The Unidentified (25 page)

Mikey’s mom knocked on the door. “More of your friends here to see you,” she said. Elijah and Sophia came in the room behind her. “Is everything OK?”

I smiled at her. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I answered. “Just missing Mikey.”

Mikey looked at her and shrugged. Everything about Mikey’s smile made him look guilty. She closed the door behind her, properly suspicious.

“I wonder what your mom thinks about a flash mob of friends showing up on your doorstep on a Saturday morning,” I teased him.

“I don’t know. But I doubt she would deny a prisoner his visitors. She’s been arguing with the administrators to let me play again.” He did a devastatingly perfect impression of her.
“It’s not fair for my son to be under suspicion for
being on the receiving end on some bully’s knuckles.”

“We’re all under suspicion for being on the receiving end,” Sophia muttered.

“We’re all under suspicion, period,” Cayenne said with such finality that it was true. “I just…” Her eyes were wet and bright with frustrated tears. “I don’t want to believe it’s bright with frustrated tears. “I don’t want to believe it’s impossible to do anything real.
We
weren’t a part of the Unidentified to be a fashion trend or a viral marketing sensation. We wanted to send a message.”

The mood in the room was still less than convinced.

“Well, then let’s send it,” I said.

The Unidentified sent out an invitation.

We didn’t use Network. Well, we did
use
it, but not in the way their corporate headquarters expected us to. Tesla and Elle had been freestyling with Mikey’s code, the one he developed to cache our music in the unused online spaces, and expanded it to mark available hidey holes in the same way Tesla’s empty parking lot locator worked.

We set up an UnID page that sponsors or Protecht or Network administrators themselves couldn’t even see, let alone monitor. Elle tried to explain it to me.

“You know what a mirror site is, right? Well, this is like a shattered mirror site, the shards of info hidden here and there and visible when a user follows a link. The pieces look like they’re reconstructed, like you can see it and interact with it, but it’s like an illusion. Multiple projections from separate locations that combine into something complete, but still a reflection of something untouchable.”

I was just going to have to trust her.

People who dared to follow the link to the hidden UnID page in the face of the pariah hysteria were given an invitation.

You are invited to a party. You and everyone you know.

It doesn’t matter if your haircut is genuine or ironic. It doesn’t matter if you haven’t seen that film everyone’s talking about. It doesn’t matter if you would rather be left the hell alone. It doesn’t matter if no one else is doing it. It doesn’t matter if you don’t have anything to wear. It doesn’t matter if your friends think it’s stupid.

The pariah virus is just a hoax designed to keep us disconnected. You are invited to a party. We want you to come.

Where: The parking lot outside your local Game site.

When: Fri 20:00.

The secret’s out.

Love, the UnID We spammed the entire Network with it, and the word- of-mouth whispers turned to shouts.

This was going to be epidemic.

We sat in the Arcade, watching responses pour in from around the nation. Thanks to the mainstream momentum from the ridiculous Unidentified craze, we were getting so many clicks. People were so interested in finding out what the Unidentified had planned that they ignored the hyper- precautions about the pariah virus.

“I’d like to take a moment to thank our sponsors,” I mumbled, staring at the screen.

Some of the comments on the UnID Network page were promising:

High-volt idea. My whistle rock band has only played secret gigs in our drummer’s basement. We’re ready to make a bigger scene.
by jkatz.

Others disheartening:

Will there be more UnID merchandise at the party? I LUVVVV U GUYYZ. Also, who are you?
by

lilmissbigsis.

But mostly, kids were using the UnID page to plan and organize and give one another tips on how to pull it off.

Cayenne was letting people know how to subvert the inevitable arrival of authorities to crash the party.

There’s always a chance the party may be crashed by uninvited guests. These individuals have a history of being stinky and causing drama, so accessorize accordingly.
by the UnID.

I got an official message on my intouch(r).

#sysadmin:
you’re scheduled for mandatory conference in headquarters. report to sponsors for escort. @KID “Oh no, guys.” I showed them my intouch(r).

“Are you going to go?”

“You do know the definition of
mandatory
, right?” I snapped. My guts were twisted with nerves. I didn’t like the idea of stepping into that office with Harrison and Anica representing me. I wished it didn’t have to be a one-player game.

I put my intouch(r) away and thought of something. Or someone.

I told Carol Winterson as much as I could about my situation, which was more than I had told anyone before.

She seemed particularly disturbed about Brenton Kant’s status.

“Where is he now?”

I shrugged. None of us had seen him since the pariah virus scare had taken off. He was probably living luxe in his house at Shady Lane Estates and getting bonuses for making his underground marketing movement go mainstream.

Winterson frowned. “Let’s go have that talk with the administrators,” she said, standing up.

She led me into headquarters and hit the buzzer at the administrators’ office.

“Carol,” Dr. Grant said, surprised to see her with me.

“We were expecting Ms. Dade to arrive with her sponsors.”

“She requested that I attend this meeting with her,”

Winterson said formally.

Mrs. Bond raised one of those perfectly plucked eyebrows of hers. “I don’t see why that is necessary. This is a partnership matter. Her sponsors have requested termination of their sponsorship agreement. Fraudulent security claims cost the Game not only credit, but reputation as well.”

“As I understand it,” Winterson interrupted, “Katey did not knowingly supply fraudulent claims to her sponsors. She merely relayed information she believed to be accurate when her friend had been
threatened
with expulsion for an act he did not commit. She was acting well within her obligations under Game policy, and I’ll reserve my opinions about whether or not Protecht Securities was acting within theirs.”

The administrators exchanged an irritated glance.

“Carol, your opinions on Game policy have rarely been reserved,” Mrs. Bond sneered. “I don’t believe this is an a appropriate discussion to be having in front of—”

“She shouldn’t be kept out of discussing policies that affect her,” Winterson argued.

They looked at me, all three of them. I was painfully aware that I hadn’t said a word in this exchange, and also that there wasn’t anything I
could
say. The things that determined how the Game was played happened so far away from where I had any influence. Places I wasn’t allowed to be.

“That will be all , Ms. Winterson,” Dr. Grant said, not looking at her.

“I came here to make sure—”

“Your services are no longer required,” he said, cutting her off. He was still looking at me, calm and unbothered as he was ending someone’s career. “Would you please accompany these gentlemen out?”

Winterson stared at him. Two young Protecht guards showed up in the doorway. Mrs. Bond had signaled them already. Winterson turned to leave before they could touch her. She said to me, “It’s not the only game in town.”

I watched her leave. It
was
the only Game in town, actually. The other locations were outside the district, but she wasn’t going to be able to work in any of those if she was banned from the system. Score didn’t transfer if you got Game Over.

“She didn’t violate Game policy,” I said, finally speaking up. “You had no reason to let her go.”

“You don’t know what Game policy all ows,” Dr. Grant countered. “Operation procedures don’t concern—”

“Does it all ow a competing company to do business on Game premises?” I interrupted. “Brenton Kant needed administration approval to get access on site. That’s a breach in your agreement with Network Inc. Aren’t they supposed to have exclusive rights to operate on the Game system?”

The expression on Dr. Grant’s face fell a little before he caught it again.

“Is that why Mikey’s Game has been on pause so long?” I continued. “You don’t want the authorities, media, or Network Inc. lawyers to find out that something you authorized led to an onsite riot and the
assault
of a student —”

“This isn’t how you want to play it, Ms. Dade,” Dr. Grant said menacingly. Mrs. Bond put a hand on his shoulder.

“Investigations into Michael Littleton’s case are just finishing up,” she said, unfazed by my accusations. “He’ll resume playing by Monday.”

“That’s it? I’m just supposed to ignore your error and not—”

“You can play nice or not play at all ,” Mrs. Bond said.

“What do you mean?”

“What we mean”—Dr. Grant sat behind his desk—”is that you seem to be forgetting that the Game is a
privilege
,”

he said.

“You should be grateful for the opportunities you’re afforded here,” she added. “We’re not your enemies.”

“But if you don’t start showing some team-player spirit around here…” Dr. Grant looked at me solemnly, like he was disappointed in me. Like he hated that I was making him say the words. “We’ll have no choice but to give you Game Over.”

Mrs. Bond looked at me from across the room, her arms folded across her chest. “Make good choices, Katey.”

It was Friday night and my mom wouldn’t let me leave the house.

“I told you. No,” she said. “You’re not going. You lost your sponsorship from
both
your sponsors—”

“Mom, trust me? That was a good thing,” I said, scratching behind Lump’s ears. Cayenne was already on her way here with Mikey.

I’d “lost” my sponsorship benefits only because I’d demanded to be released from my contract and have the rights to my content restored to me. The administrators wanted to blame the loss of credit and resources poured into the pariah virus scare on me, but I had potentially damaging information about their business practices that could trace the responsibility back to them. We were in an uneasy stalemate. But who knew if that would last after tonight.

“How could you sabotage your future like that, Kiddie?”

She turned her back to me so I wouldn’t see her cry, but I heard it in her voice. “Is this Game Over?”

“Not yet,” I said. I didn’t even really understand why the administrators hadn’t ended my game already. Probably because they’d rather keep me playing. As long as I was in the Game, I’d have to play by their rules. But that’s what they thought. I knew too much now to go back to how it was.

My poor mom. She was still captivated by the easy life the sponsors were selling.

the sponsors were selling.

“Now you’re just going to end up like me,” she said softly.

I walked over to where she was storming around in the kitchen. I put my arms around her; she felt shorter than me.

“Mom. I love you. There are worse people I could end up being like. I’ll be fine,” I said into her hair.

I heard Cayenne’s two timid honks from the driveway.

Then what I assumed to be Mikey leaning on the horn.

“Let me go. Please?”

I left the house before she could answer.

They wanted team spirit. And I was going to give it to them.

On our way to not-After Hours in Cayenne’s car, I had that nervous feeling. That
what if I threw a party and nobody
came?
anxiety, times one thousand.

But when we turned into the parking lot we saw that people
had
come, times one thousand.

The parking lot was illuminated with film-set lighting, Hollywood premiere-style spotlights cutting particle beams through the air for After Hours. But no one was going inside. A lot of people were wearing masks: surgical masks with question marks drawn on them, classy masquerade masks concealing their eyes but accentuating their smiles. One guy was wearing just a disposable plate with a *-* strapped over his face.

“I guess he took the ‘It doesn’t matter if you don’t have anything to wear’ line in the invite literally,” Mikey said, putting his hand over my eyes. “Yikes.”

putting his hand over my eyes. “Yikes.”

I laughed.

Tycho had remixed my “Last Laugh” track and was bumping it full volume through the amps.

Tesla was there with the other Save the Princess teammates passing out heartthrobs to the crowd. She had employed the entire DIY Depot department to get them done in time. We had included a message on each of the heartthrob straps. People curious and clever enough to decode it would find access to the UnID swarm cache.

Elijah had already edited a new video clue hinting at the location of the next unlawful gathering.

Everyone had the lights strapped to their wrists, and judging by the frequency of flashing, they were excited to be there.

I eyeballed the growing force of police hovering at the edges of our scene. So far they were just standing there like an audience of plastic soldiers, watching us. The laughing crowds of underage kids reflected in their mirrored visors. Lexie was wearing a powder pink gas mask and showing the authorities authentic-looking permits from conflicting sponsors that she’d copied from her brother’s files. She left them to sort out the details and returned to the party.

I couldn’t believe how many people showed up. Had to be three times as many as After Hours and I figured there were probably kids from other schools here. People outside the system who didn’t have Game cards to get them in. I wondered if the Pit was empty now. If the sponsor reps were waiting at their booths with their free shit reps were waiting at their booths with their free shit wondering where everyone was.