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If I’m being honest, I’d strongly prefer for Hannah to move to LA, rather than for me to make Seattle my new home base. Even with Josh moving back to Seattle, he’ll surely visit LA frequently for business reasons, and Reed still lives in LA. Plus, it’s an easy drive from LA to visit my mother in Fresno—and that’s a top priority for me now that Dad is gone. Also, the weather in California can’t be beat, and I’ve realized that’s not a small thing for a guy who’s battled depression in the past.
My fingers feel twitchy. My brain is buzzing. I bet it’d be easy to hack into UCLA and take a look around. When I recently hacked into the University of Washington to find Sarah for Jonas, it was easy peasy lemon squeezy. Or is that pumpkin squeezy, like Hannah says? Either way, it’s hard to overlook the blockbuster outcome of the simple hack I did for Jonas, all in the name of potential true love. For fuck’s sake, Sarah is now living with Jonas at his house, and they’re deeply, hopelessly in love. So, really, why wouldn’t I perform a similar hack for me this time—to get myself a happy outcome like that?
No, Peter. In your case, the ends wouldn’t justify the means. Hannah specifically told you Maddy wouldn’t want any outside help getting into UCLA, and you need to respect her wishes, no matter how much you want Hannah to move to LA.
But what if UCLA uses a system that’s similar to U Dub’s? Wouldn’t that be an interesting thing to know, sheerly out of professional curiosity? If that’s the case, then it’d take me only minutes to get inside UCLA’s system and peek around at the admissions database. Once I’m there, I wouldn’t necessarily tamper with Maddy’s application status. I could simply take a peek to see what’s up and then leave without doing a damned thing.
And what are the odds of you doing that, Peter?
Slim to none, probably.
Exactly.
My phone beeps, saving me from my internal tug of war, and when I look down, I’ve got a new message on my encrypted server—a much-anticipated update from my hacker buddy, Demon Spawn.
Demon Spawn: I think your target’s made of smoke, my friend. He was spoofing that IP address you gave me, not surprisingly, and he hasn’t been at mommy’s house in Dallas recently. I staked it out for a while and then asked Mommy if I could deliver a package for him there, and she said her son hasn’t been around in months and she didn’t expect him to come by any time soon. Unfortunately, there are a shit ton of Greg Smiths in this world and I’m not seeing any activity on his known aliases. I can keep looking through Greg Smiths, as long as you want. Just wanted you to know why I don’t have the guy cracked yet.
Me: All good info. Thanks. Yeah, keep doing what you can. I’ll take over the job myself whenever I have the time. In the meantime, what’s the latest on the used car project?
Demon Spawn updates me on his efforts on that front, and I laugh my ass off at the long list of cities where he’s purchased and ditched shitty-ass cars.
Me: Great job. Sending payment now. Keep it up until I tell you to stop.
After we’ve said our goodbyes, my brain immediately returns to thoughts of Hannah and my strong desire for us to live in the same city. I look at my keyboard, and my fingers instantly begin twitching again.
I think it’s perfectly natural for someone like me to wonder if one university uses the same system as another I’ve already hacked. Wouldn’t any hacker worth their salt want to find that out? Knowing if I could hack a certain university doesn’t mean I’m necessarily going to hack it. Or that, if I do, that I’m definitely going to do a bad thing, once inside. There are plenty of online spaces I’ve infiltrated, just because I can, simply to have some fun looking around . . .
No, Peter. Stop.
Flapping my lips together, I force myself to dive into my actual work and forget about my thumping desire for Hannah to move to LA. But after only a few minutes, I realize my attempts to divert myself have been fruitless. My fingertips are still twitching. The buzz in my brain has become too intoxicating to ignore. I simply can’t resist.
Okay. Here’s the deal. If UCLA doesn’t use the exact same template as U Dub, then I’ll leave it alone. Forget about it forever. And if UCLA does use the same template, or maybe a similar one, then, okay . . . at that point, I’ll . . . decide what to do next.
Sounds good. It’s a deal.
