“What?” Daisy asked. “Nothing,” I said, and tried again to swallow the thought. But I couldn’t.
“Just, won’t he get in trouble? Like, when he goes into work on Monday, won’t he ask his boss why she needed that file,
and then won’t she be, like, ‘What file,’ and then won’t he get in trouble? Like, he could get fired.”
Daisy just rolled her eyes, but I was in the spiral now, and I started to worry that Mr. Bitterley would figure out how to track down Daisy,
that he would have her arrested, and maybe me, too, since I was probably an accomplice.
We were just playing a silly game, but people go to prison all the time for lesser crimes.
I imagined a news story—girl hackers obsessed with billionaire boy.
“He’ll find us,” I said after a while. “Who?” she asked. “The guy,” I said. “Bitterley.”
“No, he won’t; I’m on public Wi-Fi in an Applebee’s using an IP address that locates me in Belo Horizonte, Brazil.
And if he does find me, I’ll say you had no idea what I was doing, and I’ll go to prison for you,
and in thanks for my refusal to snitch, you’ll get my face tattooed on your bicep. It’ll be great.”
“Daisy, be serious.” “I am being serious. Your skinny little bicep needs a tattoo of my face.
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