The Takedown(82)

Earlier that morning—almost exactly one week to the hour that the video dropped—Sharma and I were excused from classes before we even set foot in school. Off-grounds passes, signed by each of our dads and a deputy secretary of Homeland Security, were sent to each of our teachers excusing us for the entire day so that we could attend a classified meeting.

“Whoa, a little over-the-top, don’t you think? How’d you forge that?” I asked when I saw the e-sig. “Graff will never—”

“Will never say anything. Only forged the parent signatures. Hubert owes me.”

“Sharma, sometime I’d love to hear more about what you do in your free time.”

Now, as a glacial wind blew up Thirty-Seventh Street, we huddled together for warmth. It was so cold, Sharma wasn’t even on her Doc—a first. It also equaled the first time we’d hung out alone, ever.

“And then they were down to two, huh?” she said, as if she’d hacked my brain. “Man, winter is by far my least favorite season.”

“Sharm,” I snorted. “It’s so cold, you just made a complete sentence.”

“Kylie, did you know only one percent of people are thought to have an IQ higher than one hundred thirty? When they tested mine for Code to Work, they estimated it at one-sixty-eight. The test’s wack, because there are infinite kinds of intelligence, but Einstein’s IQ was only estimated at one-sixty. I’m pretty sure I’m able to speak in complete sentences, but no one wants to hear what fourth-wheel Sharma has to say unless it’s about amping up their connection speed or, like, hacking Destiny Spark’s Doc. Which is not even that interesting, B-T-W. She totally underutilizes her tech. It’s okay. You don’t have to make consternation face. I was a fourth wheel even when there were only three of us.”

I couldn’t have been more surprised than if Sharma had peeled off her face, yelled Ha-HA, and turned out to be an alien. I’d known Sharma for three-plus years. She’d been talking in gamer-speak this whole time because otherwise she thought no one would listen to her?

“Do I know my friends at all?”

“Better than anyone.” Sharma blew warm air into her gloved hands. “Don’t look so upset. We all do it. If I didn’t watch you online, I’d never know how amazing you are. The chats you have with the people in your clubs, the essays you write. Audra thinks I’m the smartest, but Kylie, I think we tie. Every morning, when I give newsreel, you already know it all except for the funny trending vids. Trying to trump you equals the most interesting part of my day. But around us, you way scale back your smarts and natural interests.”

“If I didn’t, you guys would think I was even more unbearable.”

“Who thinks you’re unbearable? Kyle being more Kyle only equals more awesome.”

It was without question the sweetest thing Sharma had ever said. Possibly to anyone. Ever. With her hair hidden beneath her beanie and the magnification on her giant old-skool lenses she looked 90 percent eyes. They widened further as a puffball of winter clothing appeared and held up a gloved hand for a high five.

“Rory!” I cheered. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m tagging along on this Hunt the Hater Hacker, er, Hunt. Oh, hey, you must be Sharma. Nice to meet you IRL. Didn’t know you’d be here. Figured it was too nice out to sit in the office all day. Might as well get some vitamin D sunshine and whatnot.”

The only part of Rory not covered by his oversized pants, boots, winter parka, scarf, gloves, and fisherman’s cap was the lower half of his face. We all looked skyward. There had never been a bleaker NYC day.

“Think you forgot what sunshine is.”

Sharma spoke this in the general direction of Rory’s shoulder, like she was addressing the elderly grandmother in line behind us, who didn’t look all that happy that her line had gotten longer by one. Rory laughed like he was txting it—all-caps HAHAHA followed by dozens of exclamation marks. He smacked his cheek to stop.

“Well, it feels like sunshine being in present company,” he bellowed.

Sharma gave him such a frosty look, it made the air feel tepid in comparison. Then I realized it wasn’t Rory she was glaring at. It was the person behind him.

It was Mac.

I put my hand into his airspace, thinking he might be one of those holo-ads that plugged in people from your favorites list. My hand hit coat. It was really him. He was holding a tray of steaming hot teas.

“Oh, thank G-O-D,” Rory breathed. “You made it.”

“I never let down a primo.”

As Mac and Rory did a one-armed bro hug, the grandma behind me swore in what my EarRing told me was Russian. As a peace offering for cutting, Mac handed her a tea. Grumbling, she snatched it, then sighed at its warmth. He passed out the other three to us.

“You came,” I said.

“Well, I kinda needed to urgently tell you something. Plus, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t stick around to find out who your hater was?”

“The kind who gets slutty hickeys and then ends a cool relationship?” Sharma intoned.

She slid her glasses to the bottom of her nose and glared at Mac over them like a librarian scolding a talker.

“Oh, hey, Sharm, nice to see you, too.” Mac took my elbow and resolutely turned us so our backs were to her and Rory. The Russian grandmother smacked her lips, pleased to now have a hot drink and entertainment. “When did Sharma start speaking in full sentences? Never mind. So I had this realization after I deserted you outside your house last night. Before you, I never got the point of holding hands. I mean, it’s two bony appendages pressed together. No me importa. But as soon as you took my hand on our date—”