Wickedpedia Page 8

  It hit Cole.

  The last user wasn’t just reading the profiles.

  The last user was logged into them.

  Editing them.

  Adding to them.

  Was the last user their killer?

  Cole didn’t have time to find out. Whoever had been here was gone now, but wouldn’t have left the pages open and logged into. Whoever it was expected to be back — and soon.

  Cole acted fast.

  Check the edit history. Find the username.

  The computer’s clock wormed closer to the end of the period. Cole scrolled to the top of the page and scanned the heading for the culprit’s username.

  Then he found it. And there would be no mistaking it.

  The doorknob jostled.

  Cole dove for cover behind Chetley’s desk and clonked the side of his head in the process. Pain tore down his scalp as he crammed himself into a ball. Why was he hiding? It was the middle of the day in the middle of school. What could happen to him here?

  Maybe Scott had wondered the same thing before someone gifted him with a new orifice.

  The door swung open.

  The lights stayed off.

  Footsteps.

  From his vantage Cole watched as a pair of legs strode through the room and came to a sudden stop just outside kicking distance of his face. He held his backpack closer, held his breath, held on for dear life as the interloper paused.

  The computer Cole had abandoned glowed brightly, the Wikipedia profiles gesturing rudely. He hadn’t toggled the screen saver back into use, hadn’t even thought to do so. Now it was too late.

  The steps resumed, but slower, as even and deliberate as the stroke of a pendulum, on a direct course for the computer and Cole’s undoing.

  He took a mental inventory of the objects at his disposal and their potential application for self-defense: books, paper, stubby pencils. Unless Cole could inflict death by paper cut, he was in no position to fight for his life.

  The only thing to do was run. He could cross the room in four, maybe five leaps, but an obstacle course of desks and chairs lay between him and escape. He would have to be chimp-nimble. Cole arranged himself into a three-point stance, ready to spring.

  But if he was caught, what then?

  Detention?

  Shame?

  Only if the person at the computer wasn’t a killer.

  If it was … Cole would be victim number three.

  The bell tolled. The period had ended. Class was over.

  The visitor’s feet pivoted in the direction of the door. Two seconds passed. Fads, genres, dynasties lived and died in the five long seconds before the scattered voices of the first students exiting their classrooms grew into a thrum.

  Cole was frozen. The visitor hovered before the computer for another moment. Keystrokes. The click of the mouse. The shut-down sigh of the computer. Exiting footsteps. The door closing.

  Cole gophered his head above the tabletop. He was alone with his thoughts, weedy with questions. One of them stuck out. The only one with an answer.

  Question: Who had been logged in and editing?

  Answer: PainAuChoCOLEat.

  Whoever was logged in was logged in as Cole.

  Which meant that whoever was logged in was setting him up.

  So far, one murder and one maiming had been scored in his name.

  How many others would die before it all came to an end?

  Cole retreated to a stall in a boys’ bathroom notorious for its bomb shelter ventilation. There he could think in relatively undisturbed, if toxic, peace. Cheap jokes at Drick’s expense were scrawled across the inside of the stall. Cole was absent from history, a first for him. He’d never skipped any class, ever, and in one day had managed to skip every single one. But a twinge of guilt beat death or mutilation, although having his head messed with was not exactly pleasant, either.

  Someone had logged onto Wikipedia using his handle and reconstituted the pages he’d taken down. But who would go to such great lengths to mess with him? What had he ever done to anyone?

  Plenty.

  He didn’t know where to start. But Gavin might. If anyone could summon up and whittle down a field of suspects, it was him. Assuming he could stop himself from laughing at the story long enough to think about it. As the period drew to a close, Cole braved the halls and headed for history.

  When Gavin emerged from class, Cole was waiting for him.

  “Congratulations on picking the best day ever to skip class,” he grumbled. In his hand was the carcass of his term paper on Benedict Arnold, all red ink and exclamation marks. “I know it isn’t my best work but why can’t Drick take into account we’re all suffering from an epidemic of tragedy? I could get mauled by a baboon today, and tomorrow he’d still deduct five points for improper citation.”

  Cole drew Gavin aside, his nerves swelling.

  “And don’t assume you’re immune. Your homemade crullers will only buy you so much goodwill. There’s a special place in community college for top-ten-percenters who slack off before the last semester.”

  “It’s top one-percent, thank you, and right now I’m more concerned with preserving my sanity than my rank.”

  This got Gavin’s attention. Like any good historian, he was always up for a story of downfall. “Last night I revised the Wiki pages. Cleaned them up. Got rid of all the nasty bits. But this morning they were back exactly how I first wrote them. And whoever restored them used my own log-in to do it. I think whoever did it maybe killed Scott and tried to do the same to Andrea, too.”

  Gavin was, for once, speechless.

  That lasted two seconds.

  “Wow. Okay. You weren’t kidding about the sanity thing.” He twirled his bangs, thinking. “This requires brainstorming. And a branzino pizza pie. To Benito’s.” Cole and Gavin took a step in unison when Winnie appeared, and Cole stopped. He could not remember the last time he’d encountered her without minders. Would she rip into him? Ignore him? Not notice him at all? This was not really the time to explore the latest developments in their romantic saga, but Cole didn’t know how to walk away from her, either.

  Gavin knew better than to waste time dissuading Cole from interacting with Winnie and said they’d talk later before offering a not-so-friendly reminder. “Don’t forget you hate her.”

  Winnie stepped up to Cole, as though walking a tightrope. Not one moment ago Gavin had said something, something he ought to remember. It eluded him now.

  “You missed class.”

  She’d noticed?

  “I’m sure I didn’t miss much,” he replied. His feet were splayed and his weight concentrated in one hip, allowing the other to jut, lazy and available. He’d lifted the look from Josh and spent many post-shower, towel-clad moments practicing it before a full-length mirror. He never dreamed he could pull it off in public, but he never dreamed he could skip class, either. “Sometimes you just need a break, you know?”

  Winnie looked away. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  Of course she knew, idiot. Her best friend almost died. School probably felt like a vacation from the burn unit.

  “I saw you on TV,” Cole divulged. Winnie’s eyes wandered back to meet his. “When you went to see Andrea at the hospital. Is she doing any better?”

  “Her mother says so. I wish I could make that call myself. I wasn’t allowed in to see her. I don’t think Andrea wants company.”

  Cole couldn’t blame her. Last night he did a Google image search for acid burns. He’d never cook liver again.

  “Give her time. She’ll need her friend back.”

  “I hope so. I need her back.” Here, Winnie paused. “But maybe she’s getting all the support she needs from you.”

  Huh?

  “I sat with her mom for a while. She offered me a cookie from the food people dropped off at their house. I knew it was your baking as soon as I tasted the Rollo. Mrs. Henderson is a fan. She wishes she could write a thank-you card to the baker. Strangely, he did
n’t leave a note.”

  Cole shifted uncomfortably. “You could’ve told her it was me.”

  “But then she might have asked me why my ex-boyfriend was leaving cookies for her. And I wouldn’t know what to say.” Neither would Cole. “Except that it was very nice of him.”

  That might have been a compliment. “Why are we talking?” asked Cole.

  “I don’t know,” said Winnie. “Because people talk?” She stood at an angle to him, half of her positioned to make a break for it, half of her positioned to make a stand. As if she had a decision to make. As if she hadn’t already made it.

  “Not us,” said Cole. “That was your choice. Not mine.”

  “Then stop talking to me.” Check and mate.

  A crash inside Drick’s room jolted them. The din of the hallway receded, absorbed it, and resumed, unstoppable. Winnie and Cole looked inside.

  Drick’s desk was on its side. Loose essays blanketed the floor. An upturned box of chalk had opened in the tumult, its contents still rolled between chairs in a race. Drick stood on one side of the desk, his knuckles on his hips, silent but unperturbed by the mess. Josh stood on the other side, his shoulders heaving beneath his tank top.

  Isn’t he cold? thought Cole.

  “I shouldn’t have done that, oh my God, I didn’t mean to do that.” The words blundered from Josh’s clown-car mouth. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll continue this conversation with the principal. And your parents.”

  Josh’s face flushed. “You can’t do this to me.”

  Drick groaned to one knee, gathering up the disorder. “Run along, Josh.”

  Josh dropped to help, grabbing fistfuls of papers, creasing them. Cole spotted his own assignment among them. An 85 in red. Cole had never seen an 8 in the tens’ place before. A 5, in any position, was also rare. Before the significance of the abysmal grade could sink in, he noticed something else: The 5 was shades darker than the 8. It was wet.

  Josh was crying over it.

  “Mr. Drick, you don’t understand. I can’t afford this. Academic probation has already knocked me down the depth charts of every college I want to go to. If my grades get worse, I’m off them altogether!”

  “You should have considered that before you cheated.”

  “It was one time! This isn’t fair,” Josh wailed, his young man’s voice incongruous with the tantrum. “Can’t you cut me some slack? My best friend just got killed and you’re holding my whole future hostage!”

  Drick sat back on his haunches and looked at Josh mildly, not uncaring. He put his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I know it’s hard to believe this now, but there are many futures. I promise, whichever one finds you, it will be good. Even if it doesn’t include soccer.”

  Josh’s eyes went dry. He grabbed Drick by the lapels and cast him down with force, the spindly teacher rag-dolling to the floor. Josh rose to his feet, wiping his face. “If I don’t have soccer, there is no future for me. Or for you.”

  ShesGottaGavIt: i always miss the good stuff

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Lila will cover it in the Muckraker tomorrow.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: That’s almost like being there.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Besides, I’m sure Josh isn’t done melting down.

  ShesGottaGavIt: especially if drick keeps up his new scoring system

  PainAuChoCOLEat: What new scoring system?

  PainAuChoCOLEat: He has a new scoring system??

  ShesGottaGavIt: yeah

  ShesGottaGavIt: fail everybody

  ShesGottaGavIt: speaking of

  ShesGottaGavIt: what did you get on your paper

  PainAuChoCOLEat: I don’t want to talk about it.

  ShesGottaGavIt: uh oh

  ShesGottaGavIt: trouble in ivytown

  PainAuChoCOLEat: It’s no big deal.

  ShesGottaGavIt: hope you applied to some safety schools

  PainAuChoCOLEat: It’s one grade.

  ShesGottaGavIt: you could always join the merchant marines

  PainAuChoCOLEat: I will handle Drick.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: You handle your assignment.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: I need your assessment of my Wikipedia situation.

  ShesGottaGavIt: my assessment is you got hacked

  PainAuChoCOLEat: How astute of you.

  ShesGottaGavIt: hey, i spent my valuable time considering the ins and outs of your persecution complex

  ShesGottaGavIt: by mySELF

  PainAuChoCOLEat: You spent the afternoon pondering and this is all you came up with? I’m being hacked?

  ShesGottaGavIt: please deposit gratitude and proof of friendship for further analysis

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Give me something to be grateful for.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Tell me who is messing with me.

  ShesGottaGavIt: you are the top one percent

  ShesGottaGavIt: you might be the valedictorian

  ShesGottaGavIt: you tell me

  PainAuChoCOLEat: If I had the slightest idea, I wouldn’t be asking you.

  ShesGottaGavIt: are you really saying you cannot figure this out

  ShesGottaGavIt: its obvious

  ShesGottaGavIt: the person who hacked you

  ShesGottaGavIt: the person who restored the wikis

  ShesGottaGavIt: the person behind it all

  ShesGottaGavIt: is

  ShesGottaGavIt: WHINNY

  PainAuChoCOLEat: WHAT?

  ShesGottaGavIt: to wit

  ShesGottaGavIt: she wants to make you carayzee

  ShesGottaGavIt: keep you distracted while she sneaks up on you

  ShesGottaGavIt: uses her GPA to club you over the head all baby seal like

  ShesGottaGavIt: and take valedictorian for her diabolical self

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Seriously?

  PainAuChoCOLEat: You think Winnie murdered Scott.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: And blinded her best friend.

  ShesGottaGavIt: you assume that the person who hacked the pages is also killing people

  PainAuChoCOLEat: It isn’t a big leap to make.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: And would it be possible for you to muster up a little bit of concern?

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Because this is on you, too.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: We did those wiki pages together.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: If something happens, you’re in trouble, same as me.

  ShesGottaGavIt: no one is getting in trouble

  ShesGottaGavIt: no one has done anything

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Tell that to Scott and Andrea.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Tell that to whoever Josh draws a bead on next.

  ShesGottaGavIt: so you think josh is a killer

  PainAuChoCOLEat: His life is falling apart.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: He threatened Andrea and Scott.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Just like he did to Drick today.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: He could be next.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Someone has to warn him.

  ShesGottaGavIt: please

  ShesGottaGavIt: please let me be there when you tell our history teacher that he is on a hit list

  ShesGottaGavIt: drawn up by a disgraced high school jock

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Then meet me at his class before first period.

  PainAuChoCOLEat: Because I’m telling him.

  Cole signed off before Gavin could change his mind. He let the decision wash over him. It felt good to be taking action, even if he wasn’t sure it was the right action to take. For all he knew, the things that had happened to Scott and Andrea were crazy accidents. For all he knew, whoever had hacked his account was just playing a prank on him. For all he knew, Josh had not turned into a bloodthirsty maniac.

  But the only harm in saying something was in being wrong and looking like a fool. The harm in keeping quiet and hoping for the best was that he was right after all.

  The real harm was someone else dying.

  So why wait until tomorrow? Why not get Drick on the horn and let him know this minute?

  Cole hunted the Internet for Drick�
�s number, and found it. But when he called, he got only a busy signal. Over and over again. The man only had a landline. No voice mail. Maybe he took it off the hook at night so he could sleep undisturbed.

  Winnie would be up.

  Cole dialed her without hesitation. If he couldn’t tell Drick, he’d tell her. She needed to know she could be in danger, too. His cell flung out a tether to connect to hers as he devised his speech.

  Hi, Winnie. It’s me. Cole. Your ex-boyfriend. Cole Redeker. The one you called clingy? Yeah, hi. Listen, there’s something I need to tell you. No, I don’t like Josh. Yes, I know I’ve made that abundantly clear already. Yes, in fact, I do think you’d be better off with me. Because I think your current boyfriend killed his best friend, tried to kill your best friend, and might kill our teacher. Don’t hate me, I’m trying to save you. Hello? Winnie, are you there?

  The ringing stopped. “Hello,” said Winnie.

  Cole’s mouth hung open. His fears for her dangled from his lips.

  “What do you want, Cole?”

  To take it all back. To fix it. To possess whatever it was she thought he lacked, whatever it was she’d found with Josh.

  “This is creepy. I’m hanging up.”

  “Winnie, wait.”

  “Good night, Cole.”

  The phone clicked and she was gone. When he tried calling back, he was sent straight to voice mail. She’d turned off her phone. She’d had enough.

  So had Cole. Tomorrow he’d wake up early, track Drick down, and tell him everything in person.

  Tomorrow it was all coming out. Tomorrow it would all be over.

  Not for Cole, though.

  For someone else.

  The sun had not yet come up when Arnold Drick arrived for work, and by then he’d already been awake for three hours, his house the snoozy neighborhood’s single source of light. After doing his calisthenics, showering, and selecting today’s tweed, he reorganized his spice rack (by geographical area of origin), ate his oatmeal, brewed his tea, drank his tea, cleaned his tea kettle and cup, stared out the window, shook his head at the cracked sidewalk, muttered at the neighbor boy’s sled left daring to protrude over the property line onto his muddy lawn, wrote a nasty note to said neighbor boy, then tore it up and threw it away, finally removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose, weary already. Finally, finally it was a reasonable enough hour to depart for the high school. It was five in the morning.