"Have you seen this video of Michelle?" Alz asks me as we exit school.
"Yeah," I say, driving the car on to the main road. "What do you think of it?"
"Well, to me, she used to look like this boring teenager, always drowning herself in studies."
"I do that too," I grumble, taking a sip of my Diet Coke.
"Yeah, right." She said dismissively and continued. "But, seeing this video, I realized that she is really different. I mean, look at her! I could have never imagined her saying these things to a teacher, in front of the whole class."
"But what she said was rude and hurtful," I try to reason with her, knowing perfectly well that one could never convince Alz. A very peculiar type of breed, to which all mothers belong.
"Oh come on," she groans, putting her phone down and glaring at me. "Ninety-eight percent of students think mean and hurtful things about their teachers. It's not a big deal."
I sigh and shake my head. There is no arguing with this girl. We remain quiet for a while until she says, "So, how did things go with Brandon?"
"Jeez, you make it sound like a date," I chuckle and turn left. "It went... bad? The programmer who hacked into my account was really cautious about not leaving any footprints or flaws. Plus, the hacker was very, very strong. Brandon's guys are peanuts in front of him."
"Who said that?"
"Brandon's guys did." I say and shrug. "Anyway, I was of no help because I'm not really that good at Python."
"How could you be of help, if you want to hide your Alpha-intelligence in front of the public?"
I shrug again, stopping at a red light. I wonder what problem do popular kids have with intelligent, studious ones. And I wonder why intelligent kids shy away from popular crowds.
You're popular. Ask that to yourself.
I'm mixed. I possibly cannot answer that question.
*
"Aha, m-effer!" I smile in satisfaction as I write down the solution of this supposedly difficult Calculus problem. To say this was difficult would be insulting my genius.
Stop being vain.
Oh, come on. These few hours at home are what I get for a little self-praise. Don't snatch that away from me too.
My phone — an old and slow iPhone— buzzes and I pick it up. A message from Stephanie.
Did you see what's taking the social media by storm?
I text her: Hmm, I don't think you know but my Instagram got hacked.
Steph: im sorry it slipped out of my head in the excitement.
Me: nah its fine. Btw, whats causing the storm?
Steph: youll b shocked to hear this
Me: tell me!
Steph: Callaghan
Oh right, the video. That's just what I wanted: her to be so embarrassed that she would never look me in the eye again.
Me: So that's good right?
Steph: Good? What do you mean by good? Her followers are reaching 10K!
What?
How? Wasn't this supposed to bring in lots of bullying?
I immediately ring up Stephanie and ask her what exactly was happening.
"She might be crossing you any moment," Stephanie replies, concerned.
"But I don't have Instagram right now," I shush her and bark at her to tell me clearly what's going on.
"Majority of the students don't like Mrs. Randall, it turns out. Even the nerds! People say her teaching is oppressive, goes above the head and totally boring."
I don't like English that much, but Mrs. Randall's teaching is awesome.
Wow, then I'm worse than the nerds.
"What Callaghan did today was— how do I put it? Brave. Inspirational. Something which even Aiden wouldn't dare to do, given Mrs. Randall's temperament. And so, people are loving her for it. Let's say, she's the Joker who murdered Mrs. Randall."
Students are loving her for it. Teachers suddenly realize what material their pet is made of.
Students love her. Teachers hate her.
The characteristics of a bitch.
"Fuck, Steph. It wasn't supposed to happen!" I hiss through gritted teeth and kick my chair down. "Our plan backfired!"
"What do you wanna do now?"
"The hell I know!" I shout and hang up.
She's the girlfriend of the student president.
She won the SQ this year.
Her video is viral, but in a good way.
It looks like she'll be the most popular chick at school now, not me.
Oh my God, I can not let that happen.
My phone rings again and it's an unfamiliar number this time.
"Who's it?" I snap.
"Brandon," he mutters. "No need to be so snappy. I don't need you. You need me."
"Why're you calling so late?" I ask him, trying to calm down.
"Brenna called. She thinks it's someone from the school."
"Of course it is!" I shout at him in disgust. "It took you that long to figure out that it was a school student? I've got several haters at school, all nerds. Hell, it may be possible that Brenna and whats-his-name are behind this!"
"Will you let me complete!" Brandon yells. "Jesus, you're so difficult to work with!"
"Well, it doesn't help that my co-workers are dumbasses!"
"What do you think of yourself?"
"Definitely better than what I think of you!" I yell into the phone.
I am so glad I'm in a relationship with Aiden. He is stupid but he isn't this irritating.
There's silence at both ends of the phone. I try to breathe deeply and calm myself. This isn't the time. I need to find my phone and the person who did this. And I can't lose Brandon. Not now.
"Continue," I say quietly.
He takes a deep breath and starts. "It's a school student because they used the school's Wi-Fi to hack into your account. And they leaked the photos much later, after the school was empty. But the problem is, our school doesn't have a Python course."
"There are thousands on the Internet," I say, resisting the urge to say 'duh'.
"Yeah, right. But as far as my circle goes, which includes all programmers, they know Python, but not as strong as the hacker who did it."
"Maybe they're lying," I argue.
"I know them since we were kids. Plus, I'm a programmer too. And this is professional level hacking," he says and chuckles. "That's what happens to people who make others' lives miserable."
I roll my eyes. "Whatever. So that means it's not a school student?"
"I don't think so."
"It's not a school student but he or she used the school's WiFi to hack into my account?" I ask him, staring at the Calculus sum which I just solved.
"Yup," he says.
That's perplexing.
Then who can it be? Hacking into my Instagram account and leaking some of my worst photos feels very personal; like someone who knows me did this.
I guess, strangers like to do this too.
"Anyway, since it's not a school student, we may need to take external help." He interrupts my thoughts.
I grunt in response and proceed to hang up.
"Good night, Jennifer."
I smile a bit— don't know why. "Good night, Brandon." I say and hang up. But as soon as I do so, a steely determination gets into my head.
I need to stop whatever this is happening to Callaghan. And my brain comes up with an idea.
I'm a genius.