Script Kiddies

Chapter 4

Falcon spun, and the kid from the bus stop was standing on top of the first row of desks. The clone students filling the seats ignored him as they kept scrawling with their quills.

Unlike at the bus stop, his face was zit-free, and the ponytail had been replaced by a short buzz on the sides, but it was long and slick on top, a look that would have been out of place anywhere except on a high-level soccer player. He wore a tailored pinstripe suit, and even though he was standing on top of the desks, Haley could have sworn he was about a foot taller and packed about thirty pounds more muscle than when he'd ambushed her at the bus stop.

She took two steps sideways. He didn't move, except to smirk at her, and she realized he was more than just a projection.

"You lost a bet with yourself that I wouldn't show up?"

The boy's face fell, but his smile was back just as fast.

"You're not like the others," he said.

"You're really going to have to come up with better lines if you want me to stick around," Haley said.

She started to turn away.

"No, what I mean is that you don't—"

Falcon glanced back at him.

His mouth was moving, but he looked unsure, like he was searching for the right word— "you don't just play dumb and bat your eyes. I think it's cool."

"Thanks," Falcon said. She regarded him again. "Didn't catch your name?"

"In here, I'm Cap0wn."

He flashed a big grin and a giant stogie appeared in his mouth, a fedora on his head, and tommy gun in his outstretched hands. Bits of computer code hovered through the air as each item materialized, and as he stepped closer, Falcon realized that his pinstripes were actually ones and zeros in thin, neat rows.

"And out there?" She asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

His smile grew wider.

"Hector."

"What are you so happy about?"

"If you want to know my name, that means you're going to talk to me."

"Or I just want to know who I'm dealing with."

Capown waved a hand.

"Whatever you say."

"So, this is your study group?" Falcon said. She gestured around the lecture hall. "Planning to pray my grades up?"

"This is just for show."

Capown walked to the front of the room and walked behind the teacher's desk. He reached under and Haley heard a faint click, and the whirling of gears. A metal door with an eye slot appeared in the middle of the chalkboard, though the professor didn't seem to notice.

The eye slot banged open, and a gruff voice asked for a password.

Capown whispered something low enough that Falcon couldn't hear, and the slot slid shut. There was the sound of bolts being thrown on the other side, and the door swung open on silent hinges.

Jazz music drifted through the opening, and low orange light spilled through into the classroom. Capown offered Falcon an arm.

"You need an escort your first time, I'm afraid," he said. "Got to keep the jocks out."

Falcon looked at his arm, but didn't take it.

"You don't have to," Capown said. "But if you do, I promise you won't get a seventy-one on your next English test."