by Robin Caroll
“Yeah?” Sam slowed her pace.
“When I was changing in the locker room, when most of y’all were already stretching, I heard Mrs. Holt and Mrs. Christian talking.”
Sam slowed to a walk.
Frannie looked around. The other cheerleaders were almost a good eight feet in front of them. Mrs. Holt was looking at a book and Mrs. Christian had the girls’ basketball team on the bleachers, talking to them.
She went on. “They were talking about the grades and everything, and Mrs. Christian said the district had a backup of the system from the last day of school before Christmas break. Mrs. Holt asked why hadn’t they just restored the system from that backup.”
That made sense, and Sam was more than a little disappointed in herself that she hadn’t considered a backup. What had she been thinking?
Sam stopped. “What’d Mrs. Christian say?”
“She said they couldn’t.”
“What?” Sam asked. That made no sense. Everyone knew the point of a backup was to be able to restore something in the event of data loss.
“I don’t know anything more than that. They stopped talking when they saw me.”
“That just doesn’t make sense.”
Frannie started walking again. “I don’t know what’s going on, but since you’re covering the case and your dad’s over the investigation and all, I thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Frannie.”
“No problem.”
“Sam! Frannie! Get a move on. We’re ready to practice our stunts.” Mrs. Holt motioned them to their corner of the basketball court while Mrs. Christian led the girls’ basketball team to the other side.
As Sam went through the stunt, pyramid, and cheers practice, her mind couldn’t stop thinking about what Frannie had overheard.
How come they couldn’t restore the system from a backup?
CHAPTER TEN
As soon as cheer practice was over, Sam rushed into the locker room to change. For once she didn’t care if her dad was unable to pick her up. Sam would be able to love her neighbor, Mrs. Willis, even if she was hard of hearing and didn’t see as well as she used to. Sam grabbed her backpack and headed out into the parking lot.
A cold wind slapped her in the face as soon as she stepped outside. She glanced over the parking lot, shivering, and saw Mrs. Willis’s old car parked in the back row, as was usual when she picked Sam up when Sam’s dad had to work and her mom was out of town.
“Hello, dear. How was your day?” Mrs. Willis asked as Sam slid into the front seat and blew on her hands.
The cracked vinyl popped as she buckled her seatbelt. “It was a good day.” For the most part. “Thank you for picking me up.”
Mrs. Willis started the car, revving the engine like she always did. Sam suspected she needed to do that to make sure the vehicle was running. “It’s no problem. I finished making my grocery list while I waited.”
Sam knew Mrs. Willis was lonely. Many times, she’d told Sam she left the television or radio on just to hear other voices. Sam felt sorry for her, so the whole way home, she rattled on about her day — cheerleading, school . . . any and everything — right up until they pulled into Mrs. Willis’s driveway next door.
“Thank you again for the ride,” Sam shut the passenger door and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “I’m sorry I talked your ear off.”
“Dear, I always love hearing about your day. Remember, if you need anything I’m right next door.” Mrs. Willis locked the car door and toddled toward her front door. She never used the carport door. Never had, for as long as Sam could remember.
Sam jogged across the yard to her garage door. She punched in the code on the keypad by the door. The mechanical door slowly began to rise. She gave Mrs. Willis a wave goodbye before heading into the house, hitting the button to shut the garage door on her way into the kitchen.
Chewy met her as soon as she walked inside, jumping and wagging her whole body.
Sam laughed, dropped her backpack onto the entry bench and then made her way inside, pausing to love on her dog. Chewy licked her face while standing on her hind legs. The dog was one of Sam’s best friends.
Sam let the dog out into the backyard before starting on dinner. This morning before school she’d pulled one of the casseroles from the freezer and shoved it into the refrigerator. That meant it wouldn’t take nearly as long to cook, so it should be ready just about the time Dad got home from work.
When Mom was home, Sam helped her make up lots of casseroles that were easy to freeze and store. That way, when Mom was off on a journalist assignment, Sam and her dad always had home-cooked meals.
Tonight was one of those nights, but Mom would be home this weekend.
Chewy barked, and Sam let her back in through the kitchen door.
Sam had just finished dumping the salad mix into the bowls when the front door squeaked open. Dad’s keys clanked into the wooden bowl on the entry table. “Hi, Daddy,” she called out.
“Hi, pumpkin.” As usual, he went immediately to his and Mom’s room to lock up his gun and badge.
She added dressing and cheese to the salads, then set them on the placemats on the kitchen table.
“Something smells good.” Dad kissed the top of her head as he came into the kitchen.
“It’s stuffed bell pepper casserole,” Sam answered as she handed him the hot pads.
“No wonder my stomach’s growling.” He pulled the casserole from the oven and set it on the cooling rack.
Sam turned off the oven and passed him the silver server and two plates. He cut generous pieces of the cheesy, meaty casserole, then carried the plates to the table. Sam joined him, carrying two glasses of milk.
Dad said grace. Her own stomach growling, Sam shoved a bite of the hot casserole into her mouth. The yummy tomato and cheese flavors made her taste buds stand up and dance. She couldn’t help making a little sighing sound.
Shaking his head, Dad laughed. “You always enjoy your food. You make the funniest sounds.”
“I love food. What can I say?” Sam smiled before taking another bite.
“How was your day?” He pointed at her with his fork. “And don’t ruin my dinner by grilling me about the case.”
Sam resisted the urge to growl out loud. Her dad could irritate her faster than anyone else in the whole world. “Can’t we just discuss it?”
Dad set down his fork. “Off the record?”
“If you tell me it’s off the record, then it is.” This was her integrity as a reporter.
“Okay, off the record, what do you want to know?”
“Did the police install keylogger devices on the school’s computers after the virus was planted?”
“No.” But he didn’t look surprised.
“Did the IT guys install them?”
“Off the record, yes.”
She nodded, tracing the lip of her glass of milk as she thought. “Why haven’t they just restored the system back to the point of the last backup?”
He looked surprised that she’d asked. “Mr. Alexander said they can’t.”
“Why? Was the backup corrupt?” That would mean the virus was planted before they left for Christmas break.
“I’m not sure, but he was pretty adamant it couldn’t be done.”
“Did you turn that information over to the police department’s cyber unit?”
Dad balled his napkin up and set it on his empty plate. “Why do you think it needs to be turned over to our cyber unit?”
“This is just you and me talking, right?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Well,” she took the last sip of milk and set the empty glass back on the table. “I don’t think you should just take Mr. Alexander’s word on anything. Something about him is a little off. He doesn’t even have a degree in computer science or anything.”
“Have you been digging into Mr. Alexander’s background?”
She rolled her eyes. “Dad, I’m a reporter. Of course I did re
search on him. Due diligence and all that, remember?”
Dad chuckled.
“So did you turn it over to your cyber unit?”
“I did, but they haven’t had a chance to look at the case. They’re backed up from all the hackers who stole credit and debit card information over the holidays.” Dad finished off his glass of milk. “What else bothers you about Mr. Alexander?”
“I just find it odd that the school district would hire him as an IT guy if he doesn’t even have a computer-based degree. I couldn’t find that he had any degree at all. So why is he working for the district if he isn’t really qualified?”
“Just because he doesn’t have a degree doesn’t mean he isn’t qualified, pumpkin. There are a lot of important computer geniuses who don’t have degrees, like Bill Gates, Steve Jobs, and Mark Zuckerberg.”
“I know. And I know about the Thiel Fellowship too.”
Dad tented his fingers and rested his elbow on the table. “Um, I’m not familiar with that.”
Sam grinned. “The Thiel Fellowship awards one hundred thousand dollars to twenty people under the age of twenty every year so they can skip college to focus on research or a dream.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “There’s a fellowship that pays people not to go to college?”
Sam laughed and nodded. “The fellowship allows the person to focus on research or a dream, like a high-tech project or something meaningful like that.”
“That’s . . . that’s just insane.”
“Obviously I’m not applying.” Sam laughed.
“I should say not. One hundred thousand dollars sounds like a lot of money, but you can make that in just one year with a college degree. What about year two for those who took the fellowship? They have no guarantee they’ll even be employable.”
“Or, they could become like Jobs or Gates or Zuckerberg and be wealthy for the rest of their lives.”
Dad stood and took his dishes to the sink. “I guess I just don’t understand. In this day and age when we put so much stock in education and knowledge, I find it appalling that any entity would actually pay someone not to go to college. It just befuddles my mind.”
Sam kept chuckling as she rinsed the dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. “Did you know that David Karp never even got his high school diploma?”
“Should I know who that is?”
Sam shook her head and laughed. “Dad, he’s the guy who started Tumblr. He sold it to Yahoo! for like one-point-one billion dollars.”
“You’re scaring me, Sam.” He leaned against the counter.
She bent forward and gave him a hug. “You don’t have to sweat it. I’m not a computer genius, and you know I plan to get my journalism degree from Mizzou.” She would get a scholarship, get her degree, then become an amazing journalist, just like Mom. Maybe even surpassing Mom.
He kissed the top of her head. “For once, I’m extremely pleased you have your future all mapped out.” He popped her softly with the dishtowel. “Now, go do your homework. I’ll finish cleaning up the kitchen.”
“Okay.” She moved toward her bedroom.
“And Sam?”
She turned back to him. “Yes, sir?”
“Don’t forget, everything I told you was off the record.”
“I won’t.” She grinned and headed to her room. Chewy followed, prancing alongside Sam as she shut her bedroom door behind her and plopped on the bed.
Sam didn’t have any homework so she grabbed her iPhone. Her heart skipped a little beat as she saw the call she’d missed — Luke Jensen! And he’d left a voice mail. She quickly played it back.
“Uh, hi, Sam. This is Luke. Listen, I just wanted to say thanks for not saying anything. I told my dad everything and he’s helping me and my brother work on my project, so it’s all good right now.” A pause sounded on the recording. “Anyway, thanks.”
Sam smiled to herself. This was almost better than him asking her to a silly formal dance. She checked the time. Makayla should be done with dinner by now. She dialed her number and waited for the connection.
“Hey, Sam.” Makayla always sounded like she was smiling.
That was okay, because Sam couldn’t stop smiling herself. She told her bestie about Luke’s call.
“That’s so cool,” Makayla said. “Did he mention the dance at all?”
“No.” Sam admitted to herself she was a little disappointed, but it was okay. She quickly changed the subject. “Tell me why we haven’t just restored the system from the backup.” Sam lay on her bed, petting Chewy’s head. The iPhone set on her chest, the speaker feature turned on.
“Well, hello to you too.” But Makayla chuckled. “You must be hot on a lead.”
“I am. Sorry.”
“I know how you are. No offense taken.”
“Good. So give me a reason why we haven’t just restored the system from the backup.”
“Well, there are several that come to mind. First, the backup is corrupt.”
“If it’s corrupt, wouldn’t that mean the virus got to it, which means that the suspected timeframe is off?”
“Not necessarily. A corrupt backup could have nothing to do with a virus. Sometimes backup servers just glitch because of the enormous amount of data they’re processing every day and because they’re writing over and over the older data.”
Sam stopped petting Chewy and tapped her fingertips together. “Um, isn’t that the whole purpose of a backup, to actually, I don’t know, back up data?”
Makayla laughed. “You would think. And usually it goes off without a hitch, but there are times when hardware needs to be replaced.”
“That’s kind of reaching, wouldn’t you say? Our backup is corrupt right when we need it?”
“It would be quite the coincidence.”
“Yeah, I’m not buying that.”
“Okay, if the backup isn’t corrupt, then the main reason I think we couldn’t use the backup is that the system has been damaged to the point where the backup couldn’t overwrite the virus.”
Sam chewed her bottom lip. “Tell me more.”
“Well, if a virus has a self-destruct feature, obviously IT and the police’s cyber unit wouldn’t want a self-destruct to be activated. If it was, they wouldn’t be able to study and analyze the virus itself.”
“A self-destruct?” Sam sat up and took the phone off speaker, pressing it against her ear.
“It would automatically locate every bit of the virus’ code, remove it, and write random data over the original code, so you couldn’t even find a trace of the virus. Self-destructs are designed to prevent anybody from studying a particular virus using a computer that’s been infected but has received the self-destruct code.”
“Every virus has a self-destruct feature?”
“No. Actually, most don’t. But if the person who created this virus really wanted to erase every link back to them, they might have built it in. They would have written a module responsible for removing the virus from the compromised system. It’s also known as the uninstaller. Basically, it tries to leave no traces of the infection behind so no one can trace it or even break it down to find any identifying markers.”
“Hmmm.” Even though Sam took computer class and knew enough, all of this type of stuff was over her head. “How would they know if there was this self-destruct file in the virus?”
“Someone who knew what they were looking for would have to find it. Most of the self-destruct files are hidden in a restore program. Like, there would be a specific .ocx file embedded in the restore process. So as someone starts the restore process, the .ocx file would be activated, and the self-destruct would launch.”
Sam considered who all would have looked at the system. Dad said the cyber unit hadn’t had a chance yet, so the hold on restoring wasn’t from the police. That meant it had to come from the district’s IT team. Mr. Alexander.
Maybe he was better than she’d thought.
Sam ran her fingers through Chewy’s fur. “Would an IT
team automatically know to look for that?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure the district’s IT team would, if that’s what you’re getting at, and I’m not real sure if they’d want to preserve a virus to study it. If it had a self-destruct, it might have clues as to who the creator was,” Makayla said without hesitation.
“Really?” Sam caressed Chewy’s soft ear.
“Most virus writers have a certain way of writing code that can identify them. Like, specific colors for the lines of code or something like that. It’s usually identifiable because it’s usually used more than once. Maybe the police said not to restore from a backup in order to preserve the virus in hopes they could use the code itself to help identify the creator.”
But they didn’t. “What if I said I knew the police didn’t?” Sam asked.
“Your dad told you this?”
“Not on the record.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m not real sure then. It doesn’t make sense, but since I’m not looking at the code of the virus, I really can’t even guess.”
Sam stood and paced. Chewy let out a heavy sigh and dropped onto her dog bed beside Sam’s desk. “If you could get into the grading program, where the virus is, could you see if it has a self-destruct?” If the virus didn’t have a self-destruct, then they could restore from the backup without worry.
“Probably, but I doubt they’ll let me poke around in it,” Makayla said with a half snort.
Sam paced faster. “Couldn’t you go in remotely and look?”
“Sam! I’m not going in to poke around without permission. No way.”
“Just to look. You wouldn’t be doing anything.”
“No.”
“Come on, aren’t you the least bit curious? Just to see such a virus code?” Sam stopped pacing and bit her lip. Makayla was curious, especially about computer code and stuff. That’s why she’d joined that computer research demographic group. Sam didn’t know everything they did, but a lot of it was counter-computer hacking stuff and anti-virus. At least, that’s what she thought it was about when Mac had described it.
“If I’m being honest, yes, I am curious,” Makayla admitted. “But not enough to break into the system to look at a virus.”
