"What the..." I whispered in confusion, my sentence trailing away as the internet suddenly switched off. Frustrated, I sighed and adjusted my chair so I could scoot closer to the desk. I bent down lazily and hammered the power button on the CPU. Mechanics whirred noisily as the computer erupted back into life.
I can remember it so easily; there was an enormous article on the newspaper which practically took up the whole front page of the Times! You may not believe me...but my brother traced an internet fraud and got him fined over £15,000! Yeah, Kevin actually hacked into ‘Mr. Fargates’ - Fargates? What kind of surname is that, anyway? Well, hacked into his computer and corrupted it. Like I said...all over the papers.
And one of his best friends, Bern - also a computer geek, may I add, designed a webpage, specifically for two episodes for a science-fiction drama. Then Gregor, the third nerd, won a scholarly article on "The Binary Numeral System". Fascinating? He needs help.
The monitor flashed a vibrant blue, diverting my attention, but when the computer screen lit up, something strange happened: it droned back to a dead hum. I snatched the battered phone which was dangling from my bedside table and began dialling, infuriated.
"Hello?" I snapped into the mouth-piece.
"Is something wrong, Miss?" came the heavily accented reply. I rolled my eyes, groaning.
"Yes. Something’s wrong with my computer. Can you come and fix it? Or could you tell me how? I think there’s a system error." Please let him have an average IQ of at least 100, I prayed, crossing my index and middle finger. Please...
"Fix what? Your computer? If broken, you need new one, you know. I don’t repair computer; just small problems. Like little mouse not working. Or something wrong with screen. Or key. If key buttons not working."
Blithering idiot, I thought, aggravated as I cut him off his next rambling sentence and slammed the phone back in its handset. Where was an intelligent computer technician when you needed one? I tossed the phone backwards, carelessly. Then...
Oh...my...good, great manufacturer of glass! Did I just destroy the window?
I peeked outside the jagged hole, eyeing the glinting pavement where a dozen shards and fragments lay scattered on the sidewalk, glittering like cut crystal...A few hundred pounds from my allowance?
I flinched, startled, almost ripping a gash over my eyebrow. "What?" I bellowed back. No one was going to test my patience this evening and heaven spare the poor, unsuspecting fool who dared to upset me even further.
"You almost wounded me, carless child!"
"Yeah? Shame you weren’t standing any closer then!" Like I said - heaven sympathize with the deluded gentleman shaking his fist at me from under my door.
"Why is your glass all over my coat?"
"Why is your coat all under my glass? I’ll have you arrested for trespass of property!"
"Why you arrogant, insolent little-" What a pity I didn’t get to hear out the rest of his words, seeing as I emptied the soil from a nearby vase over the fence. To be precise...where he was standing. Hearing his muffled shout of protest, I chucked the rest of the flower pot out of the hole for good measure. I figured he was slightly upset, so I dumped him the flowers as well. Sunflowers, to be exact.
No need to feel sorry for him. What did he know about glass? Or computers, for that matter, I thought, fuming as I arrived ten minutes later at the mall.
"Shanelle?" It was Mike; my closest friend. He’s a spoilsport.
"You’ve got...soil...under your shoe." Oh yes. The soil. The lovely, rich, worm-infested soil, half of which was probably plastered over the ill-tempered man’s head. It covered his bald spot, I thought cheerfully, shooting Mike a refreshing grin. He raised his eyebrow, a lock of hair falling over his eye as he tilted his head. "You seem unusually happy today. Did you punch someone?"
"Punch? Gave someone a snack of dirt, rather. Maybe I should offer Mc. Insolent some mint toothpaste?"
"Nothing," I replied, snickering. "Mike...my computer’s malfunctioning; it keeps saying ‘System Error’."
"What did you do now?" he exclaimed, sighing.
"I didn’t do anything!" I whined instantly. "How can you accuse me for no reason? I only tripped Mr. Hathaway in the classroom with toilet paper. He shouldn’t have been standing there! Well...I just wanted to try out some decorations, alright? The walls were as empty as his brain!"
Mike smirked at me. "Was it necessary to wind them around the table legs? You know he doesn’t exactly have twenty-twenty vision."
"So?" I answered, dismissively. If Hathaway was going to waddle around wearing dinner plates on his nose, that was his problem.
"And white toilet paper is your idea of Christmas colours? Something wrong with red or green?"
"You’re boring, Mike! Why don’t you try something different? It’s always red or silver, or whatever."
"Plus, you kept pelting pink chalk at him."
"It looked like his shirt had caught chicken pox."
I halted. "Okay, fair enough."
"He used up a whole bottle of bleach!" Mike retorted with exasperation.
"Go buy him some more then," I said, turning away to answer the insistent ringing of my platinum mobile phone.
"Shanelle, what happened to your window? And your internet’s gone dead."
Right. The window...
"Kevin, have you heard of Trishaw Goodman? We’re enemies; I scored full marks on this online test and he’s a freak who has an iron."
"You’ve never mentioned Goodman before."
"Never mind. So he has this clothes iron-"
"And chocolate wafers. It started -"
"Why’s there soil here?"
"Forget the soil. He tried to bribe me with his wafers because I’m an undeniable genius and-"
"Trying to spin a ridiculous story to cover the fact that you crashed the computer and threw a flowerpot out of your window?"