellite if the solar arrays don’t deploy and the drive mechanism fails.”

  “Maybe . . .” Digby rolled his chair over to Felix.

  I got on Digby’s terminal and clicked back to the main page, where I found a folder named VAL. “What’s this?”

  Digby looked over. “Oh, my mom’s stuff.”

  “What did she do?” I said.

  “Admin. She was support staff. I remember she was on something she called the Fun Committee and they’d meet in our backyard,” Digby said. “They planned office parties.”

  I opened it and found the FUN COMMITTEE file. “Can I open it?”

  “Yeah, sure . . .” Digby went back to Felix’s screen.

  The photos were mostly just random shots of people goofing around in labs. Then I found a series of shots of a little girl I eventually realized was Sally. “Digby. Is this . . . ?”

  His breath caught. “Yes. That’s Sally.” We went through the rest of the pictures in silence. The newspapers had run posed cute-baby pictures, but the ones on the monitor showed Sally at a backyard children’s party. Unlike Digby’s dark hair and eyes, Sally had long fair hair and bright green eyes. The eccentricity of her outfit—a pink tracksuit, a backpack, and a pair of plastic binoculars around her neck—struck me as being totally Digby, though. “This is the day she disappeared. It was her birthday,” Digby said.

  I found a picture of seven-year-old Digby shielding his sister’s face from their dad’s confetti gun. Even before Sally had been abducted, Digby’s sad brown eyes were knowing in a way most kids’ aren’t. “I don’t understand how they could think you killed her. That this kid”—I tapped the screen—“killed anyone.”

  “I do,” Digby said. “No one is impossible, Princeton. Anyone can do anything. The reasons only need to make sense to them.”

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off about the image. “Hey, Digby, what’s this?” I pointed at the pink bouncy castle behind Sally’s head.

  “Her Dora the Explorer obsession was in full force back then,” Digby said.

  “No, I mean, the lines are weird.” I pointed at the parts of the bouncy castle showing on either side of Sally’s head. “These don’t match. Did your mom Photoshop your sister’s face or something?”

  Digby zoomed in. “Felix, could there be an image under this image?”

  “Okay . . . let’s look at what’s under this graphic interface.” Felix narrated what he was doing as he exited into Terminal mode and the usual Mac icons were replaced with lines of code.

  “No. Don’t go online,” Digby said.

  “But I need Droste Master at least to retrieve whatever’s hidden there,” Felix said. “Unless, whoa, you want us to read every line of code?”

  “Let’s use something offline. In fact, wait.” Digby pulled the USBs out of the terminals. “Let’s wipe here. Keystrokes, everything.” As Felix got busy, Digby said, “Princeton, lend us yours?”

  Digby still looked shaken from having seen his sister’s pictures and I felt bad hesitating. I gave them my laptop and they got to work on the picture. Felix eventually said, “Here it is. Your mom put it in your sister’s hair.”

  Pixel by pixel, Felix rebuilt the images on my computer’s screen: They were pages of run-on equations. Felix said, “Is that . . . ?”

  Digby said, “It looks like . . .”

  Then they were both silent.

  “It’s small,” Felix said. “The units are in nanometers. I could ask my dad.”

  Digby scrolled down and pointed at a notation. “F.U.N. What does that mean? I always thought it was just office shenanigans.”

  “So, this file is your mom’s? But you said she was admin,” I said. “Is this stuff kidnap material?”

  “Totally. Kidnapping, espionage . . .” Felix said. “But you know what’s strange? This looks a lot like the stuff my father’s working on at Perses . . . what I’ve seen of it, anyway.” Felix clicked on the images. “I mean, I don’t know exactly what he’s doing. It’s classified . . . the Department of Defense sent people to interview us and everything.”

  “Did they mention if there’d be a possibility you’d get kidnapped?” I said.

  Felix looked worried. Suddenly, the green light above my screen flickered on and then off.

  “Did you see that? I think my webcam turned on for like, a second,” I said.

  Felix went back into Terminal and dug through my operating system. “Guys. The Wi-Fi keeps turning itself back on. A bot must’ve installed itself when we opened those images.”

  “Turn it off,” I said.

  Felix’s fingers never stopped typing even as he turned to give me a condescending stare. “I’m already blocking it, but it starts itself up every time I shut it down.”

  “Are you planning to keep blocking it until my battery runs down? Because that sucker’s got a full charge,” I said.

  “It will eventually stay on long enough for the bot to find whatever it’s trying to connect with,” Felix said.

  “Sorry, Princeton. Blame Steve Jobs for this internal battery nonsense,” Digby said.

  “What?” I said, even though I knew what was coming next.

  Digby threw his chocolate milk all over my keyboard and my computer crackled, whirred, and died.

  “I can retrieve your data for you,” Felix said.

  “I backed up last night.” I sighed.

  “I’ll get you another one, Princeton,” Digby said.

  “You have another big payday coming up?” I said.

  “Well, maybe give me a few months,” Digby said.

  “What was that, anyway?” I said.

  Felix said, “Some bot that was written into the embedded images kept calling home.”

  “If we recovered that data, we could find out what it was trying to connect to,” Digby said.

  “Are we sure it didn’t connect?” I said.

  Digby and Felix were quiet.

  “So . . .” I said. “Someone maybe knows we’re in the school computer lab, trying to open these files?”

  Digby grabbed the ruined computer off the ground and ushered Felix and me out the door. We double-timed it down the stairs and sprinted across the school. I led them out the cafeteria doors I’d opened and we stood, backs against the building, panting. After a few minutes of nothing happening, I felt goofy. Digby and Felix looked just as underwhelmed.

  “Do you think it’s bad I’m disappointed no one’s turned up to murder us?” Felix said.

  ELEVEN

  At home later that night, I was just getting ready to quit studying and start winding down in front of the TV when the doorbell rang.

  “Oh. My. Gah. I can’t believe you’re actually here,” Charlotte said.

  “What do you mean? Didn’t you get my text telling you I’d be home studying tonight?” I said.

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know how studying would work now with your other friends.” Charlotte snickered and rolled her eyes at Allie.

  “My ‘other friends’?” I said.

  “We heard you were at Sloane’s house,” Allie said.

  “So?” Charlotte said. “How was it?”

  “Well . . .” I said. “Her house is huge—”

  “What’s her closet like?” Allie said.

  “I didn’t actually get to see—”

  “Ooh, her makeup . . .” Allie said.

  “We were only there for like, a minute—”

  “We?” Charlotte said. “Who else went?”

  “Uh . . . just Digby,” I said.

  “Digby,” Charlotte said. “Austin didn’t mention that.”

  “Austin told you I went?” I said. “When d’you talk?”

>   “Austin told Rob, Rob told Anna. Whatever,” Charlotte said. “Why were you there with Digby?”

  “She needed to ask us about some legal stuff . . .” I said.

  “Legal stuff?” Charlotte wasn’t buying it until she remembered, “Oh, because your dad’s a lawyer? Is he helping her?”

  I said, “I can’t really say . . .” and allowed them to draw their own conclusions.

  And that bought me peace for the rest of the evening.

  • • •

  Later that night, I’d just started to drift off to sleep when my door opened and Digby walked in.

  “This vegan thing has seriously improved the food situation in this house,” he said. “Remember when it was all grandma snacks in your nightstand?”

  He was sandwiching a marshmallow between two Oreos.

  “Where’d you get the marshmallows?” I said.

  “Under your mom’s desk,” he said.

  “It’s bad enough you’re invading my privacy. Please stay out of my mom’s stuff,” I said. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  Digby sat on my bed. “I couldn’t sleep. Hey, how’s your dad?”

  “I don’t know. Fine, probably,” I said.

  “Because I feel like you two haven’t talked in a long time,” Digby said.

  “We haven’t, I guess . . . but I’m seeing him next weekend—”

  “That’s too late,” he said.

  “Too late for what?” I said.

  “I need legal real estate help. I checked the P.O. box address on the rent invoices from the former crack den and found the name of the company, but after I peeled back six layers of holding companies, all I got was a phone number in Hong Kong that went straight to voicemail,” Digby said. “I need help getting to the next step.”

  “From my dad?” I said. “I don’t think I can get my dad to do free legal work for me . . . he bills clients for shower ideas. One time he charged someone for a dream.”

  “Well, I mean, he could just ask a paralegal or something,” Digby said.

  Oh, God. That meant I’d have to deal with Barbara, my father’s uptight paralegal. Barbara idolized my father, thought I was an entitled loser, and made it her ambition to replace me as the daughter my father never had.

  “I guess, Digby, but—”

  “Say it’s a school thing,” he said.

  “Fine. I’ll ask him the next time we talk,” I said.

  Digby picked up my phone from the nightstand and handed it to me.

  “What? Now?” I said.

  “I can’t sleep,” he said. “Come on, Princeton. This is something. I can feel it. This is about Sally.”

  I started dialing. “Okay. Eleven o’clock on a school night. He’s going to know something’s wrong—”

  “Heeeey . . . how are you?” The warmth in my father’s greeting surprised me.

  “Um . . . Dad?” I said.

  “Oh. Zoe?” It was his turn to be surprised. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sure . . .” I said. “Sorry to call so late, but I need help with a project.”

  “You do?” he said.

  I said, “Yeah—”

  “Do you mean yes?”

  I ignored how irritating that was. “Yes,” I said. “Anyway, I’m having trouble with my research on a company in town. All I get is a voicemail in Hong Kong.”

  “And you want to see what? What they own? What they do?” he said.

  “Yes, all that, please.”

  “All right. E-mail me the details and I will have Barbara deal with it tomorrow,” he said.

  “And how’s the studying for the SATs going? Are you ready?”

  “Oh . . . I’m super-sleepy. Thanks for the help, Dad. Good night.” I couldn’t hang up fast enough and when I did, my chest was tight and my pulse was thumping in my ears.

  “He said yes?” Digby said. “Hey, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” But my breathy delivery was a giveaway.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Nothing . . . he just asked . . . the SATs . . . this, uh . . .” I was horrified that I’d started crying, but I couldn’t stop. “This . . . it’s in five days . . .”

  “Okay, you’re having a panic attack and gulping down air is making it worse,” he said.

  I was too overcome to resist much when he peeled back my covers, flipped me over onto my belly, and climbed on so we were lying back-to-back on the bed.

  “Just breathe, Princeton, and go to your happy place,” he said. “Remember doing this for me? It works.”

  After a few minutes, the weight of him on top of me slowed my breathing enough so the buzzing in my head died down. It was incredibly comforting and even after the worst had passed, I didn’t ask him to roll off. We lay like this for a while and I’d dozed off when Mom knocked on my door. Not fully conscious yet, I threw Digby off my back and onto the bed and buried him under the covers just as she walked in.

  “Zoe? I thought I heard talking a minute ago?” Mom said.

  “I was on the phone with Dad,” I said. She looked concerned, so I said, “Nothing bad. I needed a favor and surprisingly . . . he said yes.”

  “He’s your father,” she said. “Why are you surprised he’d do something for you?”

  “Yeah. Exactly. He’s Dad. Why aren’t you surprised he’s doing me a favor?” I said.

  And just as I’d feared she would, Mom sat down on the bed next to me. I didn’t want to, but I shifted to make a little room for her, squishing Digby against the wall in the process.

  “I know I’ve said unkind things about your father, and I regret that . . .” Mom said. “But it would make me really sad if what I said made you think you couldn’t count on him anymore.” The unmistakable sound of an upset stomach gurgled up from under the duvet.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Vegan ramen is . . .”

  “I know. I actually came up to remind you that tomorrow’s cheat night,” she said. “Pizza? Burgers? Pizza with ground-up pig parts?”

  “I guess I could go for burgers—” I almost screamed when under the covers, Digby poked me in the ribs. “On the other hand, pizza . . .” Another poke. “Is not what I want, so chicken it is.”

  “Is something wrong?” Mom said. “Problems with . . . ?” She cocked her head in the direction of the guest room.

  “What? Digby? No,” I said.

  “Austin isn’t threatened?” she said. “Because I was looking at Digby in the kitchen today and I have to say . . . he’s really growing into his looks . . .”

  “Good talk, Mom.” I gave her a small starting push off the bed. “I’ve got to study tomorrow and I just really need to sleep now.”

  “Oh. Okay, honey.” At the door, she said, “One last thing about your dad . . . I think you’d be happier if you didn’t focus on the bad times and remembered the good times we had together instead. Maybe the secret to happiness is a little creative forgetfulness, you know?”

  After she finally left, Digby popped up from under the covers. “Did your dad say yes?” I nodded and he said, “Do you think your mom will get enough chicken for me too?”

  “Or make you watch us eat while you sit there smacking your lips? She’s not a monster. Of course she will,” I said.

  “Wow. Maybe if my parents were this useful, I wouldn’t have gotten emancipated,” he said.

  “‘Useful’? That’s messed up,” I said. “Hey, why does it matter who owns that building downtown? It’s not like they’d remember anything from nine years ago.”

  “I know, but I was thinking . . . Ezekiel said Bullet Time told him that some guys in suits driving SUVs gave him money to get lost so they could use his crack house,” Digby said. “Why that particular downtown crack house?”

  “You mean, why not just pick another place instead
of paying him to go away?” I said.

  “Right,” Digby said.

  I became suddenly self-conscious that he and I were both still horizontal and jammed close together under my covers.

  “God . . . it’s hot in here,” I said.

  “Still not wearing your retainer, I see.” He wiped off the sweat from my top lip. “Hmm. This is very dangerous,” Digby said.

  I knew what he meant. Jammed in bed together and whispering in the dark like this . . . it was all starting to feel confusing.

  “I can’t guarantee the air quality, if you know what I mean,” he said. His stomach gurgled again.

  “Digby! Dammit,” I said. “You really need to quit eating junk.”

  He got out of the bed. “I know . . .” He took my phone and started typing.

  “What are you writing?” I said.

  “I owe you one, Princeton.” He showed me the e-mail he’d composed for me to send to my father’s paralegal, and after I added a carefully worded greeting for Barbara, I sent the email.

  “Wait until you read Barbara’s response.” I rolled my eyes. “You’ll realize you owe me a lot more than one.”

  “She’s mean?” he said.

  “You’ll see,” I said. “I’m too tired to even explain it right now.”

  “Tired. Right. I should let you sleep. She’s wrong, by the way. Your mom? Wrong. Forgetting about the bad times . . . that isn’t happiness. That’s amnesia.”

  He had his hand on the doorknob and he was about to walk out into the hallway.

  “Hey,” I said. “Are you crazy?” I pointed out the window, meaning I wanted him to walk around on the porch’s roof to get back to his room.

  “But my window’s locked. Besides, it’s more exciting this way,” he said.

  “I don’t need any grief about you right now,” I said.

  “Why are we even sneaking around?” he said. “She already knows I’m in the house.”