I have no idea what he means. But I'm not going to admit that at 2:47am with the whole crew watching.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
I'll figure it out later. Maybe find a help file somewhere. Or just mess with it until it works.
---
The alarm feels like violence.
I slap at it, eyes burning. Four hours of sleep. Maybe three and a half. My head is full of cotton and my whole body feels wrong.
I hear Mom's footsteps in the hallway. She always heads to work before I go to school.
I drag myself out of bed.
The hallway at school is too bright, too loud, too much. Bodies everywhere, voices echoing off lockers. Someone shoves past me without looking—just a casual bump that nearly knocks me into the wall.
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"Dude, last night was insane!" Marcus catches up with me at my locker, grinning. "Did you see the game?"
"Nah, I was online."
"You're always online." He laughs. "You missed Stephanie's party on Saturday too. Jenny was asking about you."
I try to care. Try to feel something about a girl asking about me. But all I can think is: I need to get through today so I can get home.
"Sorry, man. Had stuff to do."
"Computer stuff?"
"Yeah."
He gives me a look I can't read. "Alright, well... she's gonna be at Brandon's thing on Friday if you wanna—"
"Maybe. I'll see."
I wouldn't go. We both know it.
In English, Mrs. Patterson calls on me for an answer about the reading. I hadn't done the reading. Fumbled through some generic response that made her frown and move on to someone else.
The clock on the wall moves so slowly it feels broken.
---
The bell rings at 3:05pm.
I'm out the door before anyone else, backpack half-zipped, already planning what I'd do first when I got online. Check #kaos, see if Kaos needs help with anything, maybe work on that flood protection script JaXx mentioned.
The walk is usually 30 minutes long, so I run.
---
I make it online by 3:20pm. Connected, loaded mIRC, channels populating. I join #kaos.
I switch to #mp3. Five hundred and thirty-two users. Kaos is already there, setting up the bot. I start running the test commands he gives me, checking responses, verifying the auto-moderation triggers work.
I queue up a flood test in my script, ready to spam the channel with rapid messages. Press enter.
Three lines appear in #mp3.
Then—the click from downstairs.
SCREEEEEEEECH.
The modem noise, loud enough to hear through the floor.
My screen is frozen.
"NO!"
I grab the phone cord, fumble the reconnect. The dial tone. The number sequence. The screaming handshake of the modem negotiating the connection. Waiting. Waiting. WAITING.
Finally: connected.
I load mIRC, my hands shaking. Join channels.
My stomach drops. "I remember living with roommates." Past tense. Something adults moved beyond.
And I'm sitting in my parents' house with my mom downstairs who'd just picked up the phone to call someone.
I'm not working on it. I can't get my own phone line.
---
That night, a PM from Kaos:
[Kaos] since you have @ in mp3 we should add you to the other channels
[Kaos] /join #warez
My cursor hovers over the command line. Another level deeper.