to Kew Cottage. I could handle this. I could be calm.
I opened the door, and Growl came running toward me, but somehow he must have sensed something was wrong. He skidded to a stop, surfing on the small rug in the hallway.
Louanne came after him. “Sav . . .”
Before she could even finish my name, I raced upstairs into my room, slammed the door behind me, and let the sobs loose.
A minute later my mother knocked on the door. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t tell her to go away, either. She turned the knob and came in. For a few minutes she just sat and rubbed my back. In spite of myself, I was soothed. She said nothing, but I finally did.
“I ruined Becky’s computer,” I said. “With malware, whatever that is.” Then I sat straight up in bed, remembering Becky’s computer scrolling through my e-mail address book before I shut it down. “Mom! Did you get a message from me?”
“Well, I don’t know, honey,” she said in her quiet, calm tone, which indicated she seriously did not get the panic required by this situation.
“Mom, this is important.” I bolted out of bed and ran downstairs. Dad was hunched over the computer, as he often was at night. “Dad, please log on to your e-mail right now and see if you got something from me.”
He looked up at me and opened his mouth as if to say he was busy, but noticing my streaky face and watery eyes, he closed out of his program and logged on to his e-mail. “Nothing. Did you send it today?”
I took my first little breath of relief. “Can you log on to Mom’s?”
He did. “Nothing.”
He let me check my own e-mail. I quickly clicked on my sent mail. Nothing had been sent that day. I deleted the message from Ashley, then permanently deleted it, and then I slumped on the couch and texted Penny.
Did you get an e-mail from me?
No. Did you open Ashley’s card?
Yes.
A minute went by.
I’m so sorry, Savvy. Is your computer ruined? Two of Ashley’s friends’ computers are totally gone. Smoke. And they forwarded it to other people before it was too late.
I opened it at Be@titude.
I’m so, so sorry, Sav.
I didn’t text back. Instead I quietly asked my dad, “What is malware?”
“ Malware means ‘ mal icious soft ware ,’” he said. “Programs designed to cause a lot of damage. Why?”
I started crying again, and he came and sat next to me on the couch. I had to fight two desires at once. One, to let him hug me like he had when I was a little girl, and the other, to push him away and try to deal with this on my own. I bridged the difference and just drew a little closer and explained what had happened at Be@titude.
“Probably a computer virus, which is kind of like a Trojan horse. It looks like you didn’t send it on after all because Mom and I didn’t get an e-mail, and neither did Penny. Chances are good that if it would have gone to anyone on your list, it would have gone to everyone on your list.”
“I didn’t have time to pass on the forward,” I said. Mom came down the stairs then, but to her credit, she said nothing about how she’d already told me that forwards were bad news. I stood up. “I’m going to bed now, I think,” I said.
“At six o’clock?” Mom asked.
“I’m not hungry.” All I could think about was that maybe Becky’s address book had still been open after I entered the new e-mail addresses, and maybe the malware or Trojan horse or whatever it was had gone galloping into their computers too.
Once upstairs, I sat on my floor. I pulled out my laptop, but I didn’t have the energy to do any work. Instead, I logged on to a Web site that would help me figure out what a Trojan horse was.
I calmly logged off.
Yes, that’s exactly what those forwards were. They promised something good to fake you out and let them in the computer “door.” But once you opened them up and allowed them inside, they let loose all sorts of evil that not only didn’t do good but destroyed all the good inside.
And then I
I opened the door, and Growl came running toward me, but somehow he must have sensed something was wrong. He skidded to a stop, surfing on the small rug in the hallway.
Louanne came after him. “Sav . . .”
Before she could even finish my name, I raced upstairs into my room, slammed the door behind me, and let the sobs loose.
A minute later my mother knocked on the door. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t tell her to go away, either. She turned the knob and came in. For a few minutes she just sat and rubbed my back. In spite of myself, I was soothed. She said nothing, but I finally did.
“I ruined Becky’s computer,” I said. “With malware, whatever that is.” Then I sat straight up in bed, remembering Becky’s computer scrolling through my e-mail address book before I shut it down. “Mom! Did you get a message from me?”
“Well, I don’t know, honey,” she said in her quiet, calm tone, which indicated she seriously did not get the panic required by this situation.
“Mom, this is important.” I bolted out of bed and ran downstairs. Dad was hunched over the computer, as he often was at night. “Dad, please log on to your e-mail right now and see if you got something from me.”
He looked up at me and opened his mouth as if to say he was busy, but noticing my streaky face and watery eyes, he closed out of his program and logged on to his e-mail. “Nothing. Did you send it today?”
I took my first little breath of relief. “Can you log on to Mom’s?”
He did. “Nothing.”
He let me check my own e-mail. I quickly clicked on my sent mail. Nothing had been sent that day. I deleted the message from Ashley, then permanently deleted it, and then I slumped on the couch and texted Penny.
Did you get an e-mail from me?
No. Did you open Ashley’s card?
Yes.
A minute went by.
I’m so sorry, Savvy. Is your computer ruined? Two of Ashley’s friends’ computers are totally gone. Smoke. And they forwarded it to other people before it was too late.
I opened it at Be@titude.
I’m so, so sorry, Sav.
I didn’t text back. Instead I quietly asked my dad, “What is malware?”
“ Malware means ‘ mal icious soft ware ,’” he said. “Programs designed to cause a lot of damage. Why?”
I started crying again, and he came and sat next to me on the couch. I had to fight two desires at once. One, to let him hug me like he had when I was a little girl, and the other, to push him away and try to deal with this on my own. I bridged the difference and just drew a little closer and explained what had happened at Be@titude.
“Probably a computer virus, which is kind of like a Trojan horse. It looks like you didn’t send it on after all because Mom and I didn’t get an e-mail, and neither did Penny. Chances are good that if it would have gone to anyone on your list, it would have gone to everyone on your list.”
“I didn’t have time to pass on the forward,” I said. Mom came down the stairs then, but to her credit, she said nothing about how she’d already told me that forwards were bad news. I stood up. “I’m going to bed now, I think,” I said.
“At six o’clock?” Mom asked.
“I’m not hungry.” All I could think about was that maybe Becky’s address book had still been open after I entered the new e-mail addresses, and maybe the malware or Trojan horse or whatever it was had gone galloping into their computers too.
Once upstairs, I sat on my floor. I pulled out my laptop, but I didn’t have the energy to do any work. Instead, I logged on to a Web site that would help me figure out what a Trojan horse was.
I calmly logged off.
Yes, that’s exactly what those forwards were. They promised something good to fake you out and let them in the computer “door.” But once you opened them up and allowed them inside, they let loose all sorts of evil that not only didn’t do good but destroyed all the good inside.
And then I
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