Greetings Cybermates, it's been a while. The Digital Dimensions ended up failing epically. So this is me trying again to get the plot underway. If it receives a good response I will continue. I hope this story keeps you on your toes.
Thank you for waiting.
Disclaimer: I only own Carson. I do not own Cyberchase which means I don't own any of its characters for they belong to PBS. But, then again, Carson IS a thief, so who knows how long that'll last…
Chapter One: Inbox
November First, Two-Thousand and Thirteen
"Must...pay...attention. Gotta'...stay...awake,"
Carson mumbled this under her breath to herself for the umpteenth time that morning, sticking her fingers in various places on her small freckled face, attempting to non-hypothetically pin her huge, dark eyes open.
Sweeping her thick, raven locks over her shoulders that hung just near her elbows, tickling them with their curled ends, she rested a slender, light-brown hand on her forehead wearily. Honors Geometry was slowly but surely sucking her dry. Up until a month or so ago, falling asleep in class was practically considered the biggest no-no for her. But, as mentioned, that was a month ago. Her lids fluttered uncontrollably as they lowered.
Having received a look of alarm from a guy in a desk across from her who undoubtedly had mistakenly witnessed her morphed, alien-like expression, she slowly lowered in her seat until just the top of her head was visible. In embarrassment, she pinched her full lips together to withhold a nervous giggle and picked up her fine point pen to continue her math notes in uncomfortable solomnance.
If it were possible to die of lethal doses of excessive bouts of pure boredom, Carson would certainly be six feet underground.
Within a month, the first semester would be wrapping up, and it seemed that her grades were progressively dropping weekly, as if her merits were sinking in quicksand pit of the mires of failure. Granted that she brought them up and studied extra hard for midterms coming up, maybe she'd pass. Maybe.
Just then Mr. Jones, the teacher, known in Carson's imagination as the Drippy Gorg from the Bogs of Arithmetic, spnarlfed (which is the only way to describe how it spoke) "Here's today's notes along with the homework for tonight. See page 83 in your Algebra III textbook for the remaining problems."
He slapped a thick packet of freshly printed worksheets on her desk leaving a filmy, green residue on the corner of the pages from his greasy, meaty hands and glorped toward his other helpless victims.
She sighed at the pile of papers with the radioactive juice burning a gaping hole through the algebra packet of doom that she would have to do later that evening, instead of hanging out like she wanted to.
Stamping up to the front of the classroom to resume instruction, Gorg began scrawling some obscure multi-equation on the wall-to-wall whiteboard with a toxic purple Expo marker and a collective groan emanated from the group if students.
The monotone slurs of his voice eventually trailed off in her head as the explanation of the solving of logarithmic equations was reduced to a series of inaudible-adults-of-PEANUTS' droning quacks as Carson pondered what she could be doing instead of moping around in class.
Much to her dismay, Carson had just recently been caught skipping school these past few days, hanging around on the corner of fifth and fourty-second street and wandering through varying avenues and alleyways, causing mischief. She figured that if she was going to flunk, she might as well have a bit of fun.
She had been positive that she was going to get suspended this time, considering it was well around her fourth offense this year.
Yet, to her greatest surprise, Mrs. Ferrero, the principal of Public School 72 , said that because of "family issues" and "various other discrepancies" that she'd understood her "pain" and a whole bunch of other riff-raff, she was just going to leave her with after-school detention and a final warning.
Though the principal was mostly correct about the growing tensions in her family and stuff, she was completely misconstrued by believing that was the cause of her increased troublemaking. But Carson was smart enough not to tell Mrs. Ferrero otherwise by keeping her trap shut and nodding her head in fake self-pity.
Keep believing what you want to believe, lady. she kept thinking.
No. Carson skipped school because she was bored. She hung out on the streets because she was bored. And she stole because she was bored. That's all. Not that complicated a motive.
Carson was shaken from her thoughts when she realized was showing each student his or her grade from yesterday's test. Luckily, she been snapped up by the police and dragged back to school in time for her to complete a major end-of-unit assessment. Hooray. Great timing. Thank you Officer Morgan. I really appreciate it.
Carson's panicked heart thumped, praying for an adequate score.
"Please pass, please pass, please pass," she begged, clasping her hands together.
The Gorg leaned in close to her (which wasn't a very pleasant experience) and flashed the end of his grading roster in her general direction. Cracking one eye open to inspect the damage, Carson swiftly sank down into her chair and exhaled, "Eighty-two."
She smirked snidefully to herself with a smidgen of pride. Not bad for a skipper.
Huffing, Carson straightened up in her chair and decided to be honest with herself. Obviously, had she resolved to attend class more often and actually be around to learn the material, she may have gotten a better grade. Forthwith, actually passing the class.
But no. Carson abandoned the "good girl" complex long ago, fed up with the mockery and being teased. She came to accept that not abiding by the rules was sometimes really fun; it allowed her to be her own person. Now she was in charge, now she was the bully.
Teachers knew that beside her mishaps that Carson was a fairly smart person, which was probably why they were holding off from shipping her off to Alternative School or Juvie or something.
But Math was her best subject, always had been. And now she was struggling with a seventy-one average.
Nevertheless, she has potential so they say. Ha! Potential her butt.
Cocking her head sideways and peering upwards at the clock on the far wall to figure out when in the heck this period was going to end, with a blooming sense of disdain for the ridiculous school; she realized the throbbing second hand wasn't moving and that the batteries were in need of replacement.
Pushing back the burgundy sleeve with the slippery squeak of her cropped, skin-tight leather jacket which was hemmed high beneath her ribcage, she glanced at the time on her pale blue Cinderella watch.
Sounds peculiar does it not? A crimson leather bolero and a Disney Princess watch didn't exactly go together, but she'd had it since she was four and loved it so much she couldn't bear to get rid of it, even after entering high school. And if anyone just so happened to scoff at her favorite armwear, they would not get one finger, but five.
With all of that being said, though Carson was sixteen years old and had developed a tough reputation over the past few months, little things like her watch reminded now how small and innocent she once was not too long ago. All of her adventures.
Once, she had been a good kid.
There was only two minutes left of class and already impatient students were beginning to pack up to prepare to leave. Crossing her arms defiantly and periodically checking the golden fairy wand tick away steadily, her half-lidded ebony eyes securing a visage of pure boredom on her bespeckled face, she counted down the seconds until the bell rang.
"Three Mississippi, two Mississippi, one—"
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Carson grinned devilishly. Her watch was always on point.
As if someone flipped a lever, the room became one flurry of binders, papers, and textbooks as everyone who hadn't taken precaution to pack up beforehand stuffed their things into their purses and drawstring backpacks. In contrast to the others, being the last student in the class, Carson as calmly as could be tossed her books and math packet into her sunny yellow knapsack rather haphazardly, knowing the Gorg's eyes were on her and purposely showing that she wasn't planning on doing any of it, and drifted out of Room One hundred and nine without a trace.
With a dastardly scowl painted upon her red lips she was on to her next class, walking in step with the endless tick of her infinitely powered watch, wondering if something moderately interesting was going to happen that day.
Trudging to her third period Computer Applications class (three seconds before the tardy bell rang like she always did), Carson plopped down into the gray rolling chair that sat in front of her assigned desk and logged into the computer under her username to check her email before instruction began. Again, like she always did.
Signing into Yahoo! Mail she entered in [bippityboppityboo ] for the address and for her password—she cracked a reminiscent smile—[mattjackieinez].
It was another one of those things that she refused to change from her childhood, for fear of forgetfulness. She often modified it to something else every once and a while, not wanting to be reminded of…them…each time she wanted to check her email, but after a few days of torture Carson would begrudgingly switch it back to the names of her old…friends.
Carson's smile faded away and her heart withered into a cold emptiness. So many times she had wanted to forget. So many times. But she couldn't. Something was always tugging on her to keep hold of all of it, to never let it go.
With a doleful frown she was signed in, and continuing her stale routine, Carson clicked on Inbox unenthusiastically went through the motions of trashing all of her floods of newly acquired junk mail.
"Inbox—201. Hooray." she sighed.
[Get your free personality check!] Delete.
[Reduce your mortgage by half!] Delete.
[Eharmony free for thirty days—] "Eww." Delete.
Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete x 194.
[**URGENT MESSAGE FOR CONNOR**] And delete.
Carson exhaled leaning lethargically back in her wheeled chair, having wasted several minutes for nothing instead of keeping up with the program assignments she was supposed to doing, like she did every single day.
About to click 'sign out' she halted.
Why did that last one have my name on it?
Having always hated her first name because 'Connor' sounded more like a boy's name, especially when she was smaller, she would insist on being called by her surname 'Carson', since it soundest if as much slightly more effeminate.
Nobody was allowed to call her that except her family and closest of friends. In fact, majority of people didn't even know her first name, and she rarely ever gave it out.
Currently taking a course on Microsoft Office, Carson knew better than most people that all businesses have to do is put your information into a recipient list and submit a mail merge to send hundreds of their cruddy emails to unsuspecting addresses. So most likely that was what had happened to her and she resolved that sending it into the Trash was probably for the best.
It still bothered her though about the first name thing. Carson had always been very careful as to where she put it, not just because it sounded masculine but just for the fact of distributing personal information as key as her official name.
A growing sense of worry forced her dainty hand to mouse over the trash icon and click on it. There it was at the top [**URGENT MESSAGE FOR CONNOR**]
"It better not be a fricken virus." Carson grumbled to herself, following the entertained thought that even if it was, it wasn't her computer anyway.
She double clicked and the email was opened and virtually empty of content save a video attachment labeled 'WATCH'.
A defiant eyebrow rose. Do I look like an idiot?
"Don't answer that ," she accidently muttered, unto her knowledge received a concerned look from the kid sitting beside her.
Her chest tightened, wary of the possibility that the video might contain something inappropriate enclosed inside. Carson's sixth sense pinged, telling her not to download it, but mischievous nature coupled with morbid curiosity and a whirring imagination overruled that poignant warning.
Minimizing he download window to a miniscule degree so that it would be overlooked by passersby and turning down the volume to four percent, plugged in her black Skullcandy earphones that she had nicked from a RadioShack not a day ago and stuffed the buds in her ears. With a knot in her stomach and a profound gulp, Carson prepared her eyes for anything and apprehensively clicked play, barely releasing her finger from the button.
…"AHHH!"
Closing out the window as swiftly as her sharp reflexes allowed as she snapped the'X' at the top, shooting out of her seat causing the swivel chair to spin like a top, as her hands were plastered over her wide, black eyes she panted at such a decibel it startled everyone in the class , peering up from their computer screens ( including her teacher),
"Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!"
A sea of puzzled expression began to fill the room to stare at the rather tiny, olive-skinned Sophomore, most wondering when it was she had gotten back considering it had been a number of days since they'd seen her. And now this.
Carson peeked out from behind her spindly fingers, ignoring the looks she was getting from her disrupted classmates and the 'You okay, Carson?' from , and just listened the incessant drubbing of her watch that was now in closer proximity to her ears.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
She assumed she had prepared her eyes for anything, and that proved rather false. Just when she thought it would just be another boring day of school at Public School Seventy-Two.
False.
Not knowing where the word came from buried deep inside of her hidden, abandoned memories, almost inaudibly Carson breathed, the ticking progressively resounding clearer,
"M.B."
REVIEW! (to find out what happens next!)