Free Don't Turn Around by Michelle Gagnon Page B

her age, wearing jeans and a hooded sweatshirt. The hood was up, so it was hard to see his face clearly. But he seemed to be staring right at her.
    They gazed at each other for a minute. Then a bus stopped right in front of him. Noa craned her head, but it didn’t look like he’d gotten on.
    The bus pulled away from the curb and back into traffic. The guy was gone.
    Suddenly wary and eager to get off the streets, Noa wrapped up the sandwich and chips and stuck them in her bag in case she got hungry later. She tucked away her laptop, slung the strap over her shoulder, and pushed back out into the cold.

CHAPTER SIX
    P eter sat in front of a terminal at the main library. His foot was tapping again, this time out of impatience. The connection here was about ten times slower than what he was used to. But he figured the men who crashed into his house last night wouldn’t dare do the same here.
    Still, it was frustrating. He was sitting in the computer room at the Boston Public Library. The fluorescent lighting was dim, barely aided by late autumn light filtering through the large windows. The computer was at least a decade old, some no-name model they probably sold at Radio Shack. The rest of his row was occupied by elderly people who all leaned in, peering anxiously at their screens. Occasionally they’d warily tap a button, as if hitting the wrong command might make the computer come alive and launch off the counter to bite them.
    Although last night had taught him that maybe it could, Peter thought ruefully as his own hands danced over the keys.
    He was being more careful to cover his tracks this time. Between that and the slow connection, it was taking twice as long for him to get to the initial firewall.
    Earlier, Peter had finished his breakfast and wandered through the Tufts campus. Clusters of students hurried past him. The boys wore parkas and jeans, the girls variations on Amanda’s standard uniform of a colorful knit sweater, long skirts over bright tights, boots and hats and gloves. Most had backpacks filled with books. They all looked older and sure of themselves. Which only served to make him feel lamer and more alone. So he hopped the T downtown and went to the library. Amanda’s words had stung, but she might be right about Rain—she hadn’t seemed like the type to screw him, but you never knew. It was stupid for him to rely on another hacker to get information, anyway. Calling in outside help had seemed like a better idea last night.
    Peter’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket: Bob again, the third call today. He pressed the button sending it to voice mail. A minute later, a text appeared.
    Get home now .
    He ignored it. Amanda still hadn’t responded to his text, which said only: Sorry . Maybe he should have written more, about how he hadn’t meant it. Or maybe he should have waited, letting her cool down more before writing anything. He hated this part of dating, constantly trying to figure out what the hell the other person was thinking.
    Before Amanda he’d never really had a girlfriend. Not because he couldn’t; from sixth grade on, girls had always liked him. Even though he’d been good with computers, he also played on the soccer and tennis teams, which seemed to balance out the geek factor. He’d started dating when he was twelve, just having fun, hanging out, making out. No big deal. Then he met Amanda, and right away it was different. For the first time, he kind of got what they were talking about in all those cheesy songs. For the first time, he was the one waiting by the phone.
    Usually when he sent a text, Amanda got back to him within the hour, and it had been two. Peter ran a hand through his hair. Couldn’t let it stress him out. He had other things to deal with.
    Peter kept at it. This time he was accessing the AMRF files via a Virtual Private Network. VPNs were mainly used by companies to give employees secured access to corporate networks. But they also allowed