Drawing Amanda (13 page)

Inky read the numbers off of Rungs’s text.

“Most people don’t read the part about creating a strong password. No one reads manuals.”

Inky saw the icon for a successful connection appear on Rungs’s toolbar. “Except you,” he said. “You got into her computer?” Inky asked.

“That’s just step one,” Rungs said. “Tonight I’ll send her a trojan.”

“Say what? Gross.”

“Not that kind of Trojan. It’s like bugging a phone instead of listening at the door. You send a file that’ll attach to the other person’s computer—you’ve seen those spam messages that have something you’re supposed to click on.”

“You know how to do that?” Inky asked with a mix of awe and suspicion.

“I’ve never had a reason to try it,” Rungs said.

Inky could tell his friend was happy to have that chance now.

A tree in the plaza outside Amanda’s building cast a long shadow. The sun was beginning to go down. They waited for Amanda to sign on. Inky did his Spanish homework, then his math homework. He honestly felt like going home and working on his core presentation. Or just going home. He longed to be in his room or any place that was warm. But he couldn’t complain. Rungs was doing this for him.

Chapter 22

Justagirl in Trouble

I
T WAS THE SECOND AFTERNOON OF WAITING
. Waiting, Inky noted, made him both bored and tense at the same time. He now knew more about SMTP and network protocols than he figured he’d ever need. To pass the time, Inky drew a mental picture of the encryption technique Rungs was explaining; onion routing with layers of secrecy would make a fine new abstract. Rungs continued with his mini-course in electronic espionage, describing how he’d built a RAT, a remote access Trojan, into a memo about a new rubric for the core project and sent it to Amanda. Inky pictured the beady eyes of a rubric rat, while Rungs explained how they’d now be able to see all of Amanda’s computer activities.

But still there was the drudgery of waiting. At least they were using one of Rungs’s modified tablets. The 10-inch screen seemed gigantic compared to the handheld they’d been using the first day.

“There’s got to be a better way. We could wait here forever. We don’t know when she logs on to her computer or the game. It could be late at night. What if her parents don’t let her on the Internet until she’s done with homework or something?”

They waited some more. Inky zipped the worn caramel-brown bomber jacket that had been his father’s. He looked at the places the leather had cracked and thought of the barely paved road they’d traveled in Brazil. He wished everything didn’t remind him of the accident. He wished he wasn’t so haunted.

“Here we go,” Rungs said, breaking the silence. It was getting dark, and even though Rungs had changed the type color on the screen to an electric orange against a black background, it was still hard to look at.

Inky could just make out a series of numbers and symbols. It looked like the gibberish he’d see when an email message bounced. Then he saw the familiar type and the Megaland welcome screen. He smiled in spite of himself.

“Whoa,” Inky said louder than he’d wanted. “WTF. That’s the game. That’s Megaland. Amanda just signed on to Megaland.”

“Keep it down,” Rungs hissed, pointing to the skaters at the far end of the plaza.

Inky fixed his eyes on the screen. It seemed like there was some activity at the bottom of the screen. He saw a string of numbers and letters where the chat box would normally open up.

“Dang,” said Rungs, who started typing furiously. Something that looked like Cyrillic came on screen. The box faded. Rungs typed some more. Inky noticed his friend was sweating, despite the cool fall air.

Inky didn’t quite understand what was happening with the computer but he was anxious to have it resolved. Now that they’d seen Amanda sign on to Megaland, he wanted to know what was going on.

“Gimme a minute,” Rungs said, sensing Inky’s tension.

Inky looked over at the skateboarders in the park. Maybe this had nothing to do with Hawk.

“Got it,” Rungs said, his upper lip curled in self-satisfaction. A maze appeared and Inky and Rungs could see how Amanda’s cursor sent a shiny black purse through the maze.

“Go left,” Rungs said, giving instructions even though she couldn’t possibly hear.

“You like this?” Inky asked. The purse jerked forward, flashing a bit of hardware as it got closer to the finish line. It was a weird feeling, like looking over someone’s shoulder at an arcade.

Rungs shrugged. “Solving things works for me.”

When the pocketbook made it through the maze, a giant gift box appeared on screen. Inky saw the arrow of Amanda’s mouse.

Megaland
: Click on the box this time.

Inky felt sick to see the familiar chat box—like a friend had found someone new to hang out with. The “this time” bothered him most.

All the other images faded, leaving the giant gift box. Its top came off in an animation sequence that was better than he would have expected. Virtual hot pink wrapping paper filled the screen. Then the box dissolved and a new scene appeared.

It was a party scene, a collage like a celebrity page in one of Inky’s mom’s magazines. The couple at the center of the scene didn’t quite fit together, and the perspective was off. Inky felt smug—his work for the game was technically better than this, and more unique, too.

A flat-topped hat filled the top corner of the screen. Rungs saw it first.

“OMG,” Rungs said.

There in red plaid and skinny jeans was Inky’s hipster dude. Inky gasped. He’d been placed in the scene with the Amanda-like Megaland girl he’d first drawn, except that someone had retouched her outfit. Inky wondered if Woody had done it himself.

“No mistaking. That’s your work,” Rungs said. “Bingo. Mystery solved.”

Suddenly Inky didn’t want to see more. Even though he’d wanted to have his work used for a computer game, he didn’t feel happy like he thought he would. Seeing it under these circumstances made it feel wrong.

“Wait,” Rungs said, pointing to the corner of his screen. He put his arm out to keep Inky from getting up. “Check this out. They’re chatting.”

Inky moved closer, uncomfortably close to Rungs, in order to read the screen.

Justagirl:
Ooh. I love eggnog.

Inky wondered how well they knew each other. Had they had as many conversations as he’d had with Woody? Was Amanda more a part of the game than he was?

Megaland:
The holidays will be here sooner than you think.

“Doesn’t it creep you out, spying on them?” Inky asked.

“Nah. You should hear the things my dad gets on tape sometimes. You wouldn’t believe the things people say to each other.” Rungs poked Inky to turn his attention back to the computer screen.

Justagirl:
Don’t remind me. I’m nowhere on presents for my brothers.

He nudged Rungs. “Do her brothers go to MDA?” Rungs shrugged.

Megaland:
What do you want to give them?

Justagirl:
Something that’ll remind them of me.

“Sounds like they’re not around,” Inky said.

Megaland:
Like a picture?

“What’s ‘like a picture?’ A stick figure? ” Rungs said.

Justagirl:
That’s brilliant.

Megaland:
You said you liked your new haircut.

“Holy crap,” Inky said.

Justagirl:
A photograph of the new me. That’s it. That’s genius. You’re a real pal, you know.

Megaland
: Thank you. That means a lot to me. You have no idea how much.

Megaland
: You know I have access to a studio. I can help you with your presents. We’ll take pictures for your brothers for Christmas. Would that be a good gift? They’ll see how much their baby sister has grown up.

Justagirl:
Your artwork is so amazing. Makes sense you do photography. Bet you take great pictures, too.

Chapter 23

The Lines are Drawn

“I
DON’T BELIEVE THIS
,” Inky said, kicking at the leaves on the sidewalk.

“Gotta admit your drawing looked great all animated like that. You gotta get yourself into a hipper art program. You should do that stuff,” Rungs said.

Inky pictured a witch’s cauldron, stinky and steaming. He thought he might be physically sick from all the feelings simmering inside of him. He remembered the instructions from the grief therapy group:
Breathe, first through your nose, then more deeply.
Right after her mother died, Hawk had suffered from panic attacks, so the whole group learned some coping skills. Turned out she was handy after all.

Rungs was talking faster and louder than Inky had ever heard him talk, like something let loose. Inky couldn’t focus on the content. He kept seeing the orange type on the black screen and the words “your artwork is so amazing.” “That’s genius. You’re a real pal
.
” The words echoed in his head. He’d wished Amanda had said that to him. Who knew what other conversations she’d had with Woody on Megaland? Inky found the guy likeable enough; why shouldn’t she? He probably had great stories to tell about rock stars he’d met when he was in the music business. How could he compete with that?

On the other hand, Amanda did like his drawings, and that was something. Wasn’t his art the truest part of him? But then, did that mean she thought she was talking to him when she was chatting with Woody? A him that was not him.

He banged his palm on his forehead and tried to tune in to what Rungs was saying. “. . . something we need to investigate, to find out more.”

He did want to find out more about Amanda. He didn’t know much; just that he liked what she’d said in assembly about being a citizen of the world, liked how her face flushed and showed her shyness, liked that she was looking at him with fresh eyes. Then the emotions bubbled up again, and in Inky’s head the cauldron steam turned into hot orange faces with frightful, toothy sneers.

He’d best not think anymore about Amanda. Why should he care? He’d only get hurt. And he’d been hurt enough already.

As they turned down Lexington Avenue towards his building, Rungs was talking about Internet connections. Inky didn’t quite get what Rungs was saying. He was trying to concentrate, but it was like watching a video on the computer in the library—a little action, then a pause, buffering, buffering.

“We all leave digital fingerprints whether we know it or not,” Rungs said in what sounded like a conclusion.

Inky had an image of hands with computer keys, mice and flash drives for digits, but the image got stuck. His mental sketchpad was on overload.

“Wait a minute,” he said to Rungs. “Slow down. I missed something. I’m still freaked.”

As they walked past the neighborhood playground, Rungs tapped Inky’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “We gotta find out who this guy is and why he wants to take Amanda’s picture.”

“You make it sound like a conspiracy or something,” Inky said.

“Why would he take her picture? Why would he want to help her make gifts for her brothers? Did you ever think of that?” Rungs said.

“Because they’re friends?” Inky said. “As far as she’s concerned, they’re schoolmates.” He felt strange saying that; it was a little like when the adults in a room talk about you like you weren’t there. “After all, who made her a Green Goddess?”

Rungs rolled his eyes. “That’s her side of it. But what about him?”

Inky had to admit that he was too busy thinking about Amanda and how he felt about her to consider Woody’s intentions. It wasn’t something he really wanted to think about. He had so much else to turn over in his mind.

Not Rungs. He was calculating the possibilities, and clearly enjoying the challenge.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll go back to your place—my dad’s traveling anyway. You log on and talk to the game dude, and while you’re online, I’ll trace his IP address and check him out.”

“You can come over, but talk to him?” he said to Rungs, “What can I say to him? ‘I knew you’d use my stuff, but not this way. Not with a girl from my school.’ What are the odds of that? Of it being Amanda?” Inky stopped for a second. It felt funny saying her name out loud. Funny in a good way.

“It’s so frickin’ weird,” Inky continued. “What do I say to him? ‘Don’t give my drawings to any more girls? They’re mine, give them back? Give him back.’”

Inky heard himself say “give him back.” It had just slipped out. Rungs heard it, too.

“Give them back, I meant. Give them back.” He was shaking. He knew this was all about more than just the game.

They walked silently for half a block. “You got me into this,” Inky said to Rungs, breaking the awkwardness.

“Hey, I thought, you know, someone could see your drawings, maybe it would lead to something—get your mind off your dad.”

Inky thought back to when Rungs first told him about the game. He replayed it frame by frame in his mind. “That’s it. That’s how it happened. The first day of school. She was sitting behind us. We didn’t know her then, she was the new girl. Her notebook . . . you grabbed her notebook and wrote down the URL and access code.”

“The ink must’ve gone through,” Rungs said. “That’s how she found out about the game. So of course she thinks it’s you.”

Inky didn’t know if he should bless or curse his father’s leaky pen.

* * *

There was no way for them to sit side by side in front of the computer in his room; still, Inky hesitated before leading Rungs to his father’s study. As he opened the door, he felt like he was sharing a dark secret; it was scary, but it felt good. “We’ve gotta be done before my mom gets home,” Inky said. He didn’t want to give her a new reason to explode.

Inky sat at the big old wooden desk. Rungs plunked down on the beanbag chair under the window and fired up his computer. Inky turned on his father’s machine.

He gasped at the screensaver: a picture of himself when he’d just turned 12. His hair was sun-bleached, in a classic long shag. There was a gleam of happiness in his eyes. In the background he could see the Wonder Wheel in Coney Island. He remembered the afternoon. On a lark he and his father took the subway, screamed and screamed on the roller coaster, then walked to the Russian shops in Brighton Beach to buy babka and smoked fish. So much had changed in two years.