“No way,” Brandon breathed.
“Way,” Wen Hai countered.
“Come on. BCI isn’t new,” Wally countered. “Doctors have been using it for years, and hackers have been exploiting it for about as long.” He looked at Mr. Franklin. “Not that I know that from personal experience or anything.”
“Okay, but BCI is evolving fast,” Wen Hai insisted. “There are a lot of new technical developments.”
“Like what?” I asked, leaning forward on my desk. My sleepiness temporarily vanished. A quick look at my peers indicated they were equally as interested.
“Yes, Wen Hai, please enlighten us,” Mr. Franklin added. The way he said it, I had a feeling he already knew, but wanted to let his student speak.
“Well, doctors and scientists are implanting microchips into the brain to improve memory function, remove depression, control neurological diseases, and other stuff like that,” Wen Hai explained. “Artificial retinas have been engineered and inserted into the eye to help people see. Special implants in the ears can help deaf people hear. The software interacts directly with the brain, so everything that happens is fluid and natural.”
“Whoa,” Piper said. “That is way cool.”
Mr. Franklin tapped his chin. “So, class, where does the technology end and the human begin? Or do they become indistinguishable at some point? Can technology supersede the brain to become its own form of artificial intelligence?”
“To me, that’s a secondary question.” I blew out a breath. “Wen Hai touched on it. From a cybersecurity point of view—which is why we’re all in this class—the most important information to come from this discussion is regardless of how sophisticated the technology is or how it merges, if it requires hardware and software, it’s hackable. That means there’s going to be a big demand for anti-mind-hacking technology someday. This will be huge for the field of cybersecurity. That’s why you brought it up, Mr. Franklin, isn’t it?”
Mr. Franklin nodded, clearly pleased by my answer. “It is, indeed, Angel. Well done, class. For your homework, I want you to delve deeper into the implications of Mr. Monteray’s and Mr. Haider’s research.”
Unfortunately, the rest of my day wasn’t as exciting. Lunch wasn’t edible, so by chemistry I was tired, cranky, and hungry. I barely greeted Colt and didn’t even look at him once.
“Are you okay?” Colt whispered while the teacher was writing a long formula on the board. “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine,” I whispered back in an irritable tone.
“You’ve been acting strange the last couple of days.”
I sighed. “I have a lot on my mind. Besides, the melee is tonight.”
“It should go off without a hitch. Is everything ready?”
“I think so. Wally and Frankie finished making all the powdered-sugar bullets. They have volunteers ready to set up the field after school.”
“No need to be worried.”
“Easy for you to say. I don’t like large crowds.”
“Oh. Okay, I get that. What’s your role in this thing?”
“I have to carry around the money bucket and convince people to put cash in it.” I tapped my pencil on the notebook. “That means I’ll have to talk to people. Sort of. Not my favorite thing.”
“No wonder you’re worried,” Colt said somberly.
The way he said it, tongue in cheek, made me smile. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Teasing, a little.”
I shifted in my chair. “Aren’t you nervous at all about being the captain of the Brains? That’s going to be a challenge in itself.”
“I’m not worried. I like challenges.”
“I’m impressed. Nerves of steel. Don’t let all the television cameras distract you.”
“What television cameras?” The sudden sharp tone of his voice startled me. He looked at me, his expression angry and weirdly…betrayed.
I fumbled to process his sudden change of mood. “Wally got a few of the local television stations to cover the melee. Hopefully that means more people will come and contribute to the cause.”
“You said this would be contained to the school. I asked you specifically.”
I stared at him. He looked…pissed. “Well, yeah, it is. Sort of.”
“Television stations covering this event is not ‘sort of,’ Angel. That makes this exhibition game a lot more high profile. Not happy right now.”
I looked at him, baffled. I had no idea why he was so upset. But before I could ask him what was wrong, Mr. Jackson resumed his lecture. We didn’t have a chance to talk any more. When the bell rang, Colt grabbed his stuff without another word or even looking at me.
What the heck was going on?
I rubbed my temples. Apparently, I was a dork. I wasn’t interpreting anyone’s signal right. Not that it had ever been easy for me. Maybe my mom was right. I needed a nap to recharge my brain because, right now, nothing made sense.
When school finished, I took the bus home and headed straight for bed.
Chapter Thirty-Six
ISAAC REMINGTON
Isaac was staring at his last burner phone, waiting for it to ring. He was going to have to make another Target run. He was also going to have to stop eating at this Mexican restaurant. His stomach was in knots, and he couldn’t put all the blame on the food or the hot sauce. This situation was slipping out of his control. He had an uncomfortable feeling the Hidden Avenger was hunting him instead of the other way around. It was absurd, yet it unnerved him. When his phone finally vibrated, he answered with annoyance, sure it was going to bring more bad news.
“What is it?” he snapped.
“Honeypot accessed. All went according to plan.”
“Finally,” he huffed, relaxing marginally. It was about time things started going his way. “She got the info we planted on her father?”
“Yeah, and she was fast getting in and getting out, too. She knows her stuff. She’s got a real future with us, if she wants it.”
“Are you that much of an idiot? The last thing we need right now is another idealist who doesn’t understand how the real world works.”
“I won’t disagree with you on that. But her skills are worthy.”
“I don’t care about her skills or her future. I need her father.” Isaac ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think she got suspicious? Was it too easy?”
“I’ll be honest, I worried about that. I was monitoring her in real time. She found the info quickly and grabbed it, but before she left, she looked around like she wanted to be sure she wasn’t being set up. Did I mention she’s real good? The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with this one.”
“Do you think she suspected it was bogus data?”
“Well, it’s not all bogus. I was getting worried as she prowled the folders. I think she was looking for something that would corroborate that she had access to real information that we would otherwise share. To lead her on, I dropped in a file ahead of where she was going that I knew she couldn’t resist looking at. That should convince her everything is aboveboard if she attempts to corroborate.”
“I didn’t authorize that. What did you give her?”
“A list of names, phone numbers, and addresses of real people so she can confirm they exist and have a relationship with the agency.”
“Are you kidding me? Which list? You didn’t give her the actual agency directory, did you?”
“Of course not. I’m not stupid. Just the Research Directorate’s personnel roster. I had it at hand. She stopped looking immediately after finding it and slipped back out of the system.”
Isaac’s stomach churned worse. “Let me get this straight. You gave her our department names, addresses, and phone numbers—including yours and mine?”
“It was a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing. I had a feeling she would require something authentic if she were to swallow any of it. If she’s able to verify some information, she’ll be more likely to believe the parts that are f
abricated. It’s a calculated risk, but one I felt comfortable taking. Don’t worry. She won’t have a clue who we are.”
Isaac clenched his teeth. “She’d better not.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
ANGEL SINCLAIR
My phone rang. I groped for it, then bolted to a sitting position. Crap. I’d overslept.
“Mom?” My voice sounded scratchy.
“I’m on my way. Be out front in two minutes and I’ll drop you off at the school for the game. Did you get your nap?”
Boy, did I ever. I glanced at the clock. I’d overslept by at least two hours. That meant I hadn’t eaten or done the laundry. I yanked open my dresser. I had only one clean bra and a single pair of undies. I wasn’t as lucky in the rest-of-the-clothes department. I’d have to make do with a pair of jeans that had a ketchup stain on the right thigh and a white T-shirt I never wore because of the stupid saying on it—Hedgehogs. Why Don’t They Just Share the Hedge? I grabbed a sweatshirt on the way out to account for the cooler evenings, but mostly to hide the T-shirt.
My mom was already outside when I got down to the front of the complex. She frowned as I climbed in and buckled my seat belt. “Really, Angel? You’re wearing that?”
“I didn’t have a chance to do my laundry. I overslept.”
“You don’t have even one clean pair of jeans?”
“Not even one.”
“Why didn’t you do your laundry last night like I suggested?”
“Mom, I was studying, remember? I don’t want to talk about my clothes, okay? Be glad I’m getting out.”
“I am glad. But I thought since you’re going to be on television, you would like to look nice.”
“I’m not going to be on television, thank God. I’m going to be in the crowd holding a bucket and asking for money. This is not about me or how I look. I’m helping Wally behind the scenes. That’s it.”
“You could have at least combed your hair.”
“Mom!”
“Okay, okay. I’m stopping now.”
Mom dropped me off in front of the school after contributing a twenty-dollar bill for Mr. Matthews’s fund, which I crammed into the pocket of my jeans. I followed the crowd of kids headed behind the school to the football field. I found Wally on the fifty-yard line directing the drama club students setting up the melee obstacles, which were basically beat-up medieval-looking props.
“Glad you could make it,” Wally commented wryly when I came running up. He gave me a once-over. “You dressed up. Is that a ketchup stain on your jeans?”
“I overslept and didn’t have time to do my laundry.”
“That’s obvious.”
I glared at him. “What’s wrong with everyone today? No one ever cared how I dressed before.”
“That’s because I’ve only seen you in your school uniform. I’m not familiar with your casual look. If I’m honest, it needs work.”
I folded my arms against my chest. “Can we drop the issue of my clothes? Don’t worry, Wally. Despite my appearance, I’ll get you the money for Mr. Matthews.”
“You’d better. Your bucket is over there.”
I looked over his shoulder at a bucket decorated with green glitter swords and a sign that said, Help Mr. Matthews. Donate Something Worthy of King Arthur! Frankie had done a nice job with them.
Wally ran off and began talking to everyone, directing the show like a general. A chubby, curly-haired, thick-glasses-and-no-spiffy-uniform-or-cool-hat Napoléon, but a leader, nonetheless. I couldn’t help but be secretly impressed.
The stands were full and more people were coming. The teams were walking around, talking and huddling—probably reviewing last-minute strategies. Wally ran over and yelled something at the Trains, who were easily identified by their chest bumping and random, loud bellows of unfocused emotions.
Ugh. Jocks.
As required by the rules, all the participants wore white T-shirts and a gray or red ball cap, depending on their team, and held tubular marshmallow blasters. Everyone was wearing safety goggles, either on the top of their heads or hanging around their necks. When the game started, all players had to cover their eyes or be disqualified. The drama club had already positioned the two swords mounted in stone replicas at either end of the field. One sword had a gray scarf tied around the handle and the other a red scarf. A red train was on a sign behind the sword in stone with the red scarf. A gray brain was on the other sign.
Wally walked back to me, studying my expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t believe you pulled this off. You’re amazing, Wally.”
“Thank you. Between you and me, I was barely able to get enough people on the Brains’ team. If it hadn’t been for you co-opting Colt to be captain of the Brains, we wouldn’t have had enough. As it is, the Trains are pissed Colt is bailing on them.”
“It was nice of Colt to agree to help us out,” I agreed. Then I remembered his anger in chemistry class and looked around, wondering if I had time to ask him about it. I didn’t see him on the field yet.
Wally waved a hand at someone on the Brains’ team and then turned to me again. “I don’t know what kind of hold you have on Colt, but I appreciate it.”
My cheeks heated. “I don’t have any hold on him. He wants to help Mr. Matthews, okay?”
“If that’s your story, I’m onboard.” Wally leaned over toward me and lowered his voice. “Did you see who’s captain of the Trains? None other than your best friend, Mary Herman.”
I glanced at the other end zone, where a sea of red caps was currently jostling around. “This could get ugly.”
“You think? Mary is the one to beat. No question.”
A kid in a referee shirt, carrying a clipboard and with a whistle around his neck, strolled by. “Who’s that?” I asked.
“Cameron Locke. He’s not at the top of the brain chain, but he’s no jock, either. A neutral party, and therefore as decent a referee as I could get.”
“As neutral as you can be knowing that if the jocks lose, Mary Herman is coming after you first.”
“Keep that quiet,” Wally hissed. “I can’t afford to lose Cameron at this stage. But given the physical prowess of the Trains, I will say with great sincerity that those Brains who lay down their lives to help Mr. Matthews will never be forgotten.”
“Better them than me.”
“I wholeheartedly agree, but privately, of course. As the mastermind of this operation, I must maintain neutrality.”
I looked around. “Have you seen Colt?”
“I thought you were in charge of Colt.”
“I’m not in charge of anybody. I’m barely in charge of myself.”
Mark Shinsky of the Brains trotted over, standing in front of me with his hands on his hips. “Hey, where’s McCarrell—our fearless leader?”
I lifted my hands. “Why does everyone think I know?”
“Wally said you two were an item.”
“Wally!” My face turned scarlet as I glared at him.
Wally spread his hands in an innocent gesture. “What goes on between two consenting individuals is none of my business. I don’t want to know the details.”
I whirled on Mark. “Colt and I are not together. We’re lab partners in chemistry. That’s it.”
“Like I care. Just get your boyfriend here. Game time is in fifteen minutes. The Brains are getting nervous.”
Wally stuck a finger in my chest. “Take care of it. The television crew just arrived. Be right back.” He rushed over to two guys who were standing on the sidelines, one of them balancing a heavy camera on his shoulder.
I took my phone out of my pocket and texted Colt.
Where are you?
I waited but got no answer. After a few minutes had passed with no response, I called. The phone went right to his voice mail. I left a message asking him where he was and telling him to come to the school as soon as possible.
More minutes ticked past, and no Colt.
Panic began
to bloom in my stomach. Cheering arose and I looked over. The jocks, or the Trains—presumably because they intended to steamroll the Brains—had co-opted the assistance of the cheerleaders, as Wally had predicted. They were in full uniform, shaking their pom-poms and just about everything else.
Great.
Where the heck was Colt?
Wally rushed back to me. “We are T-minus seven minutes until game time. Any word from Colt?”
I checked my phone. “No.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Me?”
“This was your one and only responsibility.”
“I…don’t know.”
Mark jogged over to us. “Where’s Colt?”
I lifted my hands. “No idea.”
“Well, without him, we’re short one person. We might as well forfeit. We can’t play if we’re short one person, and who the heck is going to volunteer in his place? Without him, we’ll be creamed.”
This was turning into a disaster. I felt like I might throw up. Why hadn’t Colt shown?
Patty Trent, her hair swept back into a long, sleek ponytail, marched over to us. Until she stood right next to me, I’d never known how short the cheerleaders’ skirts were. Wally must not have noticed that before, either, because he was having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face.
Patty smiled at him. “Wally, are we going to start the game now? We want to know when we can start our opening cheer sequence.”
“Ah…ah…” he stammered. He couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought. She’d probably never spoken to him directly before. Now that she had, he was acting as if he were stuck in a loop, calculating the infinitesimally small probability that she would ever go out with him.
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