Oracle (3 page)

“I'm in.”

Chapter Five

I lean back in my chair. “What number are we up to?”

It's Sunday afternoon. Hannah's on my bed with her laptop open. She studies the sheet where we keep track of user names and passwords. The “phantom people” who write to the Oracle for advice.

“Seventeen. Both questions and answers.” She consults the sheet. “We've got the messy breakup, the cheating girlfriend, the jealous lover, the gay who's afraid to come out, the hopeless romantic, the fetishist—”

“I liked that one. Sneaker Sniffer.” I stretch. “Let's do one about Kamryn and Kyle now.”

“Ugh.” Hannah rolls her eyes. “Fine.” She starts typing, setting up a new phantom email for the question writer. “Number eighteen,” she says. “I'll call her QB.”

“Quintessential babe?”

Hannah stares. “You think Kamryn's a babe?” Her laugh is short. “Holy, you're just like everyone else.”

I realize my mistake. “Well, I myself don't think she's a babe,” I scramble. “I mean, not
personally
.”

Hannah looks back down at her laptop. “Whatever. QB stands for Queen Bee.”

She looks mad. I'm not sure what to say. Usually if Hannah's mad about something, you hear about it.

But she doesn't say anything else.

I keep us moving along.

“Okay, so. Our question for Kamryn could be,
How do I get this really hot guy
to notice me?
”

Hannah starts typing. A few seconds later, she hits a button. “Sent,” she says.

I click
Refresh
on my laptop, and the question appears on my screen as though QB actually wrote in to ask the Oracle about it.

I grab my head and groan.

“What?” Hannah asks.

“Epic problem,” I say.

“What?” she asks again.

“I want to give her the wrong advice and steer her in the wrong direction,” I say. “But the Oracle isn't supposed to give bad advice. It's supposed to give
good
advice.”

“Oh,” Hannah says. “Riiiiiight.”

We sit for a few moments.

Then Hannah snaps her fingers. “Got it,” she says.

“What?”

“We write in as Kyle.”

I stare at her. “We write in as Kyle?” I can't imagine my brother reading a website about relationships, let alone writing in to ask for advice. But Kamryn won't know that.

“What would Kyle ask?” I say.

“
Dear Oracle
,” Hannah begins. She types as she talks.

“
I'm in grade ten. There's this grade-eight
girl who's driving me crazy. She
has a crush on me, but the feeling isn't
mutual. She's on the prowl and won't let
up. She's even got plans to hunt me down
at the spring dance.
”

My jaw drops, and I swivel in my chair. “That's so obvious!”

Hannah looks at me. “Owen. Do you want her to figure it out or what?”

“Right. Obvious it is.”

She finishes. “
Oracle, I'm not
interested in dating little kids. How do
I tell her to leave me alone?
”

I can't help it. I laugh. “That's perfect! If Kamryn reads that question, she'll totally think Kyle wrote it. She'll get the message loud and clear.” I lean back and punch Hannah on the shoulder. “You're a genius.”

“I know.” She shrugs and twirls a length of hair around a finger. “Your world would be dead and meaningless without me.”

I laugh again. “You realize, don't you, that if people start reading this website, we can totally direct their behavior with questions and answers?”

Hannah nods. “Supreme power.”

“That's pretty cool. To have this much control over people.”

“Controlling minds is pretty cool,” she agrees. “Except there's one tiny problem.”

“What's that?”

“How do we get people to read it?”

“You do the main floor. I'll do upstairs.” I hand Hannah a fistful of blue business cards.

She heads down the corridor, slipping a card into every few lockers. The hallways are quiet except for the mad-science nerds and a few people in the drama club. Almost everyone has gone home or to the gym to watch the game.

Hannah and I stayed up late last night creating anonymous identities. Inventing questions and posting answers and having way too much fun.

As of today, the Oracle is open for business.

I take my bundle of cards upstairs. Between us, we have three hundred. It's not enough for every locker at LaMontagne, but it's a good start for getting the word out.

I glance down at the card. It shows a dark sky full of stars swirling around an image of an ancient temple. In gold are the words,
Is love in the stars for you at
LaMontagne? Ask the Oracle.
The url is at the bottom.

It should get people's attention.

I save the last card for Kamryn's locker, at the far end of the east wing. If nothing else, I have to make sure she gets one. She's the whole reason for the Oracle.

As I drop the card through a small opening at the top of the locker, it hits me that I should have written a personal message on it. An invitation, or maybe a hint about Kyle. Something to make sure she logs on and checks out the site. I duck my head to feel around at the bottom of the locker, but there's no way I'm retrieving the card.

That was dumb.

I pull on the locker. Locked, of course. I bang my forehead against it in frustration.

Hannah rounds the corner. “This is going to be so great!” she says. She stops short when she sees me. “What on earth are you doing?”

I straighten guiltily. “Nothing.”

“Why were you smashing your head against…” Hannah pulls back and scans the row of lockers. “Kamryn's locker?” she finishes. When she looks back at me, her eyes are suspicious. A locker slams in the next hallway.

“Oh, is this her locker?” I feign surprise. “That's weird. I, uh, didn't have enough cards to get to the end of this row. I was just thinking that maybe we didn't print enough.”

I can tell she doesn't believe me.

She opens her mouth to speak.

Mason rounds the corner, wearing those jumbo foam hands people wave at hockey games. He stops and points, cowboy-style, when he sees us. “Dudes,” he says. “What're you doing up here? Game's in the gym.”

Hannah looks at Mason, then at me.

“We were just headed there,” she says. “Let's go.”

Chapter Six

The next day after school, I check the Oracle's stats.

If I wasn't sitting down already, I would have fallen on the floor. The site had two hundred and twenty-three hits and forty-eight comments.

My stomach does a flip-flop.

What
?

My heart hammers. I should be happy, but instead I feel like I've been buried by an avalanche.

What have I started?

What am I going to do with forty-eight questions? How will I answer them all?

I run my hands through my hair, then click on the first one.

Dear Oracle. My best friend just
broke up with her boyfriend. I'm really
attracted to him and want to go out
with him, But I don't want my friend to
be upset. What do I do? —LF

I blink. Wow, that's a tough one.

Maybe the next question will be easier to answer. I click on it.

Dear Oracle. Is it a good idea to kiss
on the first date? My friends and I can't
agree. —To Kiss or Not to Kiss

I don't know.
Is
it a good idea?

Let's have a look at number three.

Dear Oracle. I'm going out with a
guy that I'm not interested in anymore.
How do I dump him gently? —Softhearted

Ah, man. Who was I to think I could manage a gig like this?

I go through every question to see if any of them are easy to answer.

None are, except for the one asking about poisoning an ex's new girlfriend with formaldehyde from the chem lab. I write a stern reply discouraging the idea. Before I hit
Send
I suggest itching powder in her gym shorts instead.

I drop my head into my hands. I've told everyone the Oracle can solve their trickiest relationship issues. And, other than telling people not to kill each other, I don't have a clue where to start.

The doorbell rings, making me jump.

“Forty-eight questions!” Hannah says when I open the door. She's obviously checked the stats too.

“I know,” I groan. “I have no idea how to answer them either.”

Hannah grins. “I do.”

“What? How?”

“Horoscopes.”

“Horoscopes?”

She nods. “Astrology. You ask people to send in the birthdate of the person they're asking about. It's the best tool we have to tailor the Oracle's advice to that person.”

“I'm not following you.”

Hannah steps inside and closes the door.

“You're a Sagittarius, right?” she asks.

“I don't know. Am I?”

“Yes, you are. Your birthday is December eighth.” She starts walking toward my bedroom.

I follow her. “Okay. So what?”

“Well, according to the ancient art of astrology, there are certain things a person can do if he or she wants to woo someone of a particular sign.”

“Keep talking.”

“Well, let's use you as an example,” she says, settling herself on my bed. “Sagittarians are honest, and they have a great sense of humor. So good relationship advice for someone who's in love with a Sagittarius is to show that you can be a lot of fun. Or that you like the outdoors. Or horses.”

I look at Hannah. “How'd you get so wise on astrology all of a sudden?”

Hannah pulls out a folded sheet of paper and waves it at me. “Google.” She opens the sheet and runs her finger down a list, reading. “More on Sagittarius. Optimistic. Adventurous. You like to travel. You think about the future. You don't like to be tied down.”

I laugh and sit down. “No comment. What's your sign?”

“I'm a Leo,” she says.

“What's that mean?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Flatter me.”

“Anything else?”

“That's all you need to know for Leos,” says Hannah.

“Okay, so…you're brilliant,” I say.

“Tell me something I don't know.”

“You have lovely, uh…hair?”

“Getting warmer.” She laughs. I love making Hannah laugh. Her laugh makes me feel good.

“You have a laugh that I could listen to all day?” I say.

Hannah stops laughing. She blinks, twice, then looks down.

The air in the room feels different all of a sudden. The tops of my ears grow hot.

I hear Hannah take in a little breath. Then she nods toward the laptop. “We should get started. We need to get the word out so people can write in with actual birthdates.”

“Right.” I nod. “But wait. How are people supposed to know other people's birthdates? You can't go up to a girl or guy you like and ask them what their birthday is. That's too obvious. They'd know you were writing a question for the Oracle.”

Hannah leans over my shoulder. She smells good. Like vanilla. And fruit.

With a couple of clicks, she brings up a familiar blue page.

“Facebook, silly.”

The girl is brilliant. Of course! Every-one puts their birthday on their page.

“Awesome! You are
so
smart!”

She shrugs and studies her nails modestly. “I try.”

I open up a new post and start typing.

Dear Readers. I am truly delighted that
so many of you have written in with your
questions. As I see it, to receive the most
accurate advice possible, please include
the birthdate of the individual in question.

“That's going to cause problems,” Hannah says, looking over my shoulder.

“I thought you said that was the best way to do it?” I say. “If we have the people's birthdates, we can tailor the advice better, right?”

“But if they write the birthdate right into their comment,” Hannah says, “everyone who reads it can figure out who they're talking about.”

“Ohhh,” I say. “Hadn't thought of that. Well. What if they post the question in the comments, and then send it to us again in an email? With the birthdate included?”

Hannah's eyes brighten. “Email's private. That would totally work.”

I add,
Of course, you won't want
to put the birthdate in your comment.
Unless you want your secret longings
to become public! Post your comment,
then send it to me again in an email at
[email protected]. Be sure to include
your would-be's birthdate.

“Good?” I ask.

“Excellent,” she answers.

I click
Publish
.

“Now for today's questions,” Hannah says.

I roll my eyes. “Ugh. There's forty-eight!” I say.

Hannah glances back at the screen. “Fifty-six, actually. Look.”

I don't look. “That's way too many to answer,” I moan.

“Who says we have to answer all of them?” Hannah asks. “It's not like people are paying for this. They can wait their turn. Actually, a wait might stoke the fires.” She gives me a half smile.

“I'm not so sure I can handle this fire getting stoked any higher,” I say.

That came out weird. I feel my ears start to burn again. Hannah's face goes pink.

Her next words save me from putting my foot any farther into my mouth. “Why don't we just pick the five best and answer those?”

I stare at her. The five best. It's perfect. I want to hug her.

But I don't.

I nod. “Okay. Five. We can do five. Where do we start?”

Chapter Seven