Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Andrew

My latest piece of code sits on my screen like a loaded gun.

One click, and I’d ensure that at some point, Justin’s PowerPoint presentation at next week’s trade show would transform into the world’s most embarrassing karaoke session, complete with dancing emoji backgrounds and auto-playing Rick Astley songs.

But my finger hovers over Delete instead of Enter.

Because I can’t help replaying the look on Justin’s face when he talked about his mom’s car.

And this is my ongoing problem. Every time I think I’ve got Justin Morris figured out, categorized, and filed away as Enemy Class: High School Tormentor —subcategory: Popular Jock —he goes and does something that corrupts my data.

Sometimes Justin seems so much like the generic jock quarterback I knew him as. When he’s around other members of the sales team, he’s all about the fist bumps and exaggerated sports metaphors. He’ll lean back in his chair, talking about crushing quotas while miming touchdown celebrations that make Dave and Pete howl with laughter. Just yesterday, I watched him engage in a ridiculous competition about who could throw paper airplanes into the trashcan from the farthest distance, complete with a parody sports commentary.

The whole scene felt like watching a replay of high school, the popular guys showing off, marking their territory with loud laughs and louder gestures.

But then there’s the other stuff. Like the genuine way he talks about his cats. Or how the other day in the morning tea room, he showed me he had memorized how nearly everyone in the company liked their coffee and tea. Or the fact that he’s apparently helping his mom buy a car instead of spending his potential bonus on whatever it is golden boys usually waste money on.

My brain feels caught in an infinite loop, trying to reconcile two completely different versions of the same person. It’s like trying to debug code when you can’t find the original source of the error.

Are the flashes of niceness from him just another mask?

But then I remember how he looked when he thought his presentation was ruined, that flash of real vulnerability before his sales-guy smile clicked back into place like a default setting.

What started as revenge is beginning to feel more like sabotage, especially now that I know he’s trying to help his mom.

My spiraling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of vigorous keyboard typing.

I look over to find Xander attacking his keyboard with the enthusiasm of a concert pianist. He’s wearing a freshly pressed shirt and his hair has encountered both water and shampoo in the recent past.

He seems to sense my scrutiny and looks up from his keyboard to give me a toothy smile.

“Just completing my morning task list and updating the help desk documentation,” he announces loudly.

I suppress a groan. Because this has been par for the course for the past few weeks. My lie about the reality show has created a monster. A surprisingly well-groomed, productivity-obsessed monster who keeps checking out his appearance in the reflection of the monitors.

Adam, who I expected would be delighted that Xander is actually doing his job, has instead developed an eye twitch every time Xander cheerfully announces his latest accomplishment to our nonexistent camera crew.

His eye twitch worsens every time Xander bypasses him to ask my opinion on the best ways to restructure the help desk queue priorities, implement new security protocols, and streamline the backup procedures.

The help desk email pings with a notification.

“I’ll handle that ticket!” Xander announces to his invisible audience, straightening his tie. “Efficiency is the name of the game here in IT!”

Xander’s reaction reminds me that this charade has an expiration date. Eventually, he’s going to realize there’s no production crew waiting to jump out and yell, “Surprise.”

But even knowing this, I glance back at my code and slowly delete my latest masterpiece.

I can’t play any pranks on Justin when he’s trying to earn money to help his mom.

I’ll just temporarily pause the whole thing until he’s back from the trade show.

It might be time to consider pulling the plug on this whole revenge program before it crashes completely.

I rake my fingers through my hair until it likely resembles a hedgehog having a bad hair day.

A memory sweeps into my head. The day I wore the T-shirt my sister had given me for Christmas, that stated Computers Do It With More Bits . Justin’s friends spent the entire lunch period making increasingly crude jokes about my “bits” until I rushed to the restroom to change into my gym clothes.

I never wore that shirt again.

The thing is, I’m not sure if I’m completely ready to hit ctrl+alt+delete on my feelings about the past.

On Thursday, it’s a relief to go to work knowing Justin will be away for the next week.

It gives me a break from the internal struggle I seem to be having with my conscience about the whole revenge thing.

And I’m still really enjoying my job.

It’s refreshing to simply help people recover lost files and explain why downloading suspicious attachments isn’t a great life choice.

Even Adam constantly bombarding me with helpful training tips about NovaCore’s system optimization and second-guessing every decision I make can’t spoil my good mood.

I left a spare key for Leo with the superintendent of the building, and when I arrive home from work, I find him sprawled on my couch with his feet up on my coffee table, surrounded by empty takeout containers from nearly every restaurant within delivery distance.

“You know, when most tech moguls have a midlife crisis, they buy a yacht or try to colonize Mars,” Leo observes in his usual dry tone. “But you go full method actor and recreate a Best Buy employee’s first apartment. Interesting choice.”

To furnish my apartment, I used an agency called Zenith, which provides all kinds of services to the uber-rich, from fake dates to specialized dog walkers who ensure your pure-bred poodle only socializes with other dogs of appropriate net worth.

And the great thing about Zenith is they are completely discreet, so they didn’t ask why I wanted them to decorate the apartment appropriately for a guy in his mid-twenties in an entry-level IT job.

There’s the obligatory gaming console, IKEA bookcases filled with computer manuals, and a framed vintage Star Wars poster on the wall. The coffee table even has carefully cultivated water rings, like someone took sandpaper to create the illusion of actual use.

“I always like to be different,” I say as I flop down on the couch next to him. “Besides, I’m too young to have a proper midlife crisis.”

“When you said you were going undercover, I pictured something more James Bond, not whatever this IKEA witness protection program thing is,” Leo says.

“Hey, IKEA’s great for hiding in plain sight. No one is ever going to suspect the guy with a BILLY bookcase of being an evil genius plotting revenge,” I say lightly.

When I glance over at him, Leo’s staring back at me evaluatively. Even jet-lagged, he carries himself with that natural authority that made venture capitalists take us seriously when we were just starting out. His height and dark good looks helped sell the image of success before we actually achieved it.

And I’m very familiar with that look he’s giving me now.

The thing is, Leo was with me for my evolution from a nervous kid who could barely handle investor meetings to someone who could meet with Silicon Valley’s elite without breaking a sweat.

He’s seen me through every crisis our company faced, from servers crashing at three a.m. to venture capitalists trying to steal our source code. He was there when I stress-coded for seventy-two hours straight during our first major launch, force-feeding me and eventually hiding my keyboard until I slept.

“Come on,” he says, getting to his feet.

I blink at him. “What? You want to go somewhere?”

“I’m still jet-lagged as fuck. I need some fresh air if I have any hope of sleeping tonight. You can show me some of London while you tell me what’s been going on.”

“Okay,” I agree.

We end up in Trafalgar Square.

It’s a place that seems to sum up the contradictions of humanity. The classical columns of the National Gallery loom over protesters with hand-painted signs. Perfectly groomed office workers stream past street performers painted gold.

Meanwhile, the lion statues watch it all with expressions that could be interpreted as judgmental or amused.

“So, you want to talk to me about how your revenge project is going?” Leo asks.

I lean against the fountain’s edge, trailing my fingers through the water. A stray droplet lands on my glasses, making the world blur slightly. “Why? Are you going to try to talk me out of it?”

Do I want to be talked out of it? I’m not completely sure anymore.

“No. I’m not going to talk you out of it,” Leo says.

I stare at him in surprise. “You’re not?”

“No. The more I thought about it, the more the concept actually intrigued me.” He sends a side look at me. “Because I definitely know someone that karma deserves to catch up with.”

Oh, now this is interesting. Even though Leo is only three years older than me, he’s always been the mature one of the two of us.

“Who’s your target?” I ask.

“Vaughn Mansley.”

“The guy you worked with at QuantumTech Solutions,” I say slowly.

“Yup. The guy who stole my idea for a blockchain security protocol that can adapt to new threats in real-time.”

Leo has never talked to me much about his life before he started working with me. I know bits and pieces—he taught himself to code at thirteen, he worked three jobs to buy his first decent computer, he has a complex relationship with his family. But there are gaps in his history he’s never filled in.

“And let me guess, now you’re conducting a whole symphony in revenge?”

The one thing I definitely know for certain about Leo is that he doesn’t do anything by halves.

“No, my plan will definitely be low-grade compared to yours. But I have a few ideas up my sleeve.”

“We can have a revenge club,” I suggest.

A smirk comes over Leo’s face. “Like Fight Club ?”

“Yup, exactly.”

Leo stares at one of the pigeons strolling past us. “So, are we going to create rules for this revenge club?”

“First rule of Revenge Club, don’t talk about Revenge Club?” I suggest.

“Nah, we’re going to have to talk about it. How else will we help each other?” Leo says.

“I’m not sure how much help I’m going to be.” I run my hand through my hair. “I can barely figure out what I’m doing with my own revenge plan anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

I stare up at Admiral Nelson at the top of Nelson’s column, keeping his eternal watch over London.

I know from the Hop-On Hop-Off Bus Tour I did when I first arrived in London that Admiral Nelson was a man full of contradictions. A British hero who embodied patriotic virtue yet had a high-profile extramarital affair and conceived a daughter out of wedlock. A defender of strict naval discipline, who nevertheless ignored the order to withdraw at the Battle of Copenhagen by putting the telescope to his blind eye and claiming he couldn’t see the signal.

“I mean, it’s not as black and white as I thought it would be,” I finally answer Leo. “Justin’s…different from what I expected.”

“Of course he’s different. Everyone grows up after high school.”

“It’s not just the fact he’s grown up,” I say. “He just keeps…surprising me. Like the other weekend, he invited me over to his place and ended up feeding me chili, and he talked a bit about his mom, and he’s got these cats…”

Leo’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s inviting you for dinner?”

“Well, initially, it was just for a drink. But then it turned into dinner.”

Leo’s eyebrows don’t dip from their lofty heights. “But still, you accepted a drink invitation from him?”

“I figure keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But he’s not exactly making it easy to hate him.” I let out a frustrated breath. “He still doesn’t recognize me.”

I cling to that fact for my justification of what I’m doing.

Because it’s so difficult to cope with the fact I was so unimportant to him that he doesn’t even remember me. He was the center of my universe back then. He could make or break my day with just one look.

“Do you think something happened to him that made him act like he did in high school?”

My eyes fly to his. “You don’t buy that bullshit about bullies being victims themselves, do you?”

“I’m fairly certain research shows that most kids who bully feel powerless in other areas of their lives.”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Right. You’re telling me the guy whose name is carved into the Wall of Fame in the gym lobby was powerless? The one who got standing ovations just for walking into pep rallies? Even the principal used to high-five him in the hallways.”

Leo shrugs. “I don’t know. It may be something to consider. I know you, Andrew. You focus so much on your goal that you tend to blot out everything else. It might be worth thinking more about what Justin did to you in high school and the reasons behind it.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m always thinking about what Justin and his friends did to me in high school,” I say.

I don’t want to mention to Leo how this whole thing with Justin has made those high school memories feel closer to the surface than they have in years. Like when I hear certain types of laughter in the break room, and suddenly, I’m sixteen again, trying to make myself invisible. Or how sometimes when I’m in the sales department, I catch myself scanning the room for the nearest exit.

I need to turn this conversation around to Leo and his own revenge plans.

“Anyway, what does research say about guys who steal ideas from colleagues and pretend they’re their own? Do you think Vaughn did that because of a traumatized childhood?”

“No, I think he did it because he’s an asshole,” Leo says.

“Which is why you should definitely think about some sort of payback,” I say.

“That’s my thinking,” Leo agrees.

We eventually leave Trafalgar Square. As we wander the street toward the Thames, I tell Leo about some of the pranks I’ve pulled on Justin so far.

“These are small-scale compared to some of the stunts you could pull,” Leo comments.

“I know. But I don’t want to actually ruin the guy. I don’t want to be as bad as he was to me.”

“And he has no idea it’s you?”

“No. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t suspect a thing.”

Leo studies me carefully. “Regardless of how low-key you’re keeping the pranks, you’re still playing a dangerous game here. Just make sure you’ve thought through all the possible outcomes.”

Later that night, as Leo’s snoring from a blow-up mattress in my living room, I can’t get our conversation out of my head.

The thought of Justin being bullied in high school sits uneasily inside me.

In all the preparation and research I did for my revenge project, I never thought to look into the reasons why people bully others.

I get out my laptop and do some Googling.

The research from longitudinal studies is clear. Kids who bully usually fall into two groups. About a third are pure bullies—popular kids with social power who’ve never been victimized themselves. But the majority are bully victims—kids who are bullied or abused in one context and then bully others to cope.

I lean back from my laptop.

I naturally want to slot Justin into the first group because “popular kid with social power” was pretty much the definition of Justin in high school.

And there’s no chance he was acting out his own pain on me, is there?

Would it make it better or worse if he was?

After all, the net result to me was still the same.

The following morning I leave a half-asleep, very amused Leo having breakfast in my kitchen to head to work. He appears to find Andrew the IT worker who has to clock in at eight-thirty a.m. incredibly entertaining.

In the office, Xander continues what appears to be a one-person show titled Most Productive Employee of the Year while Adam watches from his desk with an expression that suggests he’s seriously considering calling HR to check if excessive enthusiasm counts as a workplace hazard.

I settle at my desk and open my inbox, which contains the usual urgent IT tickets about forgotten passwords.

My computer pings with a new email, and my heart does an annoying skip when I see it’s from Justin.

To: Drew Smith

From: Justin Morris

Subject: Breaking News—Technology Behaving!

Hey Drew,

Just wanted to report that my PowerPoint actually stayed a PowerPoint, my calendar is letting me schedule things outside the witching hour, and my email hasn’t developed a random fetish for troll porn. Should I be worried that my technology is being suspiciously well-behaved? Maybe it’s plotting something bigger…

I wrestle with the smile trying to overtake my lips. Justin’s humor still surprises me. But hey, didn’t I decide the other night that being friends with Justin might be the best way forward?

I quickly type out a reply.

To: Justin Morris

From: Drew Smith

Subject: Re: Breaking News—Technology Behaving!

As your designated IT guy, I feel professionally obligated to remind you that computers are a lot like Cassie and Tabitha. Just because they’re behaving doesn’t mean they’re not plotting something. Though, hopefully, any future rebellion will involve fewer explicit trolls and more cute cat videos.

But seriously, glad everything’s working. Try not to tempt fate by bragging about it too much. Computers can sense hubris.

To: Drew Smith

From: Justin Morris

Subject: Re: Re: Breaking News—Technology Behaving!

You’re right about computers sensing hubris. My laptop just made a noise I’ve never heard before. Either it’s plotting revenge, or it’s learned to purr. Given my luck lately, probably both.

To: Justin Morris

From: Drew Smith.

Subject: Re: Re: Breaking News—Technology Behaving!

At least it’s not distributing more images of trolls in intimate embraces to all of your contacts. I mean, how do you top troll porn? (Please don’t actually attempt to answer that question)

PS I promise this email contains no trolls, explicit or otherwise.

To: Drew Smith

From: Justin Morris

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Breaking News—Technology Behaving!

Too late. My laptop just opened Wikipedia and now seems to be researching mythological creatures in compromising positions. Send help.

I huff out a laugh.

I can’t help feeling a certain sense of victory about how Justin instantly replies to me, the way he builds on my jokes. I’m no longer the geeky kid who could never think of the right comeback when the jocks hassled me. Now I’m someone who can match Justin Morris quip for quip.

Maybe becoming friends with Justin is exactly what I need to exorcise the ghosts of high school?

Getting acceptance from him now, when I couldn’t get acceptance from him back then.