The Takedown(63)

moi Feel like an off-grounds field trip? Hater within reach.

At the end of the day, Mac was still the person I trusted the most. Ironic, considering I’d always thought the biggest reasons I had for not dating him involved lack of trust.

mac Just off train. Nothing sounds better.

Perfect. Today his lateness worked in my favor.

moi You’ll get detention for skipping.

mac What’s one more?

We agreed to meet at my house because WhereYouAt couldn’t find you if you left your Doc at home. My bulky school tablet blipped. On-screen, a bar-coded note said Ms. Tompkins had excused me from all my morning and afternoon classes to do research on Internet safety and protection at the ConnectBook offices. I txted a copy to my Dad. He immediately responded with his e-signature.

“You have no idea how much this means to me,” I said.

“Happy to be of use.” She winked.

“Hey, Ms. Tompkins.” I turned back at the door. “You and Mr. E. never dated, did you?”

“Nope.” She stuck out her tongue, making a gross face. “Just friends. I have a girlfriend. And hey, Kyle, when you do figure out who did this to you, let me know. I intend to level some serious overdue fines on them.”





Without our Docs, Mac and I got turned around getting off the train in the city and walked east instead of west. Mac thought being Doc-free was fun. I felt like I was missing my central nervous system. I had no idea what time it was. I didn’t understand a word anyone was saying if it wasn’t in English. And there were at least three shirts I saw in window displays that I couldn’t add to my Watch List. Not to mention, I hadn’t told anyone what I was thinking in at least forty minutes. In lieu of this, I kept audio txting Mac all my observations.

“Txt Mac: It’s too quiet.”

A bus stopped beside us. Across the street a cabbie laid on his horn. But there was no dinging, buzzing, or alerts. My hand kept reaching into my bag, coming up empty.

“You’re like a malfunctioning windup toy.” Mac laughed. “Whose messages are you afraid you’re missing, anyway? The girls will still be there an hour from now.”

“It’s not them.”

“Found yourself an unskanky novio already?” He tried to keep his voice light.

As if I were the one who would immediately date other people.

“Nooo.” I linked arms with him. “I got into a txt argument with AnyLies last night and I still haven’t heard from her today.”

“Wait. Please tell me, por favor, that you haven’t been txting your hater.”

“I keep thinking if she knows me well enough, she’ll take down the video.”

I didn’t tell Mac it was up to about five hundred txts a day, that I found her constancy comforting. That I’d been kind of crutching on her like she was an Audra replacement. I mean, I’m pretty; I’m not stupid. I knew how crazy it would sound.

“Kyla, that sounds incredibly…”

“Dumb, I know.”

“I was going to say dangerous. You have no idea who this person is. You think it’s a she? What if it’s some fifty-year-old pedophile you’re sharing your secrets with? You remember this is all their fault, sí?”

“Of course.”

Though what if some of it was mine, too?

“Promise me you won’t txt them anymore.”

Mac took his arm away from me and turned me so I was looking at him.

“Sure, okay. Promise. Look, Macky. I think we’re here.”

The ConnectBook headquarters looked like an oasis on the High Line. As opposed to all the red and gray brick buildings around it, the CB offices were entirely fitted with reflective solar-paneled windows that were a rainbow assortment of shiny blues, greens, and pinks. Just visible from the ground were the long grasses that made up the roof garden and the building’s huge water-filtration system. When it was first built, the ConnectBook HQ was lauded, and then deplored, by the energy companies for being the first building in Manhattan that functioned entirely off the grid.

Coming in and out of the building were people walking their dogs, toting their bikes and skateboards, and otherwise enjoying this sunny, brisk late-December day. It felt more like a college campus than the headquarters of one of the most influential companies in the world.

“This isn’t David versus Goliath,” I muttered. “It’s David versus all the geek gods inside one giant Cronus.”

“Geek gods. Good one.” Mac stared up at the building in awe. “Don’t forget. David won.”





We didn’t get past reception.

There were two receptionists—one male and one female—who sat in plush chairs behind an empty glass table. I nudged Mac toward the male receptionist because he gave us a bright smile when we entered while the female receptionist kept staring straight ahead, her eyeballs moving in minute flicks. Every few clicks, she said, “Hello, ConnectBook. How may I connect you? One moment.” Even though we heard no ringing.

“Hi there,” the male receptionist said when we approached. “Welcome to ConnectBook. How may I help you?”

“Hi there,” I said. “Someone’s posted malicious content about me. I was hoping I could talk to a tech.”

“All right, I see you’re having a malicious content problem. If you go to your ConnectBook account and click Flag Post, ConnectBook security will investigate the complaint.”