Internet Famous Page 16

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  “Just leave me alone,” Madi hissed. “I just want you to go away.”

  She didn’t know what she’d done to cause this, but it was getting worse, not better. She wanted to scream. Sob. Disappear. With trembling fingers, she sent a text to Laurent.

  SO UPSET!!!

  let it go. the troll’s not worth it.

  obv not, but I can hardly focus. ARGH!

  will venting help? i’m here to listen.

  it won’t. (i mean u do help, but i don’t have time to vent.)

  do you need me to come out?

  u can’t keep doing that, laurent!

  i will if you need.

  no. don’t. (i need to study & i will NOT be doing that if u r here.

  i’m here, then. i’m around.

  i know u r. thank you *HUGS*

  things will get better.

  well, they can’t get much worse

  get some sleep, madi. you’ll feel better in the morning.

  But hours later, Madi was still wide-awake. Somewhere, she was certain the troll was laughing.

  *   *   *

  Madi yawned as she set the bowl and spoon in the dishwasher. “What do you mean, we’re having a meeting at the school?” she asked.

  Her father smoothed the edges of his carefully trimmed mustache. “The school called me while I was at the office, and said they needed to book a meeting with the two of us. I figured since you’re home, we should just do it now.”

  “But why are we meeting?”

  He stared at her over the top of his glasses. “I was hoping you could answer that.”

  “I … I honestly don’t know.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Madi rubbed her palms on her sweater then tucked her hands under her arms. Not good. This is so freaking not good! “Did they say who called the meeting?”

  “Mmph. Let me check.” Her father reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, scrolling through various appointments. “Looks like it was someone named Mrs. Preet. The message says she wants to clarify some kind of project requirements.”

  “Oh God.”

  Her father looked up from his phone. “Madi, what’s going on? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “I—it’s nothing, Dad. I just thought…” She darted from the room, pounding up the stairs. If Mrs. Preet wanted to out her, there was no way she could stop it from happening, but she wasn’t going into the meeting without Ms. Rodriguez’s emailed replies. “Hold on!” she shouted from her bedroom. “I’ve got to print off a few things before we go.”

  “All right. Meet me in the car.”

  Thirty minutes later they sat in Mrs. Preet’s office. In the style of a modernist penitentiary, it had been painted a pale grayish green. Three framed pictures of poodles in tiny pink sweaters sat in a line behind her desk. Each one of them had hair with frizzy curls that matched their owner’s.

  “I’m certain you’re both wondering why I called you here today,” Mrs. Preet said gravely. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. But I want to make sure we don’t have any further confusion as the school year comes to an end.”

  Madi’s father glanced over at her, raising his eyebrows in question. She couldn’t even force a smile. Oh my God, let me die now! (God ignored her request.)

  “As I’m sure you know,” Mrs. Preet continued, “I’m in charge of Millburn Academy’s online program, as well as vice principal of the regular high school.”

  “I’d heard that, yes,” Mr. Nakama said.

  “And have you heard about the issue with Madi’s English project?”

  There was an uneasy silence only broken when Mrs. Preet let out a weary sigh. “Oh dear, that’s what I’d been afraid of.” She straightened the pen and ink blotter on her desk before looking up again. “Madi made an error in her project requirements.”

  “Error?” Charles repeated.

  “There are project requirements, Mr. Nakama. Rules all students must follow. Madi’s blog broke one of the rules, preventing it from being submitted as a final project. It’s put her in a bit of hot water.”

  Her father’s eyebrows contracted together into a single, angry caterpillar. “Hot water?”

  “Madi broke the school’s code of conduct, Mr. Nakama. Her project was rejected.”

  Her father’s gaze shifted onto her. “Madi…” He drew her name out in disappointment.

  “I didn’t know!” she cried. “No one told me I wasn’t allowed ads on my site.”

  “And if that were the only issue,” Mrs. Preet said quietly, “then I’d hardly be calling you in.” She sat up straighter. “I called you because I’ve requested a formal reprimand be put on your daughter’s record.”

  “A what?!” Madi surged to her feet. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “Madi, please,” her father said.

  “I can’t believe this! Mrs. Preet is doing this on purpose. She’s—”

  “I’d like you to explain this reprimand, Mrs. Preet,” Charles interrupted.

  “She’s broken the rules”—Mrs. Preet’s mouth tightened—“a second time.”

  “Explain,” Charles repeated.

  “The school received an anonymous report,” she said, shoving a pile of photocopied papers across the desk to Madi’s father. He fiddled with his glasses, bringing them close to his face as he read. “A report the board has taken very seriously given the other issues with your daughter’s classwork.”

  Madi nervously settled back into her chair. All the blood had drained from her extremities, and her hands were icy cold. “I—I don’t understand.”

  “The informant claims you are plagiarizing the work of another student, who wrote the blog posts you submitted.”

  “But that’s not true!”

  “The informant says you used guest bloggers, who—”

  “But it shouldn’t matter!” Madi shook the e-mails she’d printed off from Ms. Rodriguez. “I’m not even using that post! It has nothing to do with—”

  “At this point, our disciplinary committee is investigating the claim,” Mrs. Preet said, ignoring Madi’s outburst. “That’s school policy whenever there is a complaint brought against a student. One of Millburn Academy’s cardinal rules, and one that cannot be broken. But it’s also important the parents of the accused be involved, since if Madi is found guilty, her final grades for English will be withheld.” Mrs. Preet’s expression was coldly unsympathetic. “Whether she finishes the alternate assignment Ms. Rodriguez has offered her or not.”

  Charles’s chin jerked up as if attached to a string. “Why exactly is my daughter doing an alternate assignment? She’s been working on this blog all year. She’s put hundreds of hours of work into it.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Madi’s graduation is in jeopardy. She’s broken the rules; she won’t cross the stage unless she completes a new project.”

  “Why?!”

  Kill me now, God. Please! Madi cringed, waiting for lightning to strike. (No luck.)

  Mrs. Preet leaned forward. “She broke the code of conduct,” she said calmly. “All her current blog postings have been rejected as inappropriate for submission.”

  Charles Nakama’s face grew pale, his hands white-knuckled on the papers he held.

  “I-I’ve got a new project started,” Madi whispered. “I’ve started some preplanning. I’ll get this done before the end of June, Dad. I promise!”

  Mrs. Preet composed her hands in front of her. “I’m glad to hear that, Madi. And I hope that this time you’ve reviewed the rules.”

  Madi had the sudden, inappropriate urge to flip the desk over and attack. (That almost always worked in the movies.) Instead, she slouched lower.

  “I read your stupid rules,” she muttered.

&
nbsp; “Good. And now that we’ve got all of this out in the open,” Mrs. Preet said brusquely, “we should probably start talking about what this will mean for next year, since Madi—in all likelihood—will be returning for an extra semester of high school.”

  *   *   *

  Her father was silent as they reached the car. Madi climbed inside, her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. Charles followed seconds later.

  The door closed.

  A minute passed. Then two. Nothing. Her father stared out through the window at the dancing leaves on the trees, the sun glinting on cars. His breath came in sharp pants, his face blotchy with color.

  “Dad, please say something.”

  He glanced over. “Like what?” His lips were white, hands in fists where they gripped the wheel.

  “I don’t know. Something … anything. Please.”

  “I can’t, Madi, I—” His voice broke.

  “What?”

  “I—I can’t believe you lied to me.” His voice was raw. “My own daughter. You…” He looked so broken that it rendered Madi momentarily speechless.

  “I never lied.”

  Her father let go of the wheel, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “My God. What were you thinking?”

  “But I didn’t think…”

  “No, you didn’t. Madi, you aren’t going to graduate unless you finish that class. You lied to me.”

  “I didn’t lie. I just didn’t tell you.”

  “But why?” For the first time, his voice rose. “Why didn’t you come to me? You never said anything to me at all.”

  “Because I’m handling it.”

  “Handling it? You’re about to flunk out of high school.” He reached out for Madi’s hand, squeezing her knuckles so tight it hurt. “I’ve been so worried about Sarah these last weeks, but I should’ve been thinking about you, too.”

  “It’s fine, Dad.”

  He let go of her hand. “No, it’s not. I just … I just can’t keep up with everything these days.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” Madi pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself as her father started the car.

  “Your mother is going to be furious when she hears about this.”

  “But I never lied. I just didn’t tell you.”

  Her father ignored her explanation. He leaned his arm back over the seat to check that no vehicles were behind them before easing the car out of the parking spot. “I’ve never been so utterly embarrassed as I was today. Sitting there, finding out what had happened secondhand.” Their eyes caught. “Oh, Madi, I wish you’d told me from the start. It’s so much worse this way.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. I should’ve said something, but—”

  “You need to get this under control.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “We had a deal to keep things on an even keel at home. A deal where you did your part.”

  “But I have—”

  “The Wi-Fi code is changing the minute we get back to the house. You can use your computer for submitting homework—I’ll type the code in when you need to send in your projects—but no other fooling around online until Mrs. Preet tells me you’ve passed that course.”

  “But you can’t just take away the Wi-Fi! That’s not fair!”

  He popped the car into drive and headed onto the quiet street. “I’m sorry. But I can and I have.”

  14

  “Do … or do not. There is no try.”

  (Star Wars: Episode V, The Empire Strikes Back, 1980)

  Madi’s hands shook as she picked up her phone. She wanted to text, but with all the trembling, she couldn’t get the letters to come out right.

  Omaha, I’m in so much troubadour!!!!1!

  (Autocorrect was making it worse.)

  “Damnit!”

  She deleted the text and threw down the phone. Her laptop sat on her bed, but the code for the house’s Wi-Fi had been changed the minute they walked in the door. (Sarah had argued with her father when she’d come home from school, but even she hadn’t changed his mind.) Texting was fine, and the Internet access at the coffee shop and mall worked, too, but her phone’s small wireless package would run out if she used it for more than the occasional peek. Madi’s online access had been seriously impacted!

  Luckily for Madi, their neighbors had coded their Wi-Fi with the simplest password ever: “Pickles,” after their cross-eyed Pomeranian. As long as Madi stayed in the far corner of her upstairs bedroom—crouched by the windowsill—she could get a faint signal on her phone.

  Madi typed in the neighbor’s code and waited. After a moment, the phone connected to the wavering Wi-Fi signal, and a post appeared on her dashboard. She let out an angry laugh.

  Isn’t that the truth?

  Fighting another wave of tears, Madi closed the post and selected DIAL rather than TEXT, then waited as the phone clicked through the connections. The phone rang three times. She half expected it to go to voice mail—does anyone answer telephones anymore?—when Laurent’s voice echoed through.

  “Allo?” Laurent’s voice through the phone was sleepy, and Madi had the sudden worry she’d woken him.

  “Hey, Laurent,” she croaked. “You have a minute to talk?”

  “Madi? Is that you?”

  She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “Yeah. It’s me.”

  “You … phoned.” He sounded like he’d just found the sky had turned pink without him noticing.

  “Is that okay?”

  “Totally fine. I just—I didn’t expect a call. You sound sick.”

  Madi closed her eyes, leaning her head against her knees and focusing on the sound of his voice. “Not sick.” She sniffled. “Crying.”

  “Oh, minette, but why?”

  She tried to answer, but a sob came out instead. Madi fumbled around her dresser, searching for tissues. “I’m in so much trouble.”

  “Is this the English project? You know I’ll help in any way I can.”

  “Yes, it’s to do with English, but it’s more than that, too.” Another loud sob broke free of her chest. “Someone told the school I plagiarized. My projects are being reviewed.”

  “Plagiar…” She heard the phone being moved around, things shifted. “Let me check—”

  “It means the school thinks I cheated!” she cried. She swiped angrily at her tears. “I need to graduate. Oh my God. I don’t know what to do!”

  “What are the options for the assignment again?”

  Madi’s hand reached out for her now-missing laptop before falling back to her side. “One was a short story.”

  “Sounds all right?”

  “It would be if I had a single creative bone in my body.”

  “I think you’re very creative.”

  “Not like that,” Madi said. “Besides, it’s a long short story. And I don’t have any ideas right now.”

  “Fair enough. What’re the other choices?”

  “A new online blog.”

  “You’re great at blogging! Do that one.”

  “Can’t,” Madi said. “The anon who turned me in for plagiarizing is definitely targeting my MadLibs site.”

  “You could make a new website.”

  “I could, but my dad’s guarding our Wi-Fi code until I finish my stupid project. I’d need the Internet for website building. And I have to help with Sarah every day, so I can’t very well spend all my time mooching Wi-Fi at the coffee shop. God, I feel like I’m trapped in a John Hughes film! I just need Molly Ringwald to show up and start complaining about her parents ignoring her.” She made an angry sound of frustration. “I wish my parents would ignore me!”

  Laurent began to laugh. “Oh, Madi. No one could ignore you. You’re too loud.” And for the first time since her father’s angry explosion in the car, Madi smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  “So, what’s choice number three?”

  “A series of nonfiction articles. But I can’t think of a topic.”


  “Number four?”

  “A bunch of video diary entries.”

  “That’s the one,” Laurent said.

  “What? But why?”

  “Just do what you did outside the Metrograph that night.”

  There was a long pause as Madi searched her memory. Had she done anything that night other than moon over Laurent and feel awkward? “I don’t remember…”

  “You did a running commentary on Blade Runner,” he said. “You talked about the film, and then later, your family and school. You’re a natural in front of people. You’re funny and smart. A vlog would be great!”

  Madi chewed her lower lip. Perhaps it wasn’t such a crazy idea. “I don’t know. It’s different with a camera.”

  Laurent chuckled. “So pretend the camera’s not there.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll help you.”

  Madi groaned. “I hate being on film. I don’t even like having my picture taken.”

  “But you’re already Internet famous. What’s the difference if people see you?”

  “It’s different to me.”

  “Ah…”

  She pressed her eyes closed, wishing she could rewind back to the moment they’d been walking on the path by the ruins. A memory of Laurent, crouched by a slab of stone, camera in hand, flashed to mind.

  “Are you serious about helping me? ’Cause I’d need someone to film it.”

  “Of course I will.” The phone shifted. “Hold on a sec. All right?”

  There was the distant sound of a television, followed by the sound of a door closing. It grew quiet in the seconds before Laurent’s voice returned.

  “You still there?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “All right, so what are you going to vlog about?”

  Another roadblock.

  “I, um … I…” Suddenly, the answer appeared. “How about I come into the city some weekend and liveblog the experience?”

  “Awesome! And I could take all the footage.”

  “Thank you. I really appreciate this, Laurent.”

  “It’s no problem. Besides, there are so many places we need to go.”

  Madi’s eyes popped open. “Oh?”

  “I mean, photos are fine, but I’d rather show you places, you know?”

  Madi nodded to herself. “Yeah, I know.”