CHAPTER EIGHT
Isidore turned from the computer monitor and gave Claire a haunted look. “Please don’t do this!” he said. “It’s not only unethical, but reading this sophomoric drivel is driving me—”
“Keep the connection going.”
“But this is so—so—juvenile! It’s like . . . like . . . what’s that part mean? That right there.”
“Oh, she said his eyes are blue.”
“Man, if anyone finds out we’re using the school’s mainframe to intercept a non-Catholic’s cell—”
“Look, there’s more.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, it sure will be—to the Administration! This is so illegal we could get expelled! I mean, maybe for life!”
Claire snorted. “They won’t expel us.”
“What about Friday the Thirteenth? She got expelled! She got sent to that alternative correctional school with all those other—”
“Stop whining. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Aren’t there any Catholics on that bus with cell phones you can spy on?”
“Several, but they’re talking about stuff like how bad the bus smells and their last operation and who they’re voting for in November. We need to check on Earl’s group and make sure they’re doing okay.”
“Don’t they teach spelling in public schools anymore?” Isidore cried, his hands pressed to the sides of his head. “What’s wrong with people today?”
“It’s textspeak.”
“I know what it is! It’s an abomination! Where’s a nun with a ruler when you need her?”
“Can you find out where that bus is located right now?”
“No, not unless she writes about it. Her cell phone doesn’t have GPS. This is so against the rules, I can’t believe you talked me into doing this. There’s no excuse we can make to Administration to sanction this.”
“Earl is a good Catholic, and we’re trying to protect him so he can save the world. That’s excuse enough.”
“Isn’t protecting him what his guardian angel is supposed to do?”
“His guardian angel is a hyperactive cherub with ADD. She doesn’t have enough of an attention span to sit through half of a TV commercial—not that I’m saying that’s a bad thing.”
“We are so gonna to burn for this. We are toast, I know it.”
“Fine. You want me to unplug my phone, shut off the computer, go home, and forget about the remote possibility of going on a date tomorrow night with you?”
“Uh . . .”
“Well?”
Isidore sighed. “Maybe I can get the signal to come in clearer.”
“My brain cells are dyinnnggg”
“I wonder if that Ratgirl could help us.”
“Nah, she’s not Catholic, either. See that, over there? Doesn’t register. Could be Protestant, Orthodox, Jewish, New Age, agnostic, anything.”
“Hmmm.”
“Why didn’t you get Gabriel to do this instead of me?”
“Duh, like I needed the real patron saint of the Internet to help me, okay?”
“Oh. Yeah, well . . . okay. You know, if you’re getting desperate for ideas, you could always call Jude. He’s—”
“I’m not that desperate. Not yet.”
“Oh, yeah, right, like that’s really gonna work. Sunglasses, the ultimate disguise, just like Clark Kent’s glasses make him not look like Superman. Only a complete moron would—”
Isidore buried his face in his hands.
“Well, it might work,” said Claire. “You never know.”
“Whatever. Are we through here yet?”
It was Claire’s turn to sigh. “There doesn’t seem to be anything we can really do for them right now. Earl’s got a good heart and a good head. If they run into problems, he should be able to take care of it.” She glanced at her watch. “Gotta go. I’ll call you tomorrow after school and let you know if we’re going out or not.”
“Are you leaning more toward yes?”
Claire unplugged a computer cable from her cell phone and dropped the phone in her pocket. “You’ll know tomorrow. Bye. And thanks, Izzy.”
“Yeah.”
After the door to the computer room shut, Isidore stared at the computer monitor. It still showed the last text message. It then changed to show a new one.
“Hmmm.” Isidore rubbed his chin. “If . . . nah, that’d so against the rules, they’d . . . but . . . we did this and nobody . . . huh.”
He looked around the room with a guilty expression, then cautiously typed in a few commands. A sub-screen appeared on the monitor, showing rows of data. If the bus wasn’t going to get to Highland until tomorrow morning, maybe giving them a little help wouldn’t hurt. It might mean a lot of trouble if anyone found out, but—
—if it worked, Claire would go out with him for sure.
He began to type. When he finished, he looked around once more, then pressed ENTER. It was done. He blew out his breath and laughed. The things he did just to get a date with a hottie. Man.
He was cleaning up, preparing to go home, when there was a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, hoping it was Claire and not that darn Gabe again.
“Feast Day of Saint Isidore of Seville,” said the somber, bearded man at the door. “Did you just send a text message to the Outside?”
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah, uh, hey, Principal Calendar, wow, uh, it’s really good to s—”
“Collect your things and come with me to my office,” said the bearded man, gesturing down the darkened hallway. “I think you and I—and the rest of Administration—are going to have a little talk.”
