Scratch & Save

This thought ran through twelve-year-old Rodney Tennent’s head as he descended the stairs from his bedroom to the kitchen where his parents and little sister were already eating breakfast.

Biscombe, a tiny desert community located fifty miles on the California side of the border with Arizona, exemplified everything expected in small town living. Most only saw it as a gas stop, too far from any major business centers to be worth more than a drive-by.

Rodney’s parents, Stacey and Carl, both worked for the Frigate Freight Company, with Stacey in the dispatch department and Carl as a freight loader. They were born in Biscombe as were their parents and grandparents and expected the same of their children’s children. No one left Biscombe.

Rodney went to the refrigerator to grab the nearly empty carton of milk before sitting in his usual chair.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Stacey joked, sliding an empty glass to him. “I thought I was going to have to run the vacuum outside your bedroom like last Saturday to get you up.”

Rodney yawned and filled his glass. He shook the empty carton and placed on the table in front of him.

“I’ve already added it to the grocery list,” Stacey said. “As soon as your father is done reading the newspaper, I’ll check for coupons.”

Carl stopped reading to shoot an annoyed glance at his wife. “I told you I’ll be done in a few minutes, Stace. Geez.”

“I’m not rushing you, dear,” she said with a friendly pat on his arm. “Just letting our son know he’ll have his milk later today.

“Damn kid’s gonna eat us out of house and home,” Carl grumbled.

“Mommy, can I have some more juice?” Beth, the three-year-old said, handing her mother her sippy cup with Elmo printed on its side.

Stacey took the cup, walked over to the refrigerator, and poured her more apple juice from a plastic jug.

“Looks like we’ll need more of this,” she said as she placed the cup in front of her daughter. “I hope the Zippy Mart has some good sales this week.”

Carl closed the newspaper with a snap and threw it at Stacey. “There, check it yourself. I gotta go. The game’s about the start”

He stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

“Bye-bye, Daddy,” Beth said, her chubby little hand waving at him.

“What’s wrong with Dad, Mom?” Rodney asked.

“Oh, work, I guess,” she replied. She spotted him staring at the empty place in front of him. “That’s right, I promised I’d make you French toast today. Sorry, I used the last of the eggs for your father’s omelet.”

“What should I eat then?”

“There’s cereal,” she replied. “Just use some of the milk from your glass.”

Rodney rolled his eyes and headed to the cabinet where only one box of cereal remained. He looked inside and grimaced.

“What’s wrong?” Stacey asked.

“Just the crumbs. I can’t eat this. What else do we have?”

“Honey, I can’t do everything for you. Make yourself some toast. There’s plenty of bread.”

He did as she suggested while she scanned the newspaper.

“Now this is interesting,” she exclaimed at one point. “‘Scratch & Save’?”

Rodney buttered his toast and walked over to look over his mother’s shoulder. On the page where the Zippy Mart advertisements were located was a card labeled “Scratch & Save” printed on top.

“I’ve seen those,” Rodney said, taking his seat again.

“Never from the Zippy Mart, though,” Stacey said. “Get me a coin from the junk drawer, would ya?”

Rodney, in the midst of taking his first bite of toast, shook his head and went over to find spare change in a drawer filled with small, mostly unidentifiable, objects. It took him a few minutes until he found a nearly black quarter.

“Thanks, honey,” Stacey said when he handed it to her. “Wish me luck.”

Rodney watched as she scratched the card several times. “What’s it say?”

Stacey held the card up. “Save fifty percent on your next purchase.”

“Wow,” Rodney said. “I wonder why they’re doing that.”

“I know why,” his mother said with a sly smile. “I heard from Daisy, the redheaded cashier over there, that they’ve lost a lot of business to the internet in the last couple of years.”

“For groceries?”

“For more than that. Apparently, overnight deliveries are coming all the way out here to Biscombe. They’re using drones and everything.”

Rodney chuckled. “Maybe we can get our milk flown in.”

Stacey rose and found a notepad and pen. “Time to make our grocery list. Your father’s going to be thrilled we saved so much money.”

Somehow Rodney didn’t believe his father was capable of being thrilled about anything other than the Rams winning another game, but he didn’t argue.

Rodney walked past the den and saw his father sitting in his favorite chair, his feet up on the banged-up coffee table he had saved from the salvage yard, the game blaring.

He was almost out of sight when he heard Carl call his name.

“Yeah, Dad?” he asked, not daring to cross the threshold. God knows what this was all about.

“Where are you going?” Carl asked in his gravelly voice.

“To my room.”

“Homework?”

Rodney shook his head. Here it comes, he thought.

Carl grimaced. “Going on your computer?”

“Yeah.

“What are you working on?”

Rodney shifted uncomfortably. He hated these interrogations, but what could he do?

“Oh, you know, just messing around.”

Carl didn’t reply for a moment, letting the silence lie there like a dead duck.

“Can I go now?” Rodney asked.

“What are you reading up there?”

Rodney inhaled and held it. Should he say?

“Well?” his father pressed. “Tell me what you’re reading.”

Rodney glanced behind him, but his mother was out of sight and wouldn’t be coming to save him.

“Who are you looking for?” Carl asked, his voice rising.

“Um, no one. I’m reading Benjamin Franklin’s biography.”

Carl turned to face him for the first time. “I thought you said you weren’t working on homework.”

“I’m not,” Rodney said, unable to suppress his grin. “It’s my own project.”

“Which is?”

Rodney quickly explained how he learned about the Harvard Classics collection and found it all available online. His father listened in silence as he observed his son’s animated face describing the challenge he gave himself to read the whole thing in a year.

When Rodney finished, he stood still, waiting for his father’s reaction. The fact he didn’t say anything through his whole spiel he considered to be a good sign.

“Are you kidding me?” Carl said after a while, a sneer on his face. “You’re reading that kind of crap when you could be out rough-housing with your friends out in the sunshine? What kind of boy are you, anyway?”

Stunned by this attack, Rodney stood mute, fighting the urge to retort. That would no doubt generate an even worse humiliation.

Carl stared at him for a long minute before turning his attention back to the TV, summarily dismissing Rodney from his mind. The boy didn’t need to be told to run out of the room before his father remembered who he was berating.

As soon as Rodney got to his room, he slammed the door shut and locked it for good measure. He didn’t hate his father — that would come later — but he certainly didn’t like him very much.

Minutes later, the encounter with Carl flew from his brain as he settled down in front of his computer. Who cares if his old man understood him? Someday he’d be long gone from this hellhole and would never have to talk to him again.

Rodney launched a browser and the page on Bartleby.com appeared in front of him. He then fished out a thumb drive from its hiding spot and plugged it into his USB port.

Moments later, he had a Linux session opened. Several keystrokes later, he landed at his usual chatroom, affectionately called MerryPranxtrz. After logging in with his usual handle. Hot_Rod_454, he sat watching the threads progress before wading in.

“It’s on, folks,” he typed and sat back to watch the response.

His fellow chatroom denizens greeted his arrival with a mixture of electronic hoots and howls, several of which included congratulations.

When the chatter calmed down, he explained how their morning newspaper had evidence of his success.

“Bullshit,” challenged one of the more cynical members who called himself ZZ_Bottoms, also known as Bottoms. “Prove it. Show us the coupon.”

“I can’t do that, idiot. My mom has it and she’s planning on going to the store later. Like I told you guys, I hacked in and changed the algorithm, then made sure it got in the newspaper. They’ll never know what hit them.”

“I still don’t believe it, script kiddy,” Bottoms retorted, effectively accusing him of being a poser instead of a real hacker. “You have to have the receipts or it’s just utter BS.”

“Hey, give him a break,” interjected LottaPranx, one of the female members, who everyone called “Lotta.” “You didn’t say he had to prove it, just he had to do it.”

“Shut up, Lotta,” Bottoms said. “You’re not involved.”

“Am, too,” she replied. “I’m an equal member. There are no ranks here, Bottoms. Get your shit together.”

“I think it’s pretty cool you did that,” ZedRedTed, also known as Zed, added. “Was it hard?”

“No,” Rodney typed. “I actually thought it would be harder, to be honest.”

“Are you going to go to the store with your mother?” Lotta asked him. “You want to witness the fun firsthand right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Rodney said. “I hate shopping, but I guess this time will be worth it.”

“Well, even if you really did it, I still think it’s lame,” Bottoms said, his disgust evident. “Try something REALLY daring and then maybe you’ll get my respect.”

“I didn’t do this for your respect, asshole!” Rodney typed, furious. “I wanted to pull a prank and I did that.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe it for a minute,” Bottoms said.

Rodney began typing another fiery response when he heard a knock on the door. He quickly closed the Linux screen, ejected the thumb drive, and slid it into its hiding spot.

“Who is it?” he shouted as he returned to the Bartleby.com site.

“It’s Mom,” came Stacey’s reply. “I need you to come to the store with me. Are you free now?”

Rodney grinned and hurried over to open the door. “Let’s go.”

They arrived at the Zippy Mart around noon and found that the normally busy Saturday parking had morphed into a scene from Death Race 3000. Cars honked as quicker drivers took their parking spot without even a casual apology.

“Wow, maybe we should’ve waited until tomorrow,” Stacey said as she jockeyed for position to steal a parking space from a slow-moving grandma driving a jet-black Esplanade.

“No way,” Rodney exclaim, his eyes wide as he watched the scene unfold. “I would’ve paid to see this.”

Stacey gave him a sideways look but didn’t comment. “Get our bags,” she told him instead.

Rodney dutifully removed the five well-worn canvas sacks from the trunk and followed her to the front door of the market. That’s when they had their second surprise.

“A line?” Stacey said as they saw a dozen customers standing at the entrance, waiting to push their carts inside.

The woman in front of her turned toward her and rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it? I’ve been shopping here for twenty years and this isn’t the first time I couldn’t just waltz in and do my marketing.”

“Did you get a Scratch & Save?” Stacey asked her.

“Yep,” the woman said, a wide grin on her face. “Fifty percent! It’s like I won the lottery.”

“Same with me,” Stacey replied, holding her card up for the woman to see. “We’re going to buy a month’s worth of groceries.”

“Excuse me,” a young man with a nose piercing called out to them. “Did you say you got a fifty-percenters?”

“We both did,” Stacey told him.

“Me, too,” a pregnant woman said. “I was just telling my husband it’s like Christmas.”

Soon, everyone else standing in line echoed the same refrain: they had all gotten fifty-percent-off coupons. Was Mack Jamison out of his mind?

Mack, the owner, had inherited the store from his father back before Rodney was born and renamed it the Zippy Mart after the elder Jamison died. He tried a few new promotions from time to time, but nothing as generous as this one.

As the customers chattered about what all this meant, Rodney stood in silence and just listened. Every time someone reported great luck with their coupon, he forced himself to suppress a smile. It was all going better than he had hoped.

Finally, after thirty minutes of waiting, Stacey and he passed through the door. They both searched for Mack amongst the clerks, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Do you even think he knows what’s going on?” Stacey whispered to Rodney.

“He must, it’s his promotion,” her son replied. “He’s probably in the office waiting until things die down.”

The pair pushed their cart into the sea of shoppers, each jockeying for position much like they had been doing in the parking lot. Rodney said little as they made their way down the first aisle.

“How’s everything going at school?” Stacey asked him, noticing his silence.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Rodney said.

“You’ve been kind of, I don’t know, distracted lately, that’s all. Anything bothering you?”

Rodney shook his head. Stacey let it drop, for they entered a particularly busy zone, made even worse by the broken jumbo-sized bottle of pickles blocking their progress.

While they waited for someone to clean up the mess, Rodney’s mind was elsewhere. He had been pondering how best to top his prank to shut down Bottoms’ skepticism and watching the sea of bodies negotiating the tight space disrupted his concentration.

Mack Jamison arrived at his store close to two o’clock, having visited his ailing mother at the nursing home all morning. Puzzled by the still hectic scene in the parking lot, he went inside through the employees’ entrance.

Fifteen minutes later, he waded into the mass of humanity clogging the front of the store near the registers, his eyes wide with panic.

“Mack!” Stacey shouted from register #5, waving to get his attention.

The store owner, looking shell-shocked and ready to cry, barely heard her. When he did spot Stacey with Rodney next to her, he hurried over to talk to them.

“Hi Mack,” Stacey said. “Your promotion is doing great! What gave you the idea to do it?”

He stared at her, his eyes full of terror. “I didn’t. This is going to break me.”

“What?” Stacey replied, her jaw dropping open. “This wasn’t your doing?”

He shook his head and scanned the long lines reaching deep into the aisles behind them.

“Who did?” she pressed.

He shook his head and turned away to speak to someone else.

“That’s odd,” Stacey said to Rodney as they pushed their cart outside. “Do you think it was a mistake?”

“Who knows?” Rodney said.

As Stacey chattered on about the excitement of the day on the way home, Rodney began having conflicted feelings. While he was thrilled his prank went so well, he felt sympathy for Mack Jamison he hadn’t anticipated. He never thought about the consequences of his actions.

“Honey?” Stacey said. “Did you hear me?”

He turned to look at her. “What?”

“I said you know about computers. Do you think that someone hacked some system or another to put those coupons in those newspapers?”

“Could be,” Rodney said. “It would be hard, though.”

“I’m sure some clever hackers could figure it out. Well, if they were involved, I hope they feel bad for what they did. Poor Mack, he pays for his mother in that nursing home and if he loses a lot of money today, I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

Rodney felt a pang of guilt hearing her words. Yet, he also figured a way to outdo his previous prank and get even with Bottoms once and for all.

Just wait, he thought to himself, anxious now to get started.

At home, Rodney helped Stacey drag the overladen bags of groceries into the kitchen. Carl, a bottle of beer opened in front of him, turn to gaze at the cornucopia.

“What the hell?” he roared. “Did you buy the damn place out or something?”

“Cool your jets, Carl,” Stacey said. “Remember, I told you we had a fifty percent off coupon?”

Carly stared dumbly at her and then shrugged. “Why they do that?”

Stacey explained about the promotion, adding that it seemed that Mack Jamison knew nothing about it.

Carl grinned upon hearing the news. “Serves him right. The bastard’s been ripping us off for years. I hope you stuck it to him good.”

Stacey ignored him, turning to Rodney instead. “I hope you never think this way.”

Rodney suppressed a grin but didn’t answer her. “I’m going up to my room now, okay?”

“Sure, go ahead. And thanks for your help.”

Rodney tore out of the room, almost tripping over his little sister playing with her toys right outside the kitchen door. Instead of being annoyed, she laughed as he managed to leap clear of her.

He shut and locked his door and headed right to his computer. Moments later, he was logged in and connected to the chatroom.

“Hey, Rod,” Lotta typed before he had a chance to announce himself. “How did things go at the store?”

Rodney described the mayhem his prank created, but then added he felt bad that the store owner told them he was going to lose the money.

“That’s a shame, I guess,” Lotta replied with some sympathy. “But I’m sure he’ll still make a profit.”

“Hey, kiddy, I see you’re back for more,” Bottoms interjected. “Boo hoo, the store owner’s gonna lose money and won’t be able to afford to pay for his mother in the nursing home. Big deal.”

“Hey!” Lotta said before Rodney could answer. “The kid has a heart, unlike you, you ignorant ass.”

“Ooo, big word from a little girl,” Bottoms replied. “Always coming to side with the script kiddies.”

Rodney watched for a few more minutes while the other two traded barbs.

“Hey, I got something to do,” he finally said. “But I’ll be back later.”

“Up to no good again?” Lotta asked. “If you are, give us a preview.”

“Nope, this one’s top secret. But I promise you that you’ll love it.”

“Good riddance, little Rod,” Bottoms said.

Rodney logged out and waited a few minutes before switching to his library of scripts. He had a lot of work today before the end of the day.

That evening, Stacey had to call him several times before he went downstairs to dinner. As soon as Rodney entered the kitchen, he could see trouble was afoot.

“Hey, your mother’s cooked good food here and we had to wait while you got off your ass to start eating,” Carl said, his fork gripped tightly in his meaty fist. “I told her you don’t have to eat, but she wouldn’t let us start without you.”

Beth, who had been exempted from this courtesy, sat happily shoving apples into her mouth, some of which decorated her pink-and-white bib.

Rodney sat in his usual spot and dived into the tuna casserole his mother made. Carl hunkered down and almost inhaled his first helping, while his mother picked at her dish.

Stacey waited a few minutes before speaking.

“I was talking to Daisy over at the Zippy Mart,” she began. “And the almost sold out of everything there today.”

Carl guffawed but didn’t take his eyes off his plate.

“Did she say if Mr. Jamison lost a lot of money?” Rodney asked.

“No,” Stacey said. “But he was so angry he called the police about it.”

This got Carl’s attention. “You think the cops actually give a crap about some podunk store in this place. He’s barking up the wrong tree with that.”

“That’s not what Daisy said,” Stacey continued. “The ‘cops’, as you call them, already have some leads on the case.”

“Well, goody for them,” Carl said, holding up his empty plate. “More?”

Stacey stood and brought over the pan containing the rest of the casserole. She spooned a pile for him and added some to Rodney’s dish as well.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, taking another bite. “Did Daisy say anything else?”

“Nope, just that they hope to have whoever did this caught soon.”

Rodney smiled but didn’t reply. He felt the same way.

Two weeks later, Rodney arrived home from school to find his mother on the phone, her eyes wide with excitement. She held up a finger for him to wait.

“Really?” Stacey said, her voice rising. “Where was he?”

She nodded several times. “Okay, thanks for letting me know, Daisy. Carl will get a kick out of it.”

After hanging up, she turned to Rodney. “You’ll never believe it! They caught the hacker. He lives in Gary, Indiana, of all places.”

“What?” Rodney asked, surprised. “They found him that fast?”

Stacey nodded, a satisfied smile on her face. “Yep. The guy who did it make it so easy for the police to track him down. A rookie mistake, they called it.”

“Wow, that’s pretty crazy he doesn’t even live around here. Anything else?”

“Of course. Daisy said the guy told the police it wasn’t him, it was some kid who lives around here, but they’re dismissing that. They have all the evidence they need to convince him.”

Rodney suppressed a grin. “Is anything going to happen to him?”

“Well, I hope so! Maybe jail. He’ll definitely have to pay Mack Jamison back for all the money he lost.”

“That’s good.”

Stacey placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I hope you don’t do anything crazy like that.”

Rodney stood mutely, staring at her. Did she know?

“Nah, not you,” she continued. “You’re a good boy. I can’t wait to tell your father.”

Rodney hurried upstairs to his bedroom. After he locked his door, he jumped into the chatroom and was immediately greeted by the regulars there.

“What did you do, Rod?” Lotta asked him after the hubbub died down.

“What do you mean?” Rodney typed. “Did something happen?”

“Hey, you’re aware all of us know it was you, right? You freaking told us you were,” she said.

“You did, dude,” Zed added. “Not saying it wasn’t a righteous hit on Bottoms, but geez, the guy may end up in jail.”

“You HAVE to claim it, Rod,” Lotta wrote. “If not, you’re not the guy I thought you were.”

Rodney didn’t expect that kind of response. If anything, he was hoping his online friends would congratulate him for his cleverness.

“Hey, he taunted me, so I showed him I wasn’t a script kiddy. He never saw it coming,” Rodney said, the heat rising up the back of his neck.

“Still not cool, dude,” Zed replied. “Not cool at all.”

“Do the right thing, Rod. You’ll be glad you did,” Lotta said.

“And if I don’t?” Rodney typed, his heart sinking to the bottom of his chest.

“Then we’ll just banish you,” Lotta said. “Just fix this.”

No more texts came his way.

Thoroughly disappointed, Rodney logged off and shut down his computer. He had a lot of thinking to do.

Carl sat in the den, watching highlights from the past weekend’s game, sipping on a beer, when Rodney came in.

“Dad, can we talk?” he began.

Carl glanced back and seeing the concern in his son’s face, waved him over to sit next to him.

“Crazy about that hacker,” Carl observed, his eyes fixed on the screen. “It was stupid how he allowed himself to get caught, but still you got to give him credit for have the balls to try it in the first place.”

Rodney considered this. “Do you really think so?”

Carl turned to him. “Definitely. You know my motto — always stick it to the man when you can.”

Rodney nodded. “Dad, I have a question.”

“What?”

“Supposing I told you it was me who did that hack?”

Carl stared at his son and shook his head. “Nah, you couldn’t do that. You’re not smart enough. And besides, you’re too much of a goody-two-shoes.”

Rodney didn’t say anything but stared at his hands folded in his lap.

“They caught the guy anyway, right?” Carl said, a bit unnerved.

“Because of me,” Rodney finally replied.

He quickly explained the chatroom dare and how he decided to get even with Bottoms the best way he could think of.

After he finished, Carl sat back in his chair to process this. Slowly, a grin grew across his face.

“You sly dog, you!” he said, slapping his son on the back. “I knew you had it in you.”

“But you said — “

“Never mind that. My son, the troublemaker. Just like his old man.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed. “You’re proud of me then?”

“Of course I am,” his father said, squeezing his shoulder. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“Mom, for one.”

Carl waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about her. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Rodney sighed. “I guess you’re right. Thanks, Dad.”

He rose, gave his father a half-hearted smile, and left the room.

Rodney spent fifteen minutes confessing the whole scheme to Stacey. When he was finished, she just watched him, her face a mask of disappointment.

“You told your father?” she asked.

Rodney nodded, unable to look her into the eyes.

“And he said he’s proud of you?”

He nodded again.

“Figures,” she spat, her hands now on her hips. “You realize we’re going to have to make this right, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“And that means we’ll have to pay Mr. Jamison back out of the money we’ve set aside for college for you.”

Rodney swallowed deeply but said nothing. What could he say?

“How do you want to handle this?” Stacey asked him.

“I guess I’ll call Mr. Jamison first and explain everything. Then I guess I’ll go to the police.”

“You could get in a lot of trouble, you know.”

“I know.”

Stacey looked at her son, then the telephone, and then back again. “Look, let’s wait until morning. Maybe we’ll be able to think more clearly with a good night’s sleep. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Rodney agreed. “Thanks for not yelling at me, Mom.”

“You’re getting too old for me to be screaming at you about things. But you do know how disappointed I am in you, right?”

Rodney looked her in the eyes for the first time. “I do.”

“Okay, go to bed. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Rodney left the kitchen, snuck past the den, and raced up the steps to his room.

That night, he heard his parents arguing in their bedroom until very early in the morning. When he entered the kitchen for breakfast, neither one of them were speaking. Even Beth sat uncharacteristically quiet in her high chair.

“Your father and I were talking,” Stacey began, placing a plate of eggs and toast in front of him. “And we both agree that you have to come clean.”

“I know,” Rodney said. He glanced over at his father. “Sorry about that, Dad.”

Carl shrugged. “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.”

“So,” Stacey continued, pouring herself another cup of coffee, “you and I will go down to talk to Mr. Jamison together after you eat.”

“What about school?” Rodney asked.

“You’ll have to skip classes this morning, but don’t forget to get the assignments you missed from your teachers.”

“Okay,” Rodney said. “But what about the police?”

Carl cleared his throat. “Let me handle that. I have a few contacts in law enforcement and maybe we can get the charges dropped.”

“Really, Dad?” Rodney asked eagerly. “Thanks!”

“Hey, I’m not promising anything,” Carl replied. “But there’s a good chance.”

“You’ll still have to pay Mr. Jamison back out of your college fund,” Stacey said.

Carl frowned with those words but clamped his mouth shut.

“I deserve that, I guess,” Rodney said.

Stacey stared him in eyes. “One more thing…no more chatrooms. None. If I catch you even lurking in one of them, I’m taking away your computer and you’ll have to go to the library to do your homework. Got it?”

Rodney nodded and settled down to eat his breakfast.

A week later, Carl announced he was able to keep Rodney out of legal jeopardy. In fact, the companies affected by the hacking were so happy that someone found holes in their security they wanted to express their appreciation by paying Mack Jamison back themselves.

“So it all worked out?” Rodney asked, not wanting to believe his ears.

“It looks that way,” Stacey said. “But if I were you, I would walk on the other side of the street if you see Mr. Jamison coming in your direction. Hell, he might not even let us shop there anymore!”

“Good riddance, we’ll just order from Amazon like everyone else does,” Carl scoffed.

Rodney excused himself, saying he had to catch up on his homework. After making sure his door was locked, he plugged in his Linux thumb drive and navigated to the chatroom app.

When he couldn’t find his chatroom in the list, he fired up email and shot a quick note to Lotta to find out what happened.

Moments later, a reply came in. She explained that the board host shut them down, and said that if they ever reassembled, the authorities would be contacted.

She ended the note with her apologies for guilting him into confessing. In the end, she said, no one fared well as a result.

Rodney thought about replying to her one more time but remembered his mother’s warning to him. He decided to accept this as one important lesson, not only about how his actions affected others in myriad and unknown ways, but which of his parents really was his hero.

“Thanks, Mom,” he murmured as he erased the thumb drive.

#pranks #grocery_store #lessons_learned