nothing to do with this. It would appear that the only one listening to Haruhi talking was me. And since I was the only one who heard Haruhi’s order, I had to follow through on it. At least, that’s what Haruhi thought, no doubt about it.
“Easy for you to say.”
At least, that’s what I said, but I was actually pretty psyched. No. It’s not that I’d gotten used to following Haruhi’s orders. I was psyched about making the Web site. I’d never made one before, but it sounds pretty fun, right?
And that was that. The next day would be the first chapter of my epic struggle to make a Web site.
That being said, it wasn’t much of a struggle at all. The Computer Research Society, living up to its name, had already installed most of the necessary programs. All I had to do was open up a template and do a bit of copy-and-pasting.
The problem was what to put on the site.
After all, I still had no idea what kind of activities the SOS Brigade was involved in. I couldn’t possibly write about club activities that didn’t exist yet, so after pasting an image saying
Welcome to the SOS Brigade’s Website!
on the top page, my fingers stopped moving. I could hear the chants of “Hurry up and make it!” incessantly ringing through my ears, which is why I was sitting there with mouse in hand as I ate my lunch.
“Nagato, do you have anything you want to put on the site?”
I tried asking Yuki Nagato, who sat reading in our room even during lunch time.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t even look up. Not that I care, but she does go to class, right?
I returned my attention from Yuki Nagato to the 17-inch monitor and went back to thinking.
There’s another problem. Isn’t it a bad idea to use a school domain address for the Web site of a questionable brigade that holds lower status than a school-approved student association?
“What they don’t know can’t hurt ’em.” That was Haruhi’s defense. “If they find out about it, just drop the site. With these things, whoever takes action wins!”
I was a bit envious of her optimistic attitude.
I added a free CGI access counter, put up a text message address—still too early for a message board—and uploaded the Web site consisting of a top page alone with no actual content.
This should be good enough.
After confirming that the page was loading properly on the Net, I closed all the programs and shut down the computer. Then, as I was about to stretch myself out, I noticed Yuki Nagato standing behind me and jumped out of the chair.
It’s like you couldn’t sense her presence. Before I knew it, Yuki Nagato was standing behind me with a pale face that resembled a Noh mask. With a poker face you’d find yourself hard-pressed to match, she stared at me the way one would stare at an eye chart.
“Here.”
She held out a thick book. Out of reflex, I took it. It sure was heavy. Looking at the cover, I saw that it was the sci-fi book Nagato had been reading a few days ago.
“I’ll lend you this.”
With that brief statement, Nagato left the room before I even had time to refuse. What’s the point in lending me such a thick book? Left alone in the classroom, I could hear the bell signaling the approaching end of lunch break. It appeared that I was surrounded by people who couldn’t care less about what I thought.
Upon returning to the classroom with the hardcover book, I was greeted by the point of a mechanical pencil poking me in the back.
“Well? Is the site done?”
Haruhi was sprawled on her desk with a sullen look on her face. She was furiously writing away about who knows what on a torn-out sheet of notebook paper. I feigned casualness to avoid the attention of fellow classmates.
“It’s done, sure. But it’s an empty site that’ll probably piss off visitors.”
“That’s good enough for now. We just need an e-mail address.”
“Wouldn’t a text message address work, then?”
“That won’t do. It wouldn’t be able to handle the flood of
“Easy for you to say.”
At least, that’s what I said, but I was actually pretty psyched. No. It’s not that I’d gotten used to following Haruhi’s orders. I was psyched about making the Web site. I’d never made one before, but it sounds pretty fun, right?
And that was that. The next day would be the first chapter of my epic struggle to make a Web site.
That being said, it wasn’t much of a struggle at all. The Computer Research Society, living up to its name, had already installed most of the necessary programs. All I had to do was open up a template and do a bit of copy-and-pasting.
The problem was what to put on the site.
After all, I still had no idea what kind of activities the SOS Brigade was involved in. I couldn’t possibly write about club activities that didn’t exist yet, so after pasting an image saying
Welcome to the SOS Brigade’s Website!
on the top page, my fingers stopped moving. I could hear the chants of “Hurry up and make it!” incessantly ringing through my ears, which is why I was sitting there with mouse in hand as I ate my lunch.
“Nagato, do you have anything you want to put on the site?”
I tried asking Yuki Nagato, who sat reading in our room even during lunch time.
“Nothing.”
She didn’t even look up. Not that I care, but she does go to class, right?
I returned my attention from Yuki Nagato to the 17-inch monitor and went back to thinking.
There’s another problem. Isn’t it a bad idea to use a school domain address for the Web site of a questionable brigade that holds lower status than a school-approved student association?
“What they don’t know can’t hurt ’em.” That was Haruhi’s defense. “If they find out about it, just drop the site. With these things, whoever takes action wins!”
I was a bit envious of her optimistic attitude.
I added a free CGI access counter, put up a text message address—still too early for a message board—and uploaded the Web site consisting of a top page alone with no actual content.
This should be good enough.
After confirming that the page was loading properly on the Net, I closed all the programs and shut down the computer. Then, as I was about to stretch myself out, I noticed Yuki Nagato standing behind me and jumped out of the chair.
It’s like you couldn’t sense her presence. Before I knew it, Yuki Nagato was standing behind me with a pale face that resembled a Noh mask. With a poker face you’d find yourself hard-pressed to match, she stared at me the way one would stare at an eye chart.
“Here.”
She held out a thick book. Out of reflex, I took it. It sure was heavy. Looking at the cover, I saw that it was the sci-fi book Nagato had been reading a few days ago.
“I’ll lend you this.”
With that brief statement, Nagato left the room before I even had time to refuse. What’s the point in lending me such a thick book? Left alone in the classroom, I could hear the bell signaling the approaching end of lunch break. It appeared that I was surrounded by people who couldn’t care less about what I thought.
Upon returning to the classroom with the hardcover book, I was greeted by the point of a mechanical pencil poking me in the back.
“Well? Is the site done?”
Haruhi was sprawled on her desk with a sullen look on her face. She was furiously writing away about who knows what on a torn-out sheet of notebook paper. I feigned casualness to avoid the attention of fellow classmates.
“It’s done, sure. But it’s an empty site that’ll probably piss off visitors.”
“That’s good enough for now. We just need an e-mail address.”
“Wouldn’t a text message address work, then?”
“That won’t do. It wouldn’t be able to handle the flood of
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