The Takedown(58)

It was time for me to go.

It was past time for me to go. Only, there were just a few more things….

“So who posted the first video?” I asked. “The one that cropped up on the Faculty Activities board?”

Mr. E. sighed, like, What does it matter?

“Somebody with the number six-six-six. Like ‘six-six-six and gone.’ I don’t remember what Dr. Graff said. But it didn’t seem like a name that Mardi—my ex—would come up with.”

“So not AnyLiesUnmade?”

“No, though that does sound like a name Mardi would come up with. I called her the moment I got pinged by the reposted video. She didn’t answer. But she txted back.” He scrolled through his Doc, read: “‘Eric. That’s awful. Wasn’t me.’ She signed it with a frowny face. ‘Hey, your life is destroyed, frowny face.’ The police have been trying to get in touch with her, too.”

“When was the last time you spoke before all this?”

“Over a year? Year and a half? Honestly, with Woofer, I’ve been waiting for this video to come back and haunt me. When I first saw the clip with your face put on hers, it was like my worst nightmare had come true. I’d been worried people would think the woman in the video was one of my students. But I didn’t think someone would change it so it actually was one of my students. So why you, Ms. Cheng?”

“I came here hoping you’d tell me,” I said, unable to hide my exasperation. “Mr. E., you teach—taught—effects. Did Jessie Rosenthal ever take that class with you?”

He nodded. “Kicking and screaming she did. She needed to pad out her art track.”

“Did she or anyone else ever use your personal Doc? Or do you have access to software that could—”

“Ms. Cheng, as technologically forward-thinking and endowed as Park Prep is, there’s no way that video came out of one of our classrooms. And Jessie…let’s just say Jessie was not one of my more gifted students.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Does that mean you gave her a bad grade?”

“I gave her a fair grade, though I’m not sure she saw it that way. Still, just based on skill set alone, I can’t see her pulling off something like this. What about your friend Ms. Rhodes?”

I wasn’t expecting him to say that. Flustered, I said, “Audra doesn’t have a motive.”

“No? A while back, she stopped me after class asking detailed questions about DRMs. She was very…intense. Wanted to make sure there was no way a third party could download them; wanted to know how she could maintain all rights.”

You should be thanking whoever posted that video.

“It is high school, after all,” he continued. “Sometimes there are no motives other than pure, genuine meanness.”

“It’s not Audra.” Only I was allowed to pin it on my best friend, not him. “The file’s not on her Doc.”

“Could be on an alternate drive or—”

“Mr. E.,” I interrupted. “Can I connect with you? If I can compare our CB Connections lists, I might find a link.”

He shook his head. “No way. That’s all the police need to see after everything that’s happened, that we’re ‘connected.’ I’m sorry, but my privacy’s been invaded enough. Besides, I’m in the process of erasing myself.”

“You mean you’re erasing your CB account?”

Only paranoid tech-phobes erased themselves. It equaled insane. First because it meant deleting all your profiles. And everything was attached to your profiles: buying just about anything, bill paying, credit cards, air miles. But it also meant a complete name change and then never being online in any significant social way again. Since CB owned half the social apps out there, it was only a matter of time before old Woofer pics just reattached to you. Erasing yourself also basically labeled you a miscreant. Imagine going on a job interview and having no online history for your prospective employers to look at. Who wouldn’t wonder what you were covering up?

But it was true. I swiped to his G-File. Other than the sex-video links there was nothing about him.

“Mr. E., this equals way over-the-top.”

He shrugged. “I don’t have enough money to indefinitely get my face Pulled and have my G-File swept. So I’m starting fresh. Bartending got me through college. It can get me through this. It pays better anyway.”

“But you’re such a good teacher.”

“Trust me, Ms. Cheng.” He laughed, like he had a thousand bitter one-liners he’d like to make. “If there’s one thing a teacher’s career can’t rebound from, it’s a sex scandal. And now, if you don’t mind, I believe I’ll get back to the self-pity you found me wallowing in.”

I told Mr. E. about the parkas who’d followed me on my way here. Begrudgingly, he said he’d walk me out. He took the recycling bags with him. Fawn would have insisted he walk her to the train. But frankly, I was as ready to be out of his company as he was to be out of mine. We walked to the trash cans in front of the building. The sidewalk, the entire block, was deserted, proving that the only thing creepier than a block full of sketchy men was a sketchy block completely devoid of anyone.

Across the street, a yellow Hydrogen Coop was parked behind a battered pickup truck. It looked way too new and way too ecologically conscious to be in this neighborhood. (No offense, Mr. E.’s crummy block.)