Scared little rabbits, p.1
Scared Little Rabbits, page 1
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Books. Change. Lives.
Copyright © 2020 by A. V. Geiger
Cover and internal design © 2020 by Sourcebooks
Cover design by Vanessa Han
Cover image © Vladimir Muravin/Shutterstock
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Published by Sourcebooks Fire, an imprint of Sourcebooks
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.
Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
After…
Before…
1
2
3
4
The Dropbox (Entry 1)
5
6
7
8
9
The Dropbox (Entry 2)
10
11
12
The Dropbox (Entry 3)
13
14
15
16
17
The Dropbox (Entry 4)
18
19
The Dropbox (Entry 5)
20
21
The Dropbox (Entry 6)
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
The Dropbox (Final Entry)
30
31
32
33
34
35
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from Follow Me Back
The Interrogation (Fragment 1)
1
About the Author
Back Cover
To A and L, this one’s for you.
Love, M
After…
July 18
Winthrop Summer Maker Program—Day 18
We stand in a tight cluster, high above the lake. I couldn’t say how long we’ve waited here. Minutes? Hours? There’s no way of telling time, aside from the sun’s descent toward the horizon and the growing ache in the arches of my feet. The breeze feathers my hair, but otherwise I remain completely still—as unmoving as the shelf of solid granite beneath my tennis shoes.
I shouldn’t be here. Maybe I should go back down…
They warned us not to come, said not to leave our rooms. The program director’s email declared the whole campus under lockdown, but we gathered anyway. One by one, we made our way up the narrow trail to this forbidden spot—this place where beauty and danger intertwine. Now, we stand shoulder to shoulder, watching and waiting. Nineteen summer students.
All but one.
No one makes a sound. Hushed words and nervous laughs have long since given way to silence. I can only hear the whisper of the wind and the crackle of the yellow caution tape fluttering against the rocks.
That tape wasn’t there the last time I came to this place. Its presence feels unnatural—too bright, too glaring—slashing through my view of the white, cotton ball clouds that fill the sky and cast their shifting shadows across the landscape.
///CAUTION///CAUTION///CAUTION///
The bold, black warning seeps its way into my consciousness. It reminds me of that feeling during a dream, right before you wake—that flickering ember of doubt that catches hold and slowly spreads before the dream goes up in flame, that little voice inside your head that whispers: “Hey, Nora… Nora? Nora! Has it occurred to you that none of this is real?”
If only my brain would say that to me now. I keep waiting for it to happen, but the sick feeling in my stomach tells me I won’t get out of this nightmare so easily.
I’m toward the back of the group behind the juniors and seniors. I can’t tell what’s going on in the water below from my vantage point, but I have a view of Maddox’s profile. For once, his eyes aren’t covered up by glasses. He stares straight ahead, rigidly expressionless, casting his eyes downward over the cliff’s edge. A tic vibrates at the corner of his jaw. His face gives away no other hint of the emotions churning beneath the surface.
I wonder what that blank stare signifies. Hope? Fear? Guilt? I can’t begin to guess. I hardly know him, after all. The thought curdles inside my throat like sour milk. Last night, I thought I might be in love with him. What a joke. It’s only been a few weeks since the day we met—the day I first arrived at Winthrop Academy.
The girl beside him clasps Maddox on the arm, her fingers digging into the flesh above his wrist. I press forward and go up on my tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the water down below, as a whisper runs through the group.
“They found something… What is it?… Can you see?”
We all inch forward, craning for a better view. The surface of the lake looks calm and unbroken, except for the presence of the boat. From this distance, it reminds me of a bath toy I used to play with as a kid—a white, plastic replica of a powerboat with dark blue lettering across the hull.
POLICE
We’re too far away to see the expression on the officers’ faces or to hear the words exchanged. But we can see the search diver emerge from beneath the water in his black wet suit. His flippers disturb the pristine surface as he paddles his way toward the boat. He swims with one arm stretched before him, holding out the sunken treasure he’s exhumed from the depths below.
“Is it…” the voices all around me murmur. “Is it…is it her?”
Before…
1
Invisibility
July 1
Winthrop Summer Maker Program—Day 1
NORA
I lean my weight against my suitcase with my back to the campus gate and its ivy-covered sign.
WINTHROP ACADEMY
Founded 1813
Why did I come here again? I’ve been coveting a spot in this program since eighth grade, counting down the years until I was old enough to apply—then counting down the days until my parents dropped me off with hugs and kisses and orders to call home nightly.
Now here I am, waving at the red glow of their brake lights as they exit the U-shaped driveway and disappear over a rise in the twisting mountain road. My presence here is the most monumental thing I’ve ever accomplished. So why do I feel like a kid on my first day of kindergarten, trying desperately to hold it together before the other kids see what a crybaby I am?
I straighten my shoulders. Get it together, Nora. I’m not a baby. I’m sixteen years old, and I worked my butt off to earn a scholarship for this summer program. It’s not like I’m moving here for life. The Winthrop Academy Summer Maker Program runs three weeks, and then my parents will be back to pick me up.
I’m here. I’m doing this…and it’s going to be amazing.
With a shuddering breath, I turn my back to the road and make my way through the tall wrought-iron gates. The grandeur of this place doesn’t do much to settle my nerves. I knew it would be fancy—one of the oldest and most prestigious boarding schools in New England—but I didn’t expect it to be so huge. There must be twenty different buildings within the campus walls, interconnected by a web of gravel pathways.
I recognize the largest building straight ahead, with its brick facade and soaring clock tower. That image graced all the online application materials. It looked so welcoming on the website, pictured against a backdrop of clear blue sunny skies. But the reality before me is shadowed by a blanket of dark gray clouds.
I better figure out where I’m going before the rain starts. I grab my suitcase handle and march forward, choosing one of the angled paths at random. A pair of girls stand at the far end, and my spirits lift at the sight of them. Most of the Winthrop students have left for the summer, but the place isn’t completely abandoned. I expect the girls to react to the sound of crunching gravel as I approach, but they don’t turn toward me. It’s weird. Can they see me? Both of them have their eyes covered by bulky sunglasses in spite of the overcast skies.
If only I knew someone confident like that. As for me? I turn down a different path and pull out my phone to look busy.
Maybe I can find a campus map online. I’m about to open my web browser, but something else distracts me. A new app, freshly downloaded, beckons from the bottom of my screen. At the sight of it, my whole mood shifts.
InstaLove
I got it from the app store this morning, praying my parents wouldn’t notice a new download in the last-minute chaos of packing. Not that they actively forbade me to get this app—but I know if I asked permission, they’d say no. Which is why I never bothered asking.
I’ll delete it before they come to pick me up, but these three weeks away from home offer my best chance to join the game. I’ve been dying to try InstaLove since I first read about it on TeenHack.
TeenHack
RECOMMENDED APPS
InstaLoveTM: Love’s a game.
Teens will fall head over heels for this location-based augmented reality game. To join, players simply download the app to their phone and upload a selfie on Instagram with hashtag #InstaLoveIsReal. Then get ready to play! The app will automatically generate a custom avatar and push an alert to other users nearby. When players encounter another InstaLoverTM in real life, the app will superimpose their avatars and prompt both players with choices for how to interact. Users watch their InstaLovabilityTM Score increase with everyone they meet…MORE
Sounds good to me. My reality could use some “augmentation.” Not that I’m obsessed with boys, but it might be nice to feel loved at some point. Or at least liked… I’m pretty sure no one has ever liked me in a non-platonic way.
I scuff the bottom of my shoe against the gravel, sending light-gray pebbles scattering. Trevor… Why am I still thinking about Trevor Chang?
I was so sure he liked me. That’s the thing. He didn’t break my heart or anything dramatic. But I spent an entire school year overanalyzing every word the boy said, and all signs pointed to “LIKE.” He offered to be my lab partner in freshman biology. He asked me constantly to help him with math homework, even though we had plenty of other friends in the same class. And when I asked him to join our school’s Robotics Club this spring, he said yes. He had to realize that was only an excuse to hang out together in the Maker Lab after school every day…
So how do you explain the look of total blankness on his face, followed by the soul-destroying thirty seconds of stammered apologies, when I finally scraped up the nerve to say something out loud?
“Gosh. I’m sorry, Nora. Damn… I—I like you a lot. For sure. You’re, like, the smartest person I know. I just never… I never really…saw you… I mean, not that way…”
He never really saw me. Neither did those girls I passed back there. Are we sensing a theme yet? I don’t know why, but people tend to overlook me. I swear if I had a superpower, I know what it would be: invisibility.
I dip my chin and return my attention to my phone. I should probably find my room and unpack before I set up my InstaLove account, but I’m in a rotten mood now. This game had better be as good as everyone says… I flick it open, and it welcomes me with a view of my own face.
Welcome to InstaLove!
Snap a selfie to begin.
I turn my head from side to side, lifting the phone higher to find a flattering angle. My face stares back, but there’s something different about it. Some kind of subtle beauty filter?
I like this app already.
I take a pic and follow the prompts to post it on my Instagram, not bothering to edit the default caption.
Love’s a game. Who wants to play? #InstaLoveIsReal
I get a Like immediately, and an automatic wave of cringe-y awkwardness washes through me. Not someone from school, is it? They usually ignore everything I post. But no, to my relief, it’s not from anyone I know. All part of the game.
InstaLoveBot
It leaves a comment too.
InstaLoveBot: Upload complete. Your avatar is ready.
That was fast! I click back to the InstaLove app, and there I am. Or, not me. My avatar. An older, prettier version of me—like a Nora 2.0, who knows how to use makeup and whose mouth isn’t too wide for the rest of her face.
I smile for the first time since I got here. My fingers fly as I hit “Accept” and follow the rest of the prompts to register my account.
The camera switches angles, and the app shows a view of the path in front of me, with the back of my avatar’s head visible at the bottom of the screen. I hold up the phone as I resume walking, wondering if I’ll encounter other users.
Probably. InstaLove was born here, after all. I read all about that on TeenHack too. A student named Emerson Kemp created it here at Winthrop a few summers ago, and it went on to become the most commercially successful project ever to come out of the Summer Maker program.
Of course, the original concept behind InstaLove was much simpler than the game I downloaded today. The summer Emerson attended, the two most popular downloads in the App Store were Instagram and Pokémon Go—so he hacked the two together. The result was this weirdly compelling mix of social media and augmented reality. When Instagram users encountered each other in real life, his app would superimpose their profile pics over their real faces and prompt everyone to “Heart” each other’s accounts. It went viral, and Emerson went on to start a software company with InstaLove as its flagship product. Now, he’s this program’s most famous alum. He’ll be appearing here at the end of the three weeks as a guest judge for the Maker Fair, where this summer’s crop of students will compete with our own projects. The thought of meeting him in person—the real Emerson Kemp—after all the articles I’ve read? My insides go all hollow and shivery every time I think about it.
At least I won’t be invisible at Maker Fair. I’m not expecting to win a medal, but I have a solid plan for what I want to build. I included the proposal in my scholarship application, along with my school transcripts and programming samples.
I’ll worry about work later though. Right now, InstaLove beckons, and Nora 2.0 is on the prowl. I sweep my phone from side to side, searching for any sign of other avatars as I make my way at random around the campus. Where is everyone? Forget avatars… Where are all the humans?
I turn the corner around a building, and I nearly crash right into one.
An avatar materializes on my screen. Brown eyes. Dark hair. A name beneath his picture that I’m too startled to read. I click the app closed and look up at the actual boy before me. He’s wearing sunglasses like those girls before, but he takes them off and rubs his eyes. “That wasn’t one of the choices.”
“W-what?” This boy doesn’t need an avatar. He looks better in real life. He runs his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face, but it flops over his forehead again, half covering his eyes. Why is it that boys look so much cuter when they’re deliberately unkempt?
“You’re not supposed to turn it off until you pick a choice.” He nods at the phone in my hand. “It’ll drop your score.”
A flood of heat rushes to my face. Can he tell I’m totally new to this app? His own phone is nowhere in sight. He looks older than me, guessing by his tall frame and the breadth of his shoulders beneath his polo shirt. Probably a senior, playing this game for years.
He smiles—a burst of childlike mischief that contrasts against the squareness of his jaw—and I can’t breathe.
“Where are your glasses?” he asks. “Reese will be pissed if she catches you using your phone.”
Who? I stuff my phone in my pocket. Are phones not allowed? It didn’t say so in the orientation packet. “I didn’t know. I just got here.”
He laughs. “Your secret’s safe with me. I’m Maddox, by the way.”
“Nora,” I reply, taking his outstretched hand.
He lifts an eyebrow. “Nora… That’s not short for anything, is it?”
His question takes me by surprise. I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that. I usually don’t mention my full name. Not that I hate it or anything, but I’ve never felt like it suited me. “Eleanor,” I tell him. “Why?”
“Uh-oh.”
