I folded my arms across my chest, knowing I probably looked like a pouty kid but not caring. "But I have to do something."
She smiled again, her eyes crinkling. "You can keep practicing."
"Practicing doesn't change anything," I said, dropping my chin to my chest as feelings of impotence and frustration built in me.
My mom was still for a moment, her eyes distant, reflective, before she focused on me again. "Come with me," she said. "I want to show you something." She stood and left the room, walking downstairs.
I hurried to follow. "What?"
"The video I didn't let you watch," she said over her shoulder.
The television in our living room covered nearly the entire wall in a grey reflective material. With it we could access networks or play videos sent via satellite signal from an e-Glass.
My mom clicked her e-Glass and a video appeared. A man was tied to a beam on a wooden platform surrounded by hay. People circled him, throwing food, stones, rotten vegetables, calling him names and sneering.
Another man dressed in a red and gold cloak walked forward holding a torch, speaking to the crowd, but the people were too loud to hear the Inquisitor's words.
"That man on trial was a hacker," my mom said. "He wiped multiple Inquisition bank accounts. They found him a day later."
I felt a small surge of pride for what he'd done. "He must have really messed them up."
My mom sat on the couch and I joined her as she asked, "Do you think those accounts mattered?"
"I imagine they would. Money's important, right? But… " I thought about it more and realized… "The Inquisition isn't hurting for money, are they? They can always get more."
My mom nodded.
"Well," I said, "at least he showed people they could fight back."
"Did he?" my mom asked. "Or did he simply become another example of the Inquisition's power?"
I looked back up at the video just as the Inquisitor set the torch to the haystack. As the hacker began to burn, his cries mixing with the cheers of the crowd, my mom turned off the video and set the display to a serene mountain scene.
She turned to me and reached for my hand, squeezing. "My Star, one day, when you're older, you'll make a difference. A real difference. But you need to be ready. Hone your skills. And…" she ruffled my hair, "try to avoid stupid mistakes." She stood and walked toward the kitchen and I slumped in the couch, depressed.
All of my practicing was for nothing. I didn't want to end up like that guy in the video. "I guess I'll stop hacking then," I announced to the world in all my despondent pre-teen angst.
My mom turned back, a mischievous grin forming on her face. "I didn't say to stop," she said, winking. "I just said to be careful."
When I finished fixing his site, Jax hugged me, and I melted a little.
"Thanks, Scarlett. Now, how about that dinner? On me." He glanced at the computer. "I owe you."
I linked arms with him, happy to have spent a few hours immersed in something that took my mind off my future. "You do owe me, don't you? Is this going to be a real dinner, or are we dining on airport food again?"
"Real dinner. I've got something I want to tell you. Something important."
He looked at me with such intensity, my stomach knotted. Maybe we were finally leaving the friend zone? Suddenly the test seemed far away as he walked me to my car, and I followed him to the nearby hotspot for dinner.
***
His words took time to sink in. "You're leaving?" I asked, my burger and fries forgotten.
"Looks like it. It's an amazing opportunity, and you and I both know Montana is a dead end for our careers." He looked so earnest with his beautiful half-smile and handsome face. Even in shades of grey he radiated confidence that had been reducing me to jelly since the moment I hit puberty.
"But New York? That's so far away. When do you leave?" I choked back my tears, refusing to cry in front of my best friend. But this whole thing felt surreal, and my heart was breaking as surely as if he were ending our friendship.
"In a week. Classes start on the first."
I gulped. "That soon?" I wanted to grip his hand, to feel the physical presence of him, to assure myself that he was still here, still a part of my life, but I kept my hands in my lap instead.
He reached into the inside pocket of his leather bomber jacket and pulled out a slip of paper, handing it to me. The messy loops of his familiar handwriting filled the page.
"It's my new address." He tapped his e-Glass. "And with this we can talk anytime, day or night. See each other every day. We'll keep in touch. I promise."
I forced a smile and kicked myself for being so selfish that I'd make him feel bad for his dream coming true. Some friend I am. "I'm so happy for you, Jax. This is wonderful. You're going to be the best pilot in the program!" And I meant it, even if a small corner of my heart withered in my chest. I meant it.