I did see. But what I couldn’t explain to him is that I was exhausted, that maybe I didn’t want to save the world. How did all these problems become my problem? And since when do all the world’s problems cost you your boyfriend? I have honestly never heard of a person who has so many people trying to steer the direction of her life. “So what are you and the dads proposing again?”
“My dad is adamant that I not see you until you graduate. Your dad is adamant that this is none of his business. I think I like him as much as you do. But he is concerned about you missing out on your education. And toga parties.”
“There was just the one.”
John smiled and gave me a hug. “I’m glad you went. This is going to be worse for me than for you. You’re going to be busy; I’m going to be waiting.”
When did I get to be this high-drama crime fighter? I just wanted to go to college and see what was there, and suddenly everyone had all these plans for me. Even my dad, who tries to play it all neutral all the time. I knew he was silently cheering me into battle.
“Even that lunatic gave me choices.”
“You always have a choice.”
“Not between being with you and waiting. Or being normal and saving the world.”
“You do. I just don’t want to make that choice for you.”
I imagined going back to school to work full-time for Professor Halsey and then coming back to my dorm or maybe a small apartment and having John there ready to take me to dinner or out for a walk to hear about my day. I let out a small laugh.
“What?”
“I think in my perfect world, you are my prisoner. That’s not fair either, is it?”
“I think we’ve done enough of the prisoner thing. Here.” John fixed the pillow at the end of the swing so that we could both put our heads on it and lie down. He kept his arm over me as we swung to keep me from falling off.
I had a thousand things to say, most of which sounded really good in my head. They were snappy movie script lines, the kind that would stay with him forever as he sorted through a box of old photos and remembered me as the one who got away. At some point, my mind must have rebelled. It had had enough of codes and puzzles, both numeric and emotional. My eyes were heavy, and I was relatively safe. I guess I dozed off in John’s arms.
WHEN IN DOUBT, WALK THE DOG
I WOKE UP ON THE PORCH SWING at seven A.M., and John was gone. Someone had covered me in a heavy down comforter and tucked it all around me. The morning was cold, but I could only feel it on my face. The neighborhood seemed to be awake and to have had at least one cup of coffee. There was a newspaper on the lawn, and in the distance I could hear a garage door opening.
I stared at the perfectly manicured hedge that defined the Bennetts’ property. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d ever find in nature. Nature seems to work more in curves than it does in straight lines. Nature would construct a different kind of hedge; I guess it would be called a forest. I thought about the earth and the rivers over it, like my veins. I thought of Mother Earth as a living organism, being cut back and managed and tamed. All of a sudden my carefully tucked comforter felt like a straitjacket.
I freed my arms and found a small piece of paper on my pillow. “The waiting begins now. I love you.”
By the time I went in for breakfast, I was puffy-eyed. Mr. Bennett informed me that John had left for New York at four a.m. No one had seen him go, so I couldn’t ask about the puffiness of his eyes.
Everyone was seated in the kitchen except for the moms, who were scurrying around preparing way too much food. It seemed like one of those kitchen competition shows.
Danny was practically draped over his waffles. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.
“What do you think?” I was in no mood to play pleasant.
“Right. That.”
Mr. Bennett and my dad looked at me intermittently over the newspapers. Mr. Bennett had folded the paper over so that the page facing me was a large photograph of Jonas Furnis and a headline: ECO-TERRORIST ESCAPES FEDS AND TEEN HACKER. The longer I sat there, the madder I got. I mean, I didn’t volunteer for this. I really liked my boyfriend. I never even got to go to New York to do the whole romantic weekend thing. Or Hawaii, by the way! And now here they were, John included, deciding that I should be a monk and study my brains out so that I could help the stupid world with its stupid problems.
Mr. Bennett gave me one line: “Do we need to talk?”
“No. I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.”
“Good.”
My mom gestured with a wooden spoon. “Darling, have you thought of joining a sorority? I read that they rush in September, but you could start looking into it . . .”
“Rebecca, she’s not a sorority girl.” Mrs. Bennett seemed to think she was defending me, but her comment was my breaking point.
“Hey, how about this? How about since I’m old enough to be tried for a felony and sent to prison, how about we let me decide what kind of girl I am? And how I spend my time. Okay?” The kitchen was silent. I’d either gone too far or not far enough, I couldn’t tell.
“I’m sorry, dear.” Mrs. Bennett turned off the bacon and came to sit next to me. “None of this is fair to you.”
“If I were just a normal person, I would be having a normal, happy life.”
“If you were just a normal person, none of us would have ever met you.” Mrs. Bennett put a hand on my shoulder, and I started to cry again. No one minded. Mr. Bennett went back to the paper.
Uncle Bob came downstairs with a healthy appetite for bacon and very little new information. (It also turned out that he was an entertainment attorney, dealing mostly with movie stars’ contracts. You know, who gets their own trailer with a bowl of blue M&M’S, etc.) He informed me that I’d violated something called the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
“Yes.” He seemed to think it was plenty. “You got anything?”
“Sure. An ulcer and a future in an orange jumpsuit.”
“No, I mean any ideas? You know, for your defense.”
“The law’s pretty black-and-white, and what I did was pretty illegal and intentional.”
“Yes, there’s that. I have some kids from MIT who want to speak at the trial in your defense. That’s good, right?”
I imagined Tiki recounting the whole “Howard’s a cheating jerk” story in gruesome detail. It made me feel better for a minute.
“And I think I remember seeing once in USA Today that in 2010 the longest sentence ever handed down for hacking was thirteen years. So we know what the worst case is. That’s good, right?”
Yep, my lawyer was basing my defense on something he thinks he may have read in USA Today. That’s good, right?
The next morning we said our goodbyes and headed up to Boston. Mom, Dad, Uncle Bob, and Danny had to get back to L.A. that afternoon and were, of course, coming back in two weeks for the trial.
Mr. Bennett gave me a long hug goodbye. “I’m going to keep working on this. I’m going to do everything I can to get them to cut a deal. And I’ll be at the trial. Got it?”
Got it. I had a feeling I’d always have Mr. Bennett in my life, even if I didn’t have John.
I went to half hug, half pat Mrs. Bennett goodbye and found my shoulders restrained by her hands. It was impossible not to look her in the eye. “Listen to me, dear. Your relationship with my son is not my business. My relationship with you is my business. You are a good girl. You are a smart girl. But you are just a girl. You need to get through this thing and claim your life. Don’t let these men boss you around.” Jeez. “If you need me, I want you to call me. Always.”
“Thank you.”
The drive to Cambridge sounded a lot like this:
Mom: Darling, what part of “make good choices” didn’t you understand?
Danny: So I had an epiphany when I was about to die in that lunatic’s dungeon . . .
Me: I know, Mom, it was stupid.
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Dad: Who are these kids that are testifying for Digit at the trial?
Uncle Bob: Just kids who volunteered.
Danny: Actually it was before that, on the quad at MIT.
Mom: That gorgeous sweater is ruined. I’m going to send you a few things as soon as I get back to L.A. Do you have a problem with corduroy? I forget.
Uncle Bob: They seemed nice enough via email.
Danny: So I’m not going to college.
Dad: Leave her alone, honey.
Uncle Bob: You think there’s anything else I should be doing to prepare?
Danny: Just not yet. Maybe I’ll try to get an agent and get some commercial work?
Mom: I’ve made an appointment for you to get your hair highlighted and your eyebrows waxed tomorrow. No arguments.
Danny: So I guess that’s okay with you guys?
Mom: Honestly, darling. This whole thing could be televised. We’ll need powder.
We all headed back to my dorm so that Danny could pick up his wallet and stuff. There had been no place to stash it in his grass skirt a lifetime ago when he’d left for the night. When we pulled up on the quad, I asked if we could sit in the car for a second so I could have time to prepare for reentry. I remembered the stress of being new here and dreading having to tell everyone my name is Digit and why. Again, it’s so relative. Now that I have to walk in and tell everyone I’m back from being kidnapped and saving Manhattan but may be going away for a bit . . . explaining Digit seems like a walk in the park. A safe park, no kidnappers.
My dad hurried me out. “Come on. We’ve got to get Danny’s stuff and get to the airport. Let’s go.”
It was a beautiful afternoon, and the dorm was pretty much empty. We made our way to my room, and Danny quickly locked the door behind us.
A knock on the door made all of us jump. Danny motioned for me to get back, and looked through the keyhole. He whispered, “It’s a guy, longish hair.”
“Kinda handsome?”
“I guess.”
A louder whisper came from the other side of the door. “Gee, thanks. It’s Bass. Let me in.”
Oh my God, I am so lame. Danny gave me a little smile and waited for my nod to open the door. “Hi, I’m Danny, Digit’s brother. And you are kinda handsome.” Bass shook Danny’s hand, and they laughed like they’d been buddies for years. People were just like that with Danny.
My parents and Uncle Bob introduced themselves. My dad joked, “They’re always telling me I’m handsome too. I wouldn’t take it too seriously.” Could someone please make this stop?
“Hey.” Bass took a step toward me but stayed by the door. “Welcome back. I’m pretty much up to speed, since you are on every local news channel and are the subject of every op-ed piece in the Tech . . . but are you okay?”
It was hard to know where to start. The answer to How are you? is always Fine, thank you, mainly because you know that whoever’s asking doesn’t really care. In this case, I felt like he really did care. His mouth was in a firm line, and his eyes looked a little pained.
“You want to take a walk?” Still I said nothing. “I need to walk Buddy anyway.” I looked to my parents for help.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. We have to get going anyway. Danny, grab your stuff already.”
Lots of hugs and love yous. As Danny left, he added, “Get some fresh air, while you can.” Oh, he’s just hilarious.
It took me a few minutes to find my sunglasses, which I desperately needed for protection from eye contact. We stopped at Bass’s room to get Buddy, who seemed to remember me. A lot. We headed out the back door to avoid my inquisitive classmates and walked toward Memorial Drive. We ran with Buddy across two lanes of traffic to the wide grass median that runs parallel to the Charles River. The trees were oaks and sycamores, different from the coral trees that run down the middle of San Vicente Boulevard at home. But the effect was similar, the feeling of a long, protected island between lanes of roaring traffic.
It was early November, and everything was orange and green. Some trees had gone completely orange, while others just had little hints of color at their tips. It reminded me of a punk hairstyle with a hint of pink at the ends. I knew that if I visited these trees the next day (and I would), the color would be creeping farther up their branches. Mother Earth is a living organism. And sometimes you can see her breathe.
I looked down at my blue jeans and green jacket and thought how perfect it was that I could walk through the fall without clashing with nature. Who knew that fall in New England would be the place where I was finally in step?
“So, you still have the dog?”
“I’ll always have the dog. I’ve had him for two years.”
“Then what was all that ‘Hush-hush, keep-a-secret-while-I find-him-a-home’ business?”
“Basic team building. Psych 101. I just wanted you guys to bond over thinking that you were sharing a secret. No one cares that I have Buddy here.” He gave me a victorious sideways glance.
I smiled to myself. Not bad. Bass was enough taller than me that I had to take 1.3 steps to keep up with his every one. After a while I noticed that he was slowing down to my pace.
“So, you want to talk about it?”
“Which part? The part where I was fake kidnapped in high school? The part where the terrorists that were after me back then came after me again? The part where they’re still out there? Or the part where I hacked into the stupid DOD so I wouldn’t miss a toga party? There’s also the part where my ex-boyfriend came back and saved the day and then sort of re-dumped me. Or that I’m on trial for a felony. Or that the government thinks I’m Wonder Woman now. Just spin the wheel and pick a subject. I’ve got no secrets anymore.”
“We need to get you a better costume if you’re going to be Wonder Woman.”
“No chance.”
“I had a feeling there was more to you than just the California girl with the nerdy nickname. You’re very intense, but I didn’t think it was because you were on the run.”
The combination of the rhythm of our steps on the leaves, the hum of the traffic on either side of us, and our being side by side made for a natural conversation. With my eyes forward, I didn’t have to figure out where to look. I don’t know when I’ve ever had such an easy time talking to a relative stranger. It was like this on our last walk, and I wondered if we would ever be able to repeat these talks face to face. “I am intense. For sure. But I wasn’t on the run from anything. I mean, I was trying to put that completely behind me. I thought I was going to be safe here. And normal. I think I’m more worried about missing out on having a normal college life than I am about going to jail.”
“Were you hurt?” Buddy stopped to sniff the legs of a bench along the river. I looked out and marveled at how water can look cold. It’s darker.
“Yeah. I don’t really know what I expected. And sure I’ve probably made John look unprofessional with the FBI, but it seems like a bad time for him to be giving me my space or whatever. He’s obsessed with this whole waiting thing, so that I can grow up and do whatever they think I’m supposed to do. Which I think is lame. I mean, if you’re going to say you love somebody, can’t you just figure out how to make it work? And just because I have this gift or whatever, does that mean I can’t have a normal boyfriend to hang out with? It’s like I have to pay for being smart by giving up my chance to be happy.” Bass was laughing with his whole face, a rarity.
“What?”
“I meant were you actually hurt? By the terrorists. The ones who kidnapped you.”
“Oh, nah. That was fine.” We both laughed for what seemed like longer than the moment warranted. I saw myself as the poster child for mixed-up, lovesick teenagers-turned-adult (if there ever was going to be a poster for such a thing). And I felt totally okay with Bass knowing that.
Bass pulled Buddy along and we started walking again.
“He sounds more like your father than a boyfriend.”
“Right? And the funny thing is that m
y father isn’t like that at all. I know what my dad wants for me, but he wants me to get there on my own time, if at all.”
“I’m just happy that you’re okay, at least physically okay. I was really worried about you.”
“Thanks. But it would be good to be a person that no one was worried about for a change.”
IF YOU’RE GOING THROUGH HELL, KEEP GOING
WHEN WE GOT BACK TO THE dorm, people were milling around the bike rack outside. It all looked pretty normal except something was off. It almost looked staged, but I couldn’t quite see why at first.
Bass grabbed my arm as we approached. “Hey, are you ready for this? People have a lot of questions.”
“I have a lot of answers.” The only thing that kept this from being a total nightmare is that everything was out on the table. Everything about my first (fake) kidnapping had been unearthed in great detail. Even the fact that it was John who was protecting me then. I was pleading guilty to this new thing, and there were no facts that I had to remember to keep to myself. If my new college friends wanted to hear the ins and outs of my career in espionage, I could freely give them a complete data dump. In twenty-four hours we’d all be on the same page.
Clarke spotted us first, dropped her bike, and ran toward me. Over her flannel pajama bottoms and under her black leather jacket she wore a bright blue T-shirt that said FREE DIGIT in four-inch orange letters. She threw her arms around me. “Oh my God.” She shook my shoulders. “Oh my God.” She hugged me again. “Oh my God. You’re alive—you’re standing right here. You’re my hero, stickin’ it to the Man. A trailblazer. Oh my God, in two weeks you’ll be, like, a martyr.”
Double Digit Page 13
