Olivia Twisted (Entangled Teen) (9 page)

Finally, I say good-night to Jeanette and Mr. Bronson and walk out with Z to his motorcycle. He hands me a different helmet, red with gold swirling designs.

“Figured if I’m giving you rides, the least I could do is keep us both safe,” he says. “I picked it up today.”

Giving me rides?
My heart flips but I try to keep a straight expression even as I strap the helmet on my head and slide on behind him. He takes off down the street, not too fast. Slowish, even. I find myself wishing that the short distance to my house were a lot longer. Maybe I should’ve taken him up on his offer to go out.

I dismount when he stops at the rooster mailbox. “Thanks for the ride.”

“No problem,” he says, removing his helmet to study me for a moment. “So how’d you do tonight? Good tips?”

“That’s a laugh. At this rate I’ll be able to afford a bicycle by the time I graduate.”

“I might be able to get you a job that pays more. If you’re interested, of course.”

“Obviously. Is it Sam’s company?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Sam’s company?”

“Yeah, she was going to get me a job with the company she works for.”

Z crosses his arms, his eyes tightening slightly at the edges as he considers that. “What did she say she does, exactly?”

“Hacks security systems. Like testing weaknesses for companies and they pay her for it. Why, do you do that, too?”

His laugh is brittle. “Hack computers for the benefit of large corporations? No.”

“Oh. Okay, well…” He looks so annoyed, but not at me. At Sam? “I’ll see you tomorrow. But no more screwing around in the administrator’s site, got it?”

The tension on his face dissolves as he grins. “Sure, got it.”

I hand the helmet back to him and run up the low steps, glancing over my shoulder to see him watching me before he speeds away. I lean against the door, exhausted physically and mentally. I’m not sure how I feel about Z. He irritates the hell out of me, confuses me, but at the same time, my attraction to him is out of control.

Take a deep breath, Liv. Use your head. He’s trouble, and you know it.

Yeah, well, someone needs to tell that to my body.

…

Z

“Little late, aren’t we?” Sam gloats as I hang my jacket on the coatrack and set my helmet down. Jen glares at me from where she sits on the couch, but I ignore her.

Sam follows me to the kitchen.

“So what?” I ask her.

“So what? So you’ve been with Liv, right? Right?”

I pour myself a glass of water and take a sip. Why did I get stuck with the most hyper chick in the house for a partner? “Maybe.”

“I knew it! Were you at her house? Or did you go up to Slice of Happy?”

“Slice of Happy.”

“Ooh, I bet she was excited to see you. What’d you guys talk about?”

In my entire life, I’ve never known anyone nosier than Sam. It used to amuse me, the way she’d finish one question just to start another, but now it gets under my skin. I don’t know what she was accomplishing by telling Liv she works for corporations, but now I realize I don’t care. She wants to play games and not clue me in, fine. I can do the same.

“We talked about you,” I tell her. “And some
very
interesting things came up.”

“What? What came up?”

I dump the rest of the water into the sink. “Good night, Sam.”

“Wait! What came up? What about me?”

Sam’s words bounce off my back as I head up the stairs. Liv’s starting to come around, I can sense it. She’s gone from actually being mad at me to pretending to be mad. It’s a total chick thing, and I’ve seen it enough times to know what happens in the end. She’ll soften toward me, even start to like me, then I can gradually pull her in. It may take a little longer with her than the others, but she’ll get there. And she’ll be grateful for us getting her out of that dump of a pizza place.

Although, I have to say, she did look damn cute, bouncing around the place in that ugly orange shirt, ponytail bobbing. Cuter than anyone has a right to look in neon. And the way she lit up when she laughed with some of the customers, even those college guys she pretended to flirt with… Takes a player to know one—I knew exactly what she was doing. I didn’t like the effect it had on me, though. Damn adorable girl actually made me feel a twinge of jealousy.

No matter. Everything is working out as it’s supposed to.

As it always does.

Chapter Ten

“Everything was so quiet, and neat, and orderly; everybody so kind and gentle; that after the noise and turbulence in the midst of which he had always lived, it seemed like Heaven itself.”

—Charles Dickens,
Oliver Twist

Liv

Z is nicer, not as cocky over the next few days. Although the tutoring sessions evolve into nothing more than showing off, in my opinion. Every time I write a script, he shows me a better way to do it. Though I’ve been able to one-up him on a few tasks, I’m more than slightly annoyed by how good he is.

“Yeah, I know you know a lot more than me,” I say as he takes over my keyboard to type. “I do things my way, you do them yours. Whatever.”

He smiles. “How’s Slice of Happy?”

“It’s okay. Didn’t you say you knew of a job that pays more?”

“Maybe.” His eyes stay focused on the screen. “So how much hacking—serious hacking—have you done?”

“What?” I pinch my fingers together nervously. First Sam, now Z? He already tried to convince me to run a script on Ms. Walsh’s computer to shut it down every time she logs on, and on Tyson’s computer to create rude pop-up messages, but only laughed when I told him to do it himself. It’s not really the hacking that bothers me, since most kids with a brain like his love to pull those pranks. It’s the fact that he seems only interested in pushing
me
to do it. “Are you trying to get me in trouble again?” My attempt at laughing him off sounds fake even to my ears.

He smiles. “Come on, I know the school’s admin site wasn’t your first go at it. So?”

I study the monitor. “A bit,” I admit. “Mostly Facebook accounts, security systems, stuff like that. Just for fun.”

I can feel my face turning red under his scrutiny. Okay, so it wasn’t always just for fun. Jessie’s pinched face resurfaces in my memory.

Jessie was in my eighth-grade class and made my life in middle school a living hell. She was the epitome of a mean girl. She took a picture of me changing in the locker room and posted it all over the Internet. The image will always be seared into my brain—my too-small fraying striped panties, boobs practically falling out of an old bra that bordered on the training size. Reality of life in a family that didn’t provide for me at all. Not to mention the small roll around my middle that popped out from the way I was bending. So many nicknames were given to me that year—Betty Boop, Pretty Panties, Jelly Roll. I hated that year.

But I made Jessie pay. She was always on Facebook and used to brag about how many hundreds of friends she had. I hacked into her account and slowly, painstakingly messed up her social life—first by changing her attributes, then by posting random comments on other people’s pages. I found information about her, including guys she was crushing on, from her private messages and shared them with the world. When she finally figured out what was going on, she canceled the account. But not before getting a taste of what she had put me through.

I cringe a little at the memory. It was a mean thing to do to her, even if she did deserve it. But all I say aloud is, “Hacking is really the only way to learn, not from this crap they try to teach in school. You already know this. I know you do it.” I pause for a moment, thinking about what he convinced me to do with my grades. “Do you get paid for it, like Sam?”

He snorts. “Like Sam. Please.” He stops typing and looks at me, his face serious. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“If you could make a ridiculous amount of money with hardly any effort, would you?”

Oh, no, I was right. “Z, how’d you afford that motorcycle? What do you do, anyway?”

“You’d really like to know that, wouldn’t you?”

I hesitate. Do I really want to know what I already suspect? “Yes.”

He stands up. “Let’s go, then.”

“Where?” I ask, not moving.

“You’ll see.”

“Well…”

He leans down, his hands balanced on the desk on either side of me. My breath catches. “I know you’re interested to see where I live. You only mention it all the time to Sam. So come with me.” He straightens and extends his hand.

I stare at it, giving myself a second to think about this. He’s more than smart, he’s devious, arrogant, and not exactly someone I trust. On the other hand, this could be my only chance to figure him out. And I’m really curious now.

“Okay, but just for a little while.”

His eyes light up as he grins. He seems charming, less devious when he smiles, which sends up the familiar warning flags in my head. I ignore his offered hand and stand, slinging my backpack over my shoulder. I don’t want to appear like some girl who’s only going to his house looking for a good time. His lips twitch at my distance, but he doesn’t try to take my hand again. We don’t talk much on the way to the bike, but I can sense his excitement to take me back to his home.

He takes his bike faster than usual, weaving around cars like they’re standing still. At least I’m not putting the death grip around his waist anymore. I’m kind of proud of that.

He makes several lefts and rights until I get totally confused. No way I could find this place on my own. We end up in an almost rural part of town. Z turns onto a driveway under an elaborate gate arch inscribed,
Monroe Street Home for Boys and Girls.

The leafy canopy of the large trees blocks the view of the house from the street until we get closer, and then it’s like,
wow!
The gray stone house is really more of a mansion. It’s almost castle-like, with everything but the moat. Large beveled glass windows reflect the golden lights from within, and what look like spires are even peeking out of the top. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see a knight riding out through the oak doors. This is a
group
home?

Z pulls his bike to the side and cuts the engine. Several nice cars sit in the driveway, including Sam’s red Camaro and a huge black Hummer.

“This is where you live?” I ask, unable to hide my amazement. “It’s like a fairy-tale castle or something.”

He laughs and dismounts, taking my hand to help me. His arm slides around my waist as we walk to the front door of the house, and though I try to clear my head, my awareness is tuned in to the position of his hand on the curve of my middle, the heat of his body spreading into mine. Almost as soon as he opens the door, a young, round-cheeked boy with a brown mop of hair rushes up to Z and throws his arms around Z’s waist. “Dodger!”

Z returns the embrace. “How’s it going, buddy?”

“Dodger?” I ask, trying not to laugh.

“It’s a nickname. Some people here like to call me that.”

“Why?”

“I like the Dodgers. Great team.” He grins.

“I’ve been practicing,” the boy says happily. “The algorithms aren’t tripping me up anymore. I can break through now!”

I glance sharply at Z. What exactly is he teaching this kid?

“That’s awesome! I’m proud of you, Dutch.”

Dutch grins and smacks hands with Z, then looks at me and winks. The gesture is so unexpected, so mature, that I can’t help but laugh.

“So have they started yet?” Z asks Dutch.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Jose is ahead. Sam’s mad that you weren’t here.”

Z ruffles his hair fondly. “Well, you keep practicing. Soon, Sam will be looking for you instead of me.” Dutch’s answering grin would light up an entire room. It’s obvious that Z is like a big brother to him.

We walk down the steps into the main area of the house, Dutch chattering a million miles an hour at him. Z doesn’t seem to mind. There’s apparently more to him than the guy who acts all cool at school, who hacks into computers, who makes me crazy in so many ways.

“Well, well, well, is this the young lady I’ve been hearing so much about?”

A pretty woman with a long cascade of red hair approaches us, smiling. She’s older, maybe in her thirties, and the way she lightly hugs Z and kisses him on the cheek prompts a memory of my mother snuggling me and reading
The Little Red Hen
in one of the many shelters we stayed in.

“Liv, this is Nancy. She’s kind of like our house mother.”

Nancy takes my hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Liv.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I say. She’s kind, offering me something to drink, asking polite but not probing questions.

Loud cheers erupt from somewhere in the back of the house. “Is there a party?” I ask Z.

He laughs. “Nope. But there’s a pretty cool competition going on right now. Want to check it out?”

“What kind of competition?”

“You’ll see. I think you’ll find it very interesting.”

He leads me to a large room in the back of the house. A few computers line the far wall, but in the middle of the room, four laptops are set up around a large round table. There are two guys and two girls sitting at the table, one at each computer, and a bunch of kids are behind them, yelling back and forth at one another. A couple of people smack Z’s hand in welcome, but no one seems to notice me.

“What’s going on?” I yell to him over the rowdy crowd. They’re getting louder, and the four around the computer are fixated on their screens, their eyes moving back and forth and fingers typing frantically.

Z leans close to speak in my ear. “It’s a hacking competition. They’re seeing who can get in the fastest.”

“Into what?”

“Not sure. It’s different each time.”

I peer over a shoulder at the girl nearest me as her fingers tap the keys so fast they almost blur. The excitement in the room is reaching a fevered pitch, when the guy on the opposite side of the table punches the button on a small silver bell and yells, “Done!” I take a deep breath to try to slow my racing heart. I’ve heard of these before, or maybe I saw it in a movie, but I never knew anyone who actually participated in one.

Sam appears from within the throng of people to peer closely at his screen, and other people press in closer. I guess she’s the moderator, which is interesting because she doesn’t seem serious enough for that.

She grimaces. “Jose is the winner.”

Everyone cheers, with the exception of the kids who lost, and papers begin switching hands with lightning speed. Not paper—money. Betting on the winner. The theme song from
Dr. Who
is playing while the transactions take place. I’ve never been to Vegas, but I imagine it’s a lot like this.

“Sometimes these are tougher than others,” Z says. “Jose wins a lot. Never when I’m playing, of course.”

The girl in front of me, whose display I’d been watching, leans forward, head in her hands. I’d be upset, too.

“I could do that,” I tell Z. Of course, I’m speaking much louder than normal to be heard over the crowd, and it’s at that exact time that the noise dies down so everyone can hear my bold words. The other kids turn and stare at me, and I can feel my cheeks turning red.
Crap.

The guy named Jose huffs and looks me up and down as if I’m a child who got misdirected in the search for the playroom. “Really,
niña
? You think you could take me? Ha.”

Oh, no he didn’t just say that.
“Doesn’t look like much of a challenge to me.”

It’s quiet for the space of a heartbeat, then the shouts start up again, even louder than before. Several hands push me forward and the girl at the nearest laptop stands up, half smiling as if she feels sorry for me. I sit in her chair and wait as the people place their bets. My stomach starts to churn.

“You can do this,” Z leans down to murmur in my ear.

I feel incredibly shaky—whether it’s from the anticipation, the fear, or the excitement of Z’s warm breath tickling my skin, I’m not sure. I look across at Jose, who’s running his hands through his long black hair. He doesn’t look nervous; in fact, he grins at me like we’re just talking about school or something. Cocky. I just nod shortly without smiling.

“Game on,” I say loudly.

Sam takes a deep breath and focuses on me. “This one appears simple, but it’s all about mining information.”

She pauses and flicks a look over my shoulder, maybe at Z. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s nervous about me competing. “Anyway,” she continues, “the person to get the right password and break into the account wins.”

I sit up straighter. Mining information. Easy enough. Sam hands me a pad and pen, then a slip of paper with the first and last name of the victim—Samuel Calderon—and the name of his bank, one I’ve never heard of.

A bank?

I stare at the paper in my hand as the reality of what they’re asking us to do sinks in.

They created a fake bank account for this contest. This isn’t a real person.

I wish I were more naive. I think of Z’s Ducati, Sam’s Camaro. The job she has breaking security systems.

Oh, God.

I look over at Sam, who’s watching me carefully. I can tell by her worried expression that she thinks I’m going to back out. Jose is snickering. The room is quiet now, waiting. Z is staring intently at me.
Don’t quit now
, his expression seems to say.

I know I shouldn’t do it. But I also know that I have to. I can’t walk away from this. Not with everyone staring at me and Sam thinking I’ll quit and Z so sure that I won’t. I have to hope they’re not going to use this information.

It’s just a competition
, I remind myself.
Just for fun.

I sit up straight in my chair and nod tersely at Sam, my hands poised over the keyboard.

Sam nods. “Go!”

I start with a basic search on the bank first, since it sounds like a smaller, local one. Sure enough, it’s a small bank out of Rockford, Illinois. There are a couple of Samuel Calderons there, but one is eighteen, the other thirty-six. I pick the thirty-six-year-old. I find the years he attended high school and a LinkedIn page with scant information. Not much to go on. This Samuel Calderon doesn’t even have a blog or much of a web presence at all. My eyes rise over the screen to see Jose busy scribbling things down on his paper.
Crap.

My heartbeat almost matching the quick tapping of my keystrokes, I do a quick search for his high school yearbook and find a few images someone posted to Facebook. I find Samuel Calderon’s name and scan over to look closely at his face—skinny, full lips, high cheekbones. Weird-looking guy.