Now I’ve done it, I’m really in trouble this time.
Would you like one slap or two?

I would like to thank my dear friends,
Angel O’Hare, Karen Page, Joni W. and Holly Logan
for their kindness, help, support, and input.

Education in the Hills
Chapter 11

By Penny Reed Cardon

The next day was great! I couldn't have been happier. As for my new PDA, it will take a little getting used, to but so far, it appears to run much faster than the old one. It didn't take me long to re-establish my links into the different servers. For now, I left Joshua alone. I stumble into enough trouble without going out and looking for it. I recalled my data from Beca's computer and was back on Bart's trail before noon.

The only bad news for the day came while Mary Beth and I were visiting Rachael,

"Hi sis, how is everything in the land of plaster and Popsicle sticks?" I teased.

"Keep it up sis, I'll find a way to get back at you." Rachael's comeback indicated she wasn't her normal happy self.

"Okay Sis, what's wrong?" I asked seriously, as I started brushing her hair.

"Well, when your whole world consists of two things; first, concentrating on mending your bones and second, having a computer to keep your mind active. Last night my whole world came crashing down around my ankles. Wait, I'm sort of in a seated position, I guess that makes it crashing down around my butt," she complained, trying to be funny.

I finished with her hair and moved around to face her. "So, what happened since we were here yesterday?"

"After you left, Marie took me to get some x-rays of my arms and legs. The bones in my right leg aren't growing like they're supposed to. Dr. Harris came in about 8:00 last night and talked with me. He is going to take the cast off and make some changes. He didn't go into too much detail, when he described it to me. Of course he didn’t have to; I could tell from the way he was talking, this isn't a good thing. On top of that, this … this stupid keyboard of yours quit working."

"What are you talking about? It was working great yesterday." I started to look at our invention, trying to determine what might have gone wrong.

"Never mind that," Mary Beth complained. "Tell us what's wrong with your leg."

"Oh, Dr. Harris was talking with Mom and Malcolm about it, just after breakfast. They were kind of quiet; I don't think they knew I could hear them. Anyway, Dr. Harris said that because of the way the bone was splintered, they aren’t growing the way they should. He told them that he‘d have to open up my leg. I think he said he was going to, umm … shave the bone, hoping to get it growing in the right direction"

"That's ... That's horrible!" Mary Beth cried, jumping out of her chair to hug Rachel.

"You're telling me? It's MY leg. Last Monday was the first day they didn't have to give me any kind of painkiller. I'm just starting to feel good, other than the fact that I can only move my fingers and head. And now it's going to start all over again." Rachael broke down and started crying.

We were both hugging my little sister as best we could, considering her condition. All we could do try to give her some momentary comfort, there was nothing either of us could say to change things or take away the pain she felt. Pain caused by an overgrown child who took pleasure in causing others to suffer.

'Apparently, the legal system can't do anything to stop Bart; that's their problem. Nothing will stop me from finding a way to bring his reign of terror to an end. How long it takes doesn't matter, I will find a way.'

Mary Beth and I stayed with Rachael longer than we should have and yes we were late for choir practice, again. By the time we left her, she was feeling better about what Dr. Harris would have to do to fix her leg. She wasn't happy about it, but she was feeling better. We also found out what was wrong with Rachael's computer, it seems that the wireless keyboard had failed. The trackball was still working which wasn't surprising, being that it has its own power, transmitter, and receiver. With just the trackball running, she was limited to reading, where all you need is a pointer and a select button. Rachael described the other things she'd been doing with her computer, Spelling, English, Math, Science, History, and Geography; for some reason that list sounded vaguely familiar.

Our Thursday evening appointment with Ellen turned out better than the last few had been. At least neither of us left Ellen's office crying. We were also on time to choir practice; I think Mrs. T was in shock.

* * * * *

Friday, I had more time to myself. I thoroughly reviewed the information I'd found concerning the Roberts family, on the District Attorney's network. It didn't reveal anything about their past or extended family. The next place to look was at the Salt Lake County Department of Public Records. You would think that a system that contained personal records for so many people would have a tougher security system. I was successful in finding birth certificates for Bart and his parents, along with their marriage certificate. I now had the names of Bart's grandparents. More importantly, I had the starting point of a trail to follow.

After dinner on Friday, the whole year gathered in the lounge, mostly in small groups depending on their interest at that time.

Aaron called for everyone’s attention, standing he asked the question, "We all had such a good time in the pool last Saturday. Who thinks it would be a good idea to do it again?"

There was an explosion of voices in the room, all of them calling out a positive reply.

Covering his ears, Aaron waited for less volume, laughing he continued, "I'll take that as a yes. Can I assume that we would like the use of the small dining room as well?"

Once again Aaron covered his ears and chuckled at the volume of the reply.

"Okay, okay, that was also a yes. I'd make Jenny ask this next question, but I'm already standing. Who thinks we should make this a regular year A activity, that is, should we go swimming every Saturday morning?"

Aaron was laughing as he sat down quickly. I think he was trying to get below the noise level.

Jenny stood up after we quieted down a bit, "Very well, we will contact Miss Anderson and Mr. Peterson to make the arrangements. Is there any chance that we could talk everyone into getting up an hour early, that way we could have breakfast at our appointed time and place?"

I thought our little group was loud when they answered Aaron's questions; that was nothing compared to the volume of their negative response brought about by Jenny's question.

Jenny was laughing as she waited for quiet to be restored. "I did not think so, but your response made the asking worthwhile."

Jenny and Aaron joined Mary Beth and I on our leisurely walk to choir practice.

"Matilda, I believe I owe you an apology," Jenny started, definitely getting my attention. "Last week when you made the suggestion that we all go swimming together, I wasn't very enthusiastic. I believe I said something to the affect that, I only thought a group swimming activity was a good thing. At the time I thought that perhaps you were only thinking of yourself, not thinking of the rest of the year. I have revised that assessment; the group activity was good for everyone and was indeed a great idea."

"Without a doubt," Aaron added. "Other than the initial surge of activity surrounding the keyboard for Rachael, this is the only thing that everyone has agreed on."

"That is true, in classes and in most activities they are very much in competition with each other. It is good to see them relax and spend time together, without competing to see who is the best," Jenny agreed.

"I suppose that suggesting a friendly game of volleyball wouldn't be a good thing," Mary Beth giggled.

"Not really," Aaron chuckled.

"On the other hand, if we played lots of volleyball and everyone got real good, we could challenge years B or C to a match," I thought aloud.

"Matilda, are you suggesting a school volleyball tournament?" Aaron asked.

"Not really the whole school, just years A, B, and C. I mean, can you just picture a game between us and year H? It might be fun for the rest of the school to watch, but I certainly wouldn't want to be on the team." I shook as my imagination ran away with me.

"That is a scary, yet amusing thought," Jenny giggled. "However, I think we should leave well enough alone and leave the organization of athletic competitions to Mr. Swenson and Miss Anderson."

"Who's Mr. Swenson? We haven't met him," Mary Beth asked.

"He's the other Phys Ed teacher," Aaron offered. "Once we get back from Toronto and we start regular classes again, you'll meet him. Then you'll wish you hadn't."

"Why? I mean, I can't imagine Mr. Peterson or Ellen allowing a mean teacher anywhere near this school," I asked.

"Oh, he is not mean," Jenny continued, "but he takes his job very seriously."

Aaron added, "Yeah, and according to him, his job is to make sure that none of us get fat. So, he makes sure everyone has just the right fitness program. For fun Mr. Swenson and Miss Anderson arrange what they like to call friendly sporting competitions."

"The only problem is keeping them friendly," Jenny giggled while explaining. "There are several students in each year that are very competitive, when it comes to sports."

"Okay. I guess that means no mention of any sporting competition," I assured them. "We'll keep the weekly swimming as a time for the year to relax and bond with each other."

Choir practice went well; after almost two weeks I'd finally learned to pronounce most of the French words, just don't ask me what they all meant. I’d learned some in our French class and figured out a few others, but I still couldn't tell you all of them.

* * * * *

Saturday, after swimming and breakfast, Mary Beth and I joined Aaron and the construction crew in the workshop. The second-generation keyboard was ready for testing. We'd learned how to interface two wireless keyboards into the same computer, which would eliminate the wires running to the ceiling and back. We tested the system for about an hour, trying all the key combinations and silly rhymes we could think of. There was a slight problem; you could only use one keyboard at a time. Which meant the goofy three-finger salute that Microsoft uses to login, just wouldn't work. We got around that by changing from the 'control-alt-delete' login sequence, to the pick your name and enter your password method. Of course, very few people around here ever logout. After all, nobody shares computers, so it really wasn't that big of a problem.

After lunch, we took the new keyboards over to Rachael. We transferred the wireless mouse that we'd converted into a mini trackball to the new right hand keyboard.

Once everything was up and running, Rachael filled us in on a bit of news, "Thanks everyone, I know you've been working hard so I won't be bored out of my skull. I do appreciate everyone’s effort, and I don't want to sound ungrateful ..."

"Okay Sis, enough with beating up on the foliage, what's your beef?"

"Well, I don't want anyone to think that I don't appreciate ..."

"RACHAEL!"

"Oh all right, the upper keys for each finger are really hard to reach." She demonstrated the problem by typing a line of numbers and reaching for the function keys. Each extreme stretch of her finger was accompanied with a groan.

"That sounds like a design problem to me," Aaron quickly pointed out. "Who was the design engineer on this project anyway?"

All eyes turned towards me, along with general giggling throughout the room.

"Sounds like the same guy that designed the school desks back home, one size fits all," Mary Beth started.

I stood next to Rachael's bed as each of my friends took their shot at engineers and their mistakes. Being that I'm not an engineer, I figured that none of the comments were directed at me personally. As the heckling continued I calmly examined the keyboards, the angle they were mounted, the distance between Rachael's fingertips and the keys. My only idea was to change the angle of the keyboards.

After a few minutes the heckling slowed down, then stopped. "What, that's all you've got?" I laughingly asked. "That was only fifty-seven. I was sure that you guys would be able to come up with around a hundred, perhaps more."

"You counted them?" Barb asked, somewhat amazed.

I smiled as I nodded, "Everyone needs a hobby."

"Do you remember all of them?" Tina asked.

"No, I didn't plan on answering them, so I didn't concentrate on remembering any of them. I just counted for fun."

"So what are you going to do about the keyboards?" Rachael wanted to know.

"Well, I guess the first thing to do would be to fire the engineers and hire some new ones," I stated humorously.

"Are you going to fire yourself?" Jenny teased.

"No ... I'm the project manager, not the engineer," I replied.

"Are you saying that I'm the engineer?" Aaron quickly asked.

"Of course not; you're the technical support staff."

"So you're saying that WE were the engineers?" George and Tina asked together.

"No, you're the manufacturing division," I calmly replied.

"So who's the engineer?" Mary Beth asked.

"Oh that's simple, we didn't have one. Which is good, because that means I don't have to fire anyone," I concluded, causing more laughter.

"So what are you going to do about the keyboards?" Rachael again asked, this time a little exasperated.

"I haven't a clue. I mean the system works, it’s just not comfortable to use. I thought we’d discuss it with the rest of the year. Hopefully one of them will come up with an idea."

"So what was all that about firing the engineer?" Jenny asked.

"Oh that? I was just having some fun," I freely admitted.

We chatted until it was time for choir practice. After dinner we discussed Rachael's keyboard problem with the rest of the year. Several of the more artistic members of the group had some ideas and were eager to get involved.

* * * * *

Sunday gave me more time to climb up and down Bart's family tree. The problem I kept running into was that the higher I climbed, the shorter the tree became. Every lead I followed was a dead end. Every branch I pulled on broke off. It was starting to look like some un-natural catastrophe had systematically eliminated every living relative on both sides of Bart's family. I knew that wasn't possible, so there must be another answer. I simply had no idea what it could be, at least not at that time.

* * * * *
Monday was simply flying by, that is until I walked into the computer classroom. The moment I set foot through the door RJ called out to me. To me it seemed like he was yelling, even though he wasn’t. “Matilda! What on earth have you been doing?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I was tempted to run back the way I’d come. Two months earlier, if someone, anyone, had called out to me the way RJ had done, run away is exactly what I’d have done.

I wasn’t sure what RJ was talking about. All I could do was stammer, “I, I, umm, I don’t, umm, what, I'm not sure what you mean.”

RJ’s tone had softened, but to me he was still yelling. “Can you tell me why the school’s only public IP address has been bombarded with requests for information from dozens of IT administrators and consultants? I’ve spent all morning setting up an isolated, sacrificial, system. Intentionally leaving an ‘accidental’ opening in its security, just so outside hackers could get through. All so I could explain that the attacks didn’t come from within our system. Of course I’ve had to beef up the security around every server and computer system on campus, not to mention all the systems that we’re linked to.”

I collapsed in tears, again. I’m pretty sure I blacked out because the next thing I remembered was sitting at RJ’s desk with him next to me. He was mopping up my tears; there were several wet and crumpled tissues on his desk.

When I was able to talk, without blubbering, I told him how sorry I was for causing him all that trouble. I told him about all the different systems I'd been in over the last few days.

"Well now ... you've been busy as a beaver. The funny thing is, you look more like a Munchkin than a beaver. So tell me, why have you been invading all those systems?"

"I'm trying to stop a bully from picking on the other kids at my old school," I replied softly.

"Matilda, what do you mean, trying to stop a bully?"

"You know that Mary Beth has some cracked ribs. That's why Dr. Harris has her in the wheelchair."

RJ nodded.

"And of course, you know about my sister Rachael being at the school’s hospital. Do you know why both her arms and legs are in casts?"

"Not really, Mr. Peterson sent word to the staff about her being there and her condition. He didn't tell anyone what had happened to her. I know there's a lot of speculation going around, but that's all."

"Rachael was attacked by a boy from our old school, Bartholomew Roberts. He’s a very large, very mean boy that takes great pleasure in hurting smaller kids. Mary Beth was beaten up by the same boy. If you don't mind, I'd rather not go into everything that Black Bart has done to me over the years. Some of what he did I may never remember, my memory was chemically erased."

"What exactly did this Bartholomew do to Rachael?"

"According to Rachael, he used a tree branch on her, bigger around than a baseball bat. He was mad because he couldn't find me and he took his anger out on her. She knew better than to tease him, but at the time she wasn't thinking clearly. Bart came after her while she was walking home from school. The bones in her arms have simple fractures, but her legs ... he hit them so hard the bones were splintered. She's going to be lucky if she can walk again,” I couldn’t stop my eyes from tearing up again. I didn’t break down as I’d done before, but I definitely needed more tissues.

"What have the police done about this Bart fellow?" RJ asked a few moments later

"Police?" I asked mockingly. "The police didn’t do anything. I don't know why, at least not yet, but for some reason the police and the District Attorneys office won't, or can't, do anything about Bart or his family. There are so many complaints against Bart's family on file at the DA's office you could wallpaper this room with them, but nothing has ever been done."

"So what are you trying to do? That is, what are you trying to accomplish by hacking into all those different systems?"

"Well, at first I was trying to get what Mary Beth and I know about Bart to someone at the District Attorney's office. We figured that the legal system would take care of him. That was the first system I worked my way into."

"And you left your fingerprints all over it."

"My what?"

"You left your calling card in the DA's network. They're furious that their systems were hacked into. Their system administrator has been sending inquiries to every IP address that left its signature over the last month."

"What do you mean by IP signature?"

"Matilda, didn't that chat room teacher of yours teach you how the Internet works? What IP packets are? And more importantly, how to work your way around the internet anonymously?"

"Umm ... no. She told me there was a lot more I needed to learn, but when the school found out I was outside their system I was banned from the school's computers."

"I see, I guess that is where we need to start your education. Matilda, I need you to promise me that you won't go outside the schools system until you can do it without telling the whole world about our school. Do you promise?"

"But how long will that take?"

"That depends on how fast you learn. From what I've seen you pick things up pretty fast. My guess is you'll understand most of what you’ll need to know in a few days."

"Okay, I promise," I sighed. "No more going outside until I'm un-name-more-us."

Laughing, RJ corrected, "That's 'anonymous.' Basically it means you can do what you've been doing, but without anyone knowing that you've been there. Speaking about what you’ve been doing; you know that officially I can’t condone or approve of what you’ve been doing. Unofficially I have to ask, with your apparent lack of faith in the legal system, what are your current plans?"

“Plan 'B' was to find someone else who could convince them that what they're doing is wrong. You know, kind of like there’s always a bigger fish, kind of thing"

"Was?"

"Yeah … was.” I replied, sounding like I was out of options. “I've found the names of Bart's grandparents, aunts, uncles, and lots of cousins, but every name is marked deceased."

"That's not possible."

"That's what I thought. It's as if Bart and his dad killed off everyone that was related to them."

"Well, let's teach you how the internet works. After that we’ll see if we can come up with a plan 'C'."

I was shocked, almost speechless, "You're … you're going to help me?"

"Don’t be ridiculous; of course I’m not going to help you break the rules. I'm your teacher, a trusted member of the school staff, and I'm ... well, never mind. Officially I must tell you that hacking into computer systems, outside of a classroom exercise, is a violation of several school rules. If I were to discover such an activity, I would have to report it to Mr. Peterson." RJ looked back and forth, as if he were making sure we were alone, before whispering, "Unofficially, someone that takes pleasure in hurting others needs a lesson in humility. Not to mention having their free agency revoked, by being confined somewhere where they cannot hurt anyone."

We spent the rest of that class time going over basic Internet communication and addressing structure.

'RJ said several things that started me thinking; along with something he started to say, but didn't finish. He couldn’t help me and would report any unusual activity IF he discovered it. Then, he started teaching me how to avoid being detected. It's almost like he's giving me permission to do what I need to, to stop Bart. I wonder if there's a negative side to this? There's still more going on here than meets the eye. I wonder if I could get away with another visit to Joshua. RJ did make me promise to stay on campus. I suppose that really means within the school's system. I don't know where Joshua is physically, but it is within the school's system. The downside is, the more I learn from Joshua, the more I have to hide from Mary Beth.'

Mrs. T and Marshal had a surprise for everyone. As we arrived for afternoon choir practice we were instructed to sit in the audience seats.

"What's going on?" several of the other year A students asked me.

"I have no idea," I confessed.

"You mean to tell us, you didn't learn something about what's going on from a computer somewhere?" George teased.

"Sorry, George, not this time," I giggled.

We didn't have to wait long. Once everyone was seated Mrs. T came out to center stage. "Good afternoon everyone, I'd like you to listen to two groups, singing the same song. After you've heard both, I'd like to hear your comments."

Mrs. T left the stage as some music started. As I looked around, I could see that everyone recognized what we were listening to. It was one of the songs we've been preparing for the concert in Quebec. The second piece of music was the same song, but it was very different. After the second number, Mrs. T came back to center stage.

"Well, what do you think?" she asked.

"The first number was us." Someone called out.

"Yeah, that's us singing D'oá¹ viens-tu, bergá¨re." Another student added.

"Who was the other group?" Someone in the orchestra asked.

"They sounded great."

"What makes you think the second group sounded better?" Mrs. T asked. Responses came from many directions.

"The basses were richer and fuller."

"And the sopranos were more polished."

"Yes, they had no trouble with the high 'C' sharp.”

“That’s true, they hit it clear and strong every time."

The critiquing and praise went on for a few minutes before I couldn't sit still any longer. I stood up, so Mrs. T would see me, and raised my hand. "Quiet please ... Quiet. Yes Matilda, you wanted to say something?"

Gee, I hate being the center of attention, especially when I know that what I'm going to say will sound crazy. "The first number was without a doubt, our choir. The second number was ... " I paused and shook my head, dreading what was to come. "Also our choir."

As for what happened next; my assumption was correct. Mrs. T looked at me real funny-like; as the heckling and 'you're crazy' started. I don't think I've ever had so many people yelling at me, at least not all at the same time. But, I knew I was right, so I stood my ground. Mary Beth kept pulling on my arm, trying to get me to sit down.

After about two minutes, or was it two hours, Mrs. T brought order back to the room. "Matilda, didn't that sound like two different choirs?" I nodded slowly in response. "Then would you like to tell me why you think both numbers were recordings of our choir?"

"Well, I don't know that much about music or the different parts, you know, basses and sopranos and the like. What I know best are computers, and I know timing. The timing of both numbers where exactly the same. Two choirs can sing the same song, but the timing will be different. I'm just guessing, but I think the second number was changed, or enhanced somehow." I was about to sit down when I decided to add the last piece that enabled me to quickly solve the little puzzle. "One last thing, in both numbers, I clearly heard ..."

"Yes Matilda, you clearly heard what?" Mrs. T asked.

I looked at Mary Beth for just a moment, before turning back to answer Mrs. T's question. With a smile I replied, "I clearly heard a voice I would recognize anywhere."

I'd piqued Mrs. T's curiosity, "And just whose voice is that, dear?"

"It was Mary Beth’s voice!"

I sat down, and again looked at my dear partner. She appeared to be in shock, almost horrified, that I had included her in my wild speculation; at least until she looked into my tearful eyes. In that instant she knew that I was right, and she threw her arms around me. It was several moments before my ears registered the background chatter of the rest of the school. I was drying my eyes as I slowly turned to look back at Mrs. T. She was waving her arms to quiet everyone.

Once the hall was mostly quiet Mrs. T began, "That's some speculation, Matilda. You're basing a lot on one person’s voice, don't you think?" I was about to defend myself, when she continued. "I'm not exactly sure how you came to the conclusion you did, but I want to tell you what I think of your speculation ... You're absolutely, correct."

The hall fell silent, with one or two exceptions. First, I heard Beca yelling, "Way to go Munchkin!' Second, the Black Sheep were cheering so loud I had a hard time hearing anything else.

During the ruckus from my classmates, Marshal joined Mrs. T on stage and they quieted down. "Marshal here is responsible for the enhancement of the audio track. I’ll let him tell you about the future plans." Mrs. T left the stage to Marshal.

"Until now this kind of enhancement could only be done after a recording has been made or on a sound stage, with only a few people at a time. However, thanks to twenty-first century technology, we will be able to produce the quality sound that you were all praising a few minutes ago at every concert." Marshal held up what appeared to be a 'Bluetooth' headset. "I don't know how many of you think you recognize this. For those of you who think you do, forget what you know. These headsets were custom made just for us. They look like a Bluetooth, but that's where the similarity ends. These are wireless microphones; they have a different frequency and more power than a Bluetooth. Each one has its own digital signature, which allows me to adjust the audio frequencies of each mike input before sending it to the amplifier. Everyone will wear one of these; that way I can adjust the sound as needed. We won’t use these for every concert or performance, only when we want to sound very different than we normally do."

Over the next half hour mikes were issued to us; even the orchestra members were issued mikes. The rest of our afternoon choir practice, as well as the evening practice, we spent tuning and adjusting the frequency response of each mike and its assigned user. It was really strange to hear myself singing as I normally do, but having a different voice coming out of the speakers. What came out of the speakers actually sounded good.

* * * * *

Tuesday morning, along with his other announcements, Mr. Peterson announced that Mary Beth and I had worked very hard and were ready to change our language status. As of that morning we would be joining the rest of the school using all French. For the next five weeks everything we read, heard, and spoke, would be in French. As Mr. Peterson made the announcement, I realized I had a problem.

‘What about Rachael? She doesn't speak French.’

I quickly sent a note to Mr. Peterson, explaining my concerns about not being allowed to speak English. His reply was a relief, a surprise, and made me nervous all at the same time.

Matilda,
Permission to use English
when visiting your
Sister is granted, but
only for three weeks.
Pass on what you have
learned.

By the way, have you had
much time to practice
acting like a Munchkin?

Mr. Peterson.

'Now what does he mean by that? Only for three weeks? Pass on what I’ve learned? ... Oh I get it, I’m supposed to teach Rachael, French. But that last part; is he referring to being a scared little Munchkin, like I was at the Halloween Ball? Why would he want me to practice being ... Wait, he did say something once about never knowing when I might need those, umm, skills. But why now? Why would he remind me of it now, and in this way? I still don't know everything that's going on around here, but I feel like I'm in a long dark tunnel and a train is coming at me at ninety miles an hour. I just wish I had a really strong flashlight.'

The hardest part about switching to all French was the text on my PDA. Speaking French was one thing, reading it was tougher. With my promise to RJ, I didn’t venture outside the confines of the school’s network. Instead I spent more time going through the internal servers, learning more about the operation of the school and what I could find out about her history, along with a hundred other secrets.

I was still avoiding Joshua, but if I didn't know better, I'd have sworn that Joshua was trying to contact me. Strange things kept showing up on my PDA screen. Tid-bits of information, pieces of files I'd seen the one time I'd invaded his domain. Even though I knew that Joshua was just a computer someplace, it almost seemed like he wanted someone to play with. Once, about a week after Mary Beth and I had changed to all French; a tick-tack-toe game appeared on my screen during my computer security class. RJ said to ignore it, assuming it was just another student playing games with me.

* * * * *

Wednesday morning, the Christmas catalogs were left in a small box outside the lounge while everyone was in morning classes. The Black Sheep, having an extra free hour, had each selected their ornaments. Mary Beth and I decided to wait until after dinner to peruse the catalogs.

Afternoon choir practice was the first full practice with the new mikes and sound equipment. Oh … my … goodness! What a difference they made. I think Marshal enjoyed showing off though. While we were singing the carols in French, he made us sound like a very young children’s choir, with a few adults thrown in. When we sang in English, he made us sound like the 360 voice, Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I’d always thought that one day Mary Beth should sing with that illustrious choir. I knew that I'd never have that opportunity; my voice just is't of that caliber. But with Marshal's help and a little imagination, I could close my eyes and almost picture myself on tour with them.

'After all, a girl can dream, can't she?'

"Have you thought about what ornament you want?" Mary Beth asked, as we were going back to the lounge, after dinner.

“Not really, I have been kind of preoccupied elsewhere,” I giggled.

“Well, pick up the pace a little. We’ve got six catalogs to go through, and according to Misa, a couple of them are pretty thick.”

“What’s your rush? I mean, after all, we still have six weeks until Christmas.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just the way the others were talking about them during lunch and dinner kind of got me excited to get started.”

“Okay my eager friend, keep your legs and ears covered, and I’ll see what I can do about getting some more speed out of this, one girl power carriage of yours,” I giggled, as a leaned forward and pushed off and then started to run.

“Hey, take it easy.”

“First you want,” huff, huff, “to go faster.” Huff, puff, “Now you want,” puff, puff, “to slow down.” Puff, huff, “Would you please,” huff, huff, “make up your mind.”

“Slow down! I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Okay," puff, puff, "I guess that's," huff, huff, "a good idea,” huff, puff, “because were here,” I wheezed. "Hit the brakes."

Mary Beth applied the brakes, slowing us to a stop just outside our dorm. “Matilda, what am I going to do with you?”

“I guess that asking for a hug wouldn’t mean anything,” I whispered in her ear, as we went through the outside doors. “Being that you’re hugging me every night as we fall asleep, I guess I’ll just have to settle for a thank you.”

Before turning the knob on the lounge door, Mary Beth turned to look at me. With a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eyes, she put one hand on mine, “Thank you Munchkin, for caring about my feelings so much.”

We both smiled at each other for a moment before Mary Beth turned and opened the door.

"You two are early," George commented.

"Yeah, it usually takes you longer to get here," Walter added.

"Mary Beth was in a hurry," I blurted, still trying to catch my breath.

"But you didn't have to run like you did," Mary Beth argued. Changing her tone to one of appreciation, “Now, go get yourself a drink, then come sit down and rest, you silly girl."

I returned from the drinking fountain in the hall to find Mary Beth devouring her second catalog.

"I thought we were going to look through them together," I stated as I sat next to her.

"We are! I'm just skimming through to get a feel for what's here." She closed the catalog she had and gave the whole stack to me. "You pick one."

I sat as close to Mary Beth as I felt I could get away with, without raising any suspicion. I'd noticed that only one pair of our classmates ever sat close enough to each other, to give the impression that their relationship was something more than an educational pairing. Picking a catalog at random, I held it so we could both get a good view of both pages. We scanned each page carefully, looking for the one ornament that would hold a special meaning for each of us. Every ornament was lovely, some were covered in glitter, some were golden or had gold trim, some were metal, most of them were glass or plastic.

As we were looking through the catalogs, trying to find just the right ornament, I was reminded of a family tradition that I always enjoyed. Each year, sometime before Christmas, we would go looking at the Christmas lights and displays downtown and on Temple Square. Afterwards, when our bones were sufficiently chilled, we would stop at a casual restaurant for hot chocolate while Mom read us a special story. I don't remember a single time that Mom, Rachael and I didn't cry, as the author of the story was describing the heartbroken sobbing of 'The Littlest Angel'.

I'd stopped turning pages while I was traveling down memory lane and needed to wipe away a couple of tears, when Mary Beth gently shook me and asked. "Hey there, what's the matter?"

I blinked, as I turned to see a look of concern in her eyes.

Smiling, I replied, "Oh, nothing, I was just remembering an old family tradition. This school has some fun traditions for Christmas, but, maybe we can suggest some new traditions ... for our new family."

Mary Beth put an arm across my shoulders and pulled me close for a moment. She let me go, feeling eighteen pairs of eyes staring at us and we continued looking through the catalogs.

Mary Beth found several ornaments she really liked, but was having a hard time deciding between them. On the other hand, after going through the six catalogs, hadn't found anything that really called out to me. I mean, nothing jumped out and screamed, 'I belong to Matilda,' or 'Munchkin' or even 'Best Friends'.

We'd finished with the last catalog, I suppose I was looking a little sad, when Jenny and Aaron came over to see what we'd decided. Jenny, being as perceptive as she is, asked, "Matilda, what's the matter?"

"Nothing's really wrong; I just didn't find anything that would be 'special to me' as Mr. Peterson put it."

"Really? Out of all the ornaments, there was nothing you'd like?" Aaron seemed surprised.

"I didn't say I wouldn't like some of them, I said that there wasn't anything that I felt was special. At least not special to me," I corrected.

"That is all right Matilda; I will let Mr. Peterson know that we would like some other catalogs to look through. We have not turned in any of the requests yet. Who knows, perhaps some of the others were just settling for what was here, not really finding their perfect ornament."

I brightened up at that, "I'd forgotten we had that option. Thanks Jenny that will be great."

"No problem, that is what we are here for." Jenny nodded towards Aaron. "After all, I have never seen a sad Munchkin, and I do not want our Munchkin to be the first." That had the four of us giggling.

After making the decision to not make a decision, we headed for evening choir practice. While Mrs. T was working with some individual parts, I had a little spare time on my hands. Pulling out my PDA, I started browsing the schools system, once again. I was distracted from my current quest by Mrs. T wanting the whole choir singing. I'd have more time tomorrow to finish putting the links together.

* * * * *

Wednesday morning, RJ had several tests for me, designed to see if I remembered everything he'd taught me over the last couple of days. I had to go into a specified system, find and print out a file he'd planted earlier, all while he was monitoring the systems ports.

On the first system I wasn't as careful as I should have been; he caught and blocked me. Of course, we went over what I'd done wrong. My second attempt on that system was successful. The second test was a bit more complicated, but by using just the techniques RJ taught me I was able to get in and print off the file without being detected. RJ warned me that the third system had some of the best security on it he’d ever seen, and that I shouldn't feel bad if I couldn't get in.

Naturally, I couldn't refuse a challenge like that. It was time to mix what RJ had taught me, with the natural skills of the munchkin. After I was in and found the test file I was wondering if it would be okay to show off a bit. Deciding it was time to ‘blast out of space-dock at one quarter impulse,’ as it were; I routed the printout to RJ's printer instead of the one shared by the students. It took a little longer to get into RJ's desktop, but the way he jumped and the expression on his face when the file printed, was worth the extra time.

RJ looked at the printout, then at me, and my smile, and started chuckling. "All right miss smarty pants, you snuck past me this time, just wait until tomorrow."

"Skirts," I corrected.

"What?"

"Miss Smarty skirts, I don't wear pants if I don't have to," I giggled.

"I stand corrected," he replied, with a laugh.

"Sit corrected," I teased.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not standing; therefore you cannot 'Stand Corrected'. Being that you're in a seated position, I think it would be 'Sit Corrected'."

Laughing, he waved his hand at the door. "Get out of here Munchkin. Go … bother someone else for a while.”

I grabbed my coat, PDA and headed for the door. Stopping just short of the door, I turned and looked back at RJ; he was already involved in some other issue and not paying attention to me.

I quietly went to his desk, "RJ, umm … about my little research project?"

He looked up with a scowl on his face. Once again looking around to verify we were alone, he quietly replied, "No government systems! We still have a little work to do there."

I smiled and nodded; no other reply was needed.

I happened to be a few minutes early for lunch. So after I’d settled down, I thought I'd finish up the little project I’d begun the night before. Chasing down two computers and one server to link them together turned out to be almost no challenge at all. I completed the links and set everything to run when I entered a command on my PDA. That consumed what little spare time I had. The result of my endeavor should impress everyone.

Afternoon choir practice started out fairly routinely; Mrs. T worked with the double quartet that would be singing ‘Les Anges dans nos campagnes.’ Then she had the whole choir singing a couple of warm up carols. Just before we started our full run through the music for the concert in Quebec, I entered a start command into my PDA. We sounded really good, thanks to the new sound equipment. Everything was going just the way Mrs. T wanted, you could tell by the smile on her face.

We had finished the first two numbers and were well into the third, when I noticed the doors at the back of the hall open and the silhouette’s of several people entered the auditorium. A few minutes later, several more entered. I couldn't make out who they were; there weren't any lights on at the back of the hall. After we finished the third number, someone applauded. Startled, Mrs. T turned to see where it was coming from. The person clapping walked slowly down the center aisle. When they got close enough to be illuminated by the stage lights, everyone recognized him.

Mrs. T greeted him, "Good afternoon, Mr. Peterson. This is an unexpected pleasure."

"I'd like to offer my congratulations; with the new sound equipment this choir sounds incredible, truly an indescribable advancement."

"Thank you Mr. Peterson." Mrs. T graciously accepted the compliment. "I know that Marshal has been working hard to get everything working properly. He assures me that the Quebec Premier will be astounded by the quality of our choir."

"I'm sure he will be, but not as astounded as I was when I could hear you in my office!" Mr. Peterson flatly stated.

"In your office? I didn't think we were that loud."

‘Oh, oh … I guess this wasn’t such a great idea after all. I guess I better start working on my sincere 'I’m sorry' look. I may have just earned a one way ticket into one of those high back wooden chairs in Mr. Peterson’s office.’

I withdrew my PDA and shut down the links between the systems.

"I assure you, if it weren't for a little electronic assistance I would still be in my office, listening to ‘Edvard Grieg’ while working on the travel arrangements for the upcoming trip.” Mr. Peterson sounded a little cross.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mrs. T apologized.

‘I may as well get this over with, no sense putting it off.’

“It seems that someone routed your rehearsal through the school’s PA system. I have my suspicion as to who it might have been, but I’d like to see if anyone is willing to take responsibility …”

Just then I stepped out away from the rest of the choir. While looking at my feet, almost amazed that they were moving, I slowly made my way to center stage.

“Matilda?” several students gasped.

“Matilda!” Mr. Peterson echoed, but not with the same surprised tone.

“I, I didn’t mean …” I started.

“I’ll see you in my office after choir practice,” Mr. Peterson commanded. Without waiting for a reply he turned and walked back up the aisle.

Mrs. T looked like she didn't know what to do, or say. There was a lot of quiet chatter going on amongst the students.

Finally Mrs. T asked, "Matilda, what were you thinking?"

"Well ... We sounded so good yesterday, I thought that everyone would enjoy listening to some Christmas music," I replied softly.

Mrs. T shook her head, "Do you feel up to finishing the rehearsal or would you rather go see Mr. Peterson now?"

"I think I'd like to finish up with the choir," I replied shyly.

"Have you turned off whatever you did?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Very well, if you'll get back into your place, we'll continue."

I tried to move quickly, but my heart wasn't in it, and when I wanted my feet to move they objected. Besides, almost everyone I passed was quietly asking questions. Even though I wasn't answering them the questions kept coming. Heck I wasn't even paying attention.

Thinking that there was a good chance of being banned from the system for a while, I again off-loaded all of my research and changed the encryption code. After practice, I got my coat and started for Mr. Peterson's office.

"Hey, Matilda, where are you going?" Mary Beth called out.

I turned around to find her in her wheelchair, surrounded by the Black Sheep.

I shrugged my shoulders and sighed, as I replied, "To see Mr. Peterson. Time to face the music."

"Munchkin, you've got to be one of the funniest people I know," Hope giggled.

I looked at her as if she were the crazy one.

"Hope, what are you talking about?" Tony asked.

"Well, she's in trouble for sending the Christmas music over the PA system, and she’s making a joke about going to face the music," Hope explained.

A moment later, after everyone had a chance to think about it, everyone started giggling; even me.

After a little giggling, I asked, "So what are all of you doing?"

"We're going with you," Howard announced.

"Going with me? What for?"

By now, Mary Beth was in front of me, holding my hands. Several of the others had circled around me and had their hands on my shoulders. "For moral support," Misa answered softly.

"You are one of us," Jenny explained, with a broad smile.

"And after all, you are up holding the high standards of the Black Sheep," George added.

'Why is it that we have no control over our tear ducts? '

After being embarrassed for several moments by having everyone watch me cry, Aaron brought us back to the matter at hand. "Come on, everybody, Mr. Peterson is waiting."

As we made our way towards my impending doom, Tina asked, "You really sent the choir rehearsal over the PA speakers?"

"To the whole school?" Vikk added.

I looked from one to the other, "You don't think I'd take the blame for something I didn't do, do you?"

"Between you and me, how did you do it?" Aaron asked.

"You mean between you, me, and the Black Sheep?"

Chuckling he admitted, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, Marshal's software is on a computer, isn't it? I discovered that the PA system is controlled through a computer. I just routed a digital audio feed from Marshal's computer through one of the network servers and into the PA's computer; it's so simple a child could do it."

Hope, along with several others, was giggling again, "Munchkin, you've got to stop with these jokes."

"What did I say now?"

"So simple a child could do it!" Tina echoed.

"And?" I asked.

"Matilda, how old are you?" Barb asked.

"I'm ten ..."

"Right, ten-years-old. Most people would consider all of us just children," Wally added.

"But that's what Dr. McCoy said after he learned how to replace Spock's brain."

"Munchkin, this isn't Star Trek," Morgan teased.

"I know that, but they have some great lines."

"Speaking of great lines, I hope you've got a few for Mr. Peterson," George said as we stopped in front of Mr. Peterson's office door.

I don't know how long I stood looking at the door. Slowly, and with a lot of effort, I reached out with a shaking hand and timidly knocked on the door. I nervously waited for admittance.

I began to think that Mr. Peterson had gone out for some reason and that I would get a temporary reprieve. I was turning to look at Jenny, when suddenly the door opened.

“Ah Matilda, won’t you come in?”

* * * To Be Continued * * *

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