by Bali Rai
‘Forget about it,’ I said. ‘Ria isn’t worth your anger.’
I maximized my page. A load of posts clogged up my news feed, mostly from people at school. Some of them had posted pictures or videos of themselves – with new haircuts or showing off their latest gadgets. A lad called Daniel wanted me to like some band page. Molly Cooper, another of the self-obsessed tribe but nicer than Manisha and her lot, had posted a ‘rate my looks for a rate back’ selfie. She was all tiny tight red shorts and a white boob top, and had about fifty likes – most from lads. Just the usual crap.
In the top left corner, I had some friend requests. I clicked on the little icon, and looked down the list.
‘You got any good books?’ Tilly looked up from her phone again and asked out of nowhere.
‘Books?’
‘Yeah – you know those things with covers and words in them. We like them?’
‘I’ve got a few,’ I replied, smiling at her random question. ‘But you didn’t give the last one back.’
Tilly pointed to a mess of clothes and shoes in the corner of her room. ‘It’s under there,’ she told me. ‘I think.’
‘I’m not searching under all your dirty knickers!’ I told her.
‘Come on! I’m in the mood for something girly and real. Though,’ she added, ‘I don’t want anything about undead lovers, nerdy magicians or anything like that.’
I started to think through what I’d read recently that Tilly might enjoy when one of the friend requests particularly caught my eye.
It was from a boy I didn’t recognize. I did recognize that he was hot, though. And I mean seriously, seriously attractive.
‘Hello!’
‘Hmmm?’ said Tilly.
‘Look!’ I tapped on the picture.
Tilly’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘OMG!’ she squealed. ‘Who’s he?’
On my screen was a lad with dark chestnut hair, pale blue eyes, and the most amazing ripped abs and chest I’d ever seen. He looked like a Hollister model. His tag said ‘Benedict Pablo, NYC, USA’. I hit confirm so fast I thought the button on the keyboard would break.
‘I dunno,’ I replied. My tummy was turning, and not in a horrible way. He was gorgeous.
‘But . . . she said, as my new friend messaged me immediately.
Hey Lily – Thanks for the friend confirmation. Good to be talking to ya! You’re very pretty. Holla back, if you wanna chat, yeah?
‘Wow,’ I replied. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
The Spider places his feet on his desk and smiles. The mouse and mat sit in his lap, as he takes control of another computer. Weaves another section of his latest web.
Boy #1 hasn’t noticed that his browser address is faked, or that his webcam has turned itself on. The boy is too busy searching the Web for nude pictures of celebrities. A cursory glance at his search history reveals his preference for one particular actress. The woman in question is stunning but her acting leaves much to be desired.
This is the knowledge the Spider used to send his virus across – a Remote Access Trojan that gave him control of the infected PC, so that it became his slave. The boy was so eager to download ‘new and exclusive nudes’ that he clicked on every prompt given. Like stealing candy from a baby, if clichés are your thing . . .
Then Boy #1 met the woman of his dreams. Older, experienced and looking for a fling – she found him in a chat room, and they exchanged details. Boy #1 was eager to connect with his new friend. So eager that he didn’t stop to think. He is communicating with her now – a chat-room session in which he cannot see her. However, thanks to the virus, she can see him . . .
The webcam begins to record the boy’s actions – something the Spider has no desire to watch. Such things excite the OTHER. The recordings are for him and his kind. For the Spider the video is simply a lever; something he will use later on . . .
The Spider gets up and walks across the room to yet another laptop. Girl #2 is also oblivious to the webcam light above her screen. She is too busy crying at comments on Facebook. In public, she is sassy and confident. In private, she bubbles with insecurity. A pathetic creature.
When, finally, she stops blubbing, the Spider makes himself comfortable. As several more laptops around the room watch their prey silently, Girl #2 begins to undress for bed, and the Spider watches and records every single move she makes . . .
3
‘I can’t believe how fit he is,’ said Tilly the following morning.
We were in the English Hub – a new part of school – waiting for our lesson to start. Tilly had been talking about Benedict all morning, and I was hoping she’d stop. I didn’t want everyone else knowing my business – it was embarrassing. Tilly didn’t mind what people thought of her – she didn’t care. But I was the opposite. The thought of anyone knowing my innermost feelings filled me with dread.
Molly Cooper gave a loud giggle and I looked over. She was by the stairs, chatting to one of our best friends, Max. She was made-up – looking more ready for a night out than a day at school – and I could smell her perfume from where I stood. Molly was really pretty, but the makeup gave her a hard look.
Max saw us and waved, and Tilly rolled her eyes at him. He winked back.
‘I dunno whether I dislike her or feel sorry for her,’ I told Tilly.
‘Who?’
‘Molly,’ I said. ‘Do you think she’s really insecure?’ She knew lads were eyeing her up whatever she did. It was like she wanted their constant attention.
‘Stuff Molly,’ she replied, eager to change the subject. ‘We’re talking about American Boy.’
‘He’s probably got the wrong girl,’ I told her. ‘He’ll see more of my pics and realize.’ I wasn’t exactly photogenic, and in most of my Facebook ones I looked terrible. I’d been checking them overnight, and I was convinced that once he’d been through them, Benedict would un-friend me.
‘You should totally upload a selfie,’ said Tilly. ‘Do what Molly would do.’
‘No way!’
‘Nothing nasty,’ she continued. ‘Just flash a bit of cleavage – you’ve got enough. I’ll take some photos of you if you like.’
Just thinking about it made me feel a bit ill. No way was I letting Tilly do that. He’d take one look at my huge bum and wobbly thighs and run a mile. It was easy for Tilly to be confident about her figure – she was a goddess. I was the dumpy girl who looked on as the boys all chatted up my best mate. At least, that’s how I felt sometimes . . .
‘Tilly!’ I protested. ‘He’s made a mistake – the last thing he wants to see is more of me.’
Tilly gave me a funny look. She was wearing slim-fit jeans with a yellow polo shirt and purple Converse. Her hair was piled up on her head, like a white-blond pineapple.
‘Mistake?’ she asked. ‘How – he requested you, remember?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ I told her. ‘I just can’t believe it.’
‘Tell me about it,’ she replied, grinning. ‘Those abs . . .’
‘I thought I was gonna faint,’ I said. ‘Wonder why he contacted me, though. It’s a bit random.’
Tilly looked at me like I had two heads or something. ‘Er . . . who cares?’ she said. ‘He’s fit!’
Max came over and asked what we were talking about.
‘Girl-stuff,’ said Tilly, before pretending to be sad. ‘But never mind about us – you go back to Molly. We know you love her more than us.’
Max shook his head and smiled. ‘Molly’s OK,’ he said. ‘You know that, really.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tilly replied. ‘But she can be a bit much at times. She’s so pretty but she hides it under all that makeup. I feel like scrubbing it off and telling her to love her real face.’
Max grinned. A couple of younger girls walked past, looked at him and giggled. I didn’t blame them; he was tall, athletic and had a jawline that most actors would die for. He was wearing a white shirt, open at the collar, with straight brown chinos and beige desert
boots. His sleeves were rolled up and a silver chain that he always wore hung round his neck. It had a ring on it, which I guessed was of sentimental value. He was never without it.
Miss Theobald turned up and unlocked the door to her room. She was in her late twenties but dressed like an old woman in plaid skirts, thick brown tights and matching sensible shoes. Her blouse was ruffled along the button-line.
‘In you go,’ she ordered.
‘Miss,’ I replied.
She acknowledged me with a smile, which I returned. English was my favourite subject, although I was in top set for everything except science.
Tilly asked if I fancied Benedict. It felt like the world’s silliest question, ever.
‘Who wouldn’t?’ I replied. ‘He’s a model.’
‘What – is he even fitter than Kane?’ She winked at me.
I felt myself blush. Kane was another of our close friends, and I’d fancied him for ages. We’d known each other for a long time, though, and you know that thing where lads become your friends and nothing else happens? That was what Kane and me had. Besides, he wasn’t interested in me. Boys like him never were. I’d tried flirting with him but I was useless at it. The lines I said in my head, all sophisticated and rom-com, weren’t the words that came out of my mouth. I was too shy, too beige, if that makes sense. I was easy to ignore and didn’t stand out. Not like Tilly, who made people turn their heads when she walked into a room. She was like a dazzling sunset compared to me. Which is why I thought Benedict had made a mistake.
‘Did you talk to American Boy after you left mine?’
‘Message,’ I corrected. ‘You don’t talk to people with a keyboard.’
‘Whatever, nerd,’ said Tilly.
‘Like that’s an insult,’ I replied. ‘I’m proud to be a nerd!’
‘You’re changing the subject, babe.’
I shook my head. ‘I haven’t replied yet – I’m playing it cool.’
Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘Bad move!’ she advised. ‘You play hard to get and he’ll start chatting up some other girl. You need to reel his sexy ass in!’
‘I don’t even know him,’ I said. ‘And besides, he’s from New York. He’s not about to ask me out.’
Tilly looked thoughtful as we sat down. The rest of our class started filing in too.
Danny joined us. ‘Hello, darlings,’ he said, grabbing Tilly in a hug. ‘Any juicy gossip for me?’
‘We were discussing Lily’s FB conquest,’ Tilly explained, pushing him away. ‘Model looks, abs of steel, and American too.’
Danny grinned, flashing impossibly straight, pearly teeth. ‘Tasty,’ he said. ‘But those Americans only look good until their mid-thirties. After that the grease-soaked burgers and colossal sandwiches turn them into elephantine right-wing bastards who want to bomb anyone with a burqa on. Trust me . . .’
‘Not all of them,’ I said. ‘My cousin is American and he’s not—’
‘How would you know?’ Danny grinned. ‘You’re Asian, girl. You’ve probably got enough cousins to populate a small planet. I bet you don’t even know all of their names.’
I smiled. My dad had come from a huge Punjabi family. Not that I knew them well. After he’d died, they stopped calling my mum. I saw them now and then but we weren’t close. And Danny was right – there were a lot of them.
‘You’ve got a point there,’ I conceded.
‘We were talking,’ Tilly said to Danny, nodding in my direction. ‘I didn’t hear an invitation for you to take over. Now if you wouldn’t mind . . .’
‘Ooh – jealousy,’ Danny replied. ‘I won’t steal your girlfriend, babe, I promise.’
‘Sit down and shut up, there’s a good little boy,’ Tilly told him.
‘Touchy this morning, aren’t we?’
‘I’ll bloody touch you in a minute,’ warned Tilly.
I grinned at both of them. Their love/hate banter always made me smile, because underneath it they were the same – fiery, loud-mouthed and sometimes a bit rude. The number of times I blushed and grinned simultaneously at something either had said was untrue.
They didn’t get to finish their spat, though, because Miss Theobald started her lesson. And you didn’t cross her. I swear, some days I thought she would stab us all, the looks she gave. She was continually disgusted with everything.
Tilly grinned. ‘Bet she’s a bit frustrated,’ she whispered.
‘What – sexually?’ added Danny.
‘Danny!’ I replied. ‘You can’t say that – it’s just wrong . . .’
‘Yep,’ he replied. ‘Wrong, probably sexist and politically incorrect too. But who cares?’
After school, we went into town. Tilly wanted to look at shoes, I wanted a coffee, and Danny just moaned about having to go home. Tilly dragged us through five shops before we left her to it. We told her we’d wait in Costa Coffee. It was Danny’s turn to pay, and as I sat and waited I checked my iPhone.
I had a few messages, including one from Kane. I felt weirdly excited as I read it. He was in town and wanted to meet up. He’d even signed off with a kiss, although just the one. If he really liked me, I thought, he’d have added two kisses, at least.
‘Who was that?’ asked Danny, setting my coffee down.
‘Kane,’ I replied.
‘Ooh – your favourite boy,’ he said, looking sympathetic and making me feel even sillier. ‘Sorry,’ he said immediately. ‘That was a bit insensitive of me, wasn’t it?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s OK,’ I replied. ‘A girl can dream. How about you – how are things?’ I asked.
He shrugged. He was about five eight, like me, with short dark hair, bright russet eyes and a smile that made you want to snog him. His nose was sharp, his cheekbones high, and a wispy beard covered his square jaw. ‘I’m as well as any persecuted minority can be,’ he sighed.
I knew Danny’s moods and the sigh was a cue – a signal that something had happened.
‘What?’ I asked, putting my phone down and getting a bit worried.
‘My dad,’ he replied. ‘He’s been chatting to some moron at the gurdwara. Reckons he can fix me.’
‘Fix you?’ I asked, before realizing what he meant. ‘Oh . . .’
‘Some bogus holy man who sorts out gay boys. Probably points our willies in the right direction . . .’
‘I thought your old man was getting used to—’
‘So did I,’ interrupted Danny. ‘Big fucking lie, that was.’
‘Danny, I don’t know what to say . . .’ I couldn’t imagine what his family life was like. My mum was great and we talked about most things. I realized how lucky I was, to have that sort of relationship.
‘Don’t matter,’ he said, putting on a fake smile. ‘I’ll just buy another phone, or get some new shoes. Retail therapy will make it all better – just like the adverts tell us.’
I didn’t pry any further, deciding to wait until we had more privacy, and when Kane arrived Danny started discussing coursework with him. I picked up my phone to message Tilly and tell her to hurry up, but the Facebook app caught my eye.
I opened it and saw that I had a message from Benedict:
Was kind of waiting for you to holla back, babe. What – you don’t like?
I must have blushed because Danny raised his left eyebrow and smirked. ‘Are you looking at rude stuff?’ he asked, stirring a huge amount of sugar into his drink.
‘No,’ I replied. ‘Just some lad on Facebook.’
Kane looked up. His hair was in tight braids, and his mocha skin seemed to glow. I caught his eye and felt sort of embarrassed and guilty at once. ‘What lad?’ he asked quickly.
I shook my head. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ I told him, feeling even guiltier, even though there was nothing going on between us.
‘But you’re blushing,’ Danny pointed out. ‘It does matter, obviously.’
I shook my head again, and wished that Danny would shut up. ‘Just some boy,’ I protested. ‘In New York. He’s sent me a messag
e.’
‘Show!’ demanded Danny, grabbing at my phone and nearly toppling the table.
‘Oi!’ I shouted.
Kane was looking straight at me and I felt a twinge of panic. Weird or what? A couple seated nearby turned round, looking disgusted. I managed to keep hold of my phone but my face felt hot with embarrassment. The other customers must have thought we were morons.
‘Show me, then,’ Danny continued. ‘Or is he that ugly?’
I blushed again. ‘That’s just it,’ I said. ‘He’s fit. Like, really, really gorgeous.’ I gave Kane another fleeting look.
‘Sister,’ said Danny, ‘if he’s that lovely, you’d show us . . .’
I sighed and gave Danny my phone. ‘He’s called Benedict,’ I said.
Danny studied the screen, and then zoomed in. ‘Wow!’
‘See, told you.’
‘Lily – he’s absolutely stunning. Are you sure he’s not gay?’
I smiled and shook my head. Kane mumbled something under his breath.
‘What?’ I asked him.
‘Nothing,’ he replied, looking away.
‘Forget him – tell me about American Boy!’ Danny insisted. ‘Is this what you and Tilly were jabbering about this morning?’
‘I don’t know anything about him,’ I replied.
‘What?’ asked Kane. ‘Some random bloke just contacted you?’
‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘He just wants to be friends.’ I took back my phone and put it away. ‘Like I said, I don’t know anything about him.’
He finds Girl #1 in her regular chat room. She is asking questions but no one replies. How unfortunate can one person be? the Spider wonders. Ignored in the real world, ignored virtually too. Still, not for long . . .
How are you? he types.
Hey! I hoped you’d be in here, she replies.
Are you ready?
Yeah.
And . . .?
Does it hurt?
No – not really. Besides, when it’s over, what does a touch of pain matter?
Don’t like pain, she tells him.
No one does, he replies.
Do you think they’ll care?
Of course, he says. You’ll be remembered.
