Free Breaking Point by Alex Flinn Page B

was surprising, and that surprised me. I’d expected Charlie’s world to be painted in colors I’d never seen before. Not beige. Anything but beige.
    â€œHey. Anyone there?” Charlie interrupted my thoughts. I jumped. “Sometimes, you look like you’re curing cancer, Einstein.”
    â€œNothing like that.” My eyes fell on a framed photo, Charlie under a banner for the Junior Orange Bowl tennis tournament. “That’s your dad with you?” He didn’t look like Charlie, but he had his hand on Charlie’s shoulder.
    â€œThe man himself.”
    Charlie didn’t smile. “Sorry,” I said. “What were you—?”
    â€œMy room’s upstairs.”
    I followed, still blown away about being there. The first thing I noticed was the computer. Couldn’t help it. It was a new Dell, with flat-screen monitor and speakers I’d have killed for. Before I knew it, I was touching it. I saw Charlie looking and backed off. “Wow. Some setup.”
    â€œIs it?” Charlie shrugged. “Birthday present.”
    â€œWhat kind of software do you have?”
    â€œYou’re sure into computers.” But he smiled and flipped on the stereo. Someone’s drum solo filled the air really loud, so I knew we were alone. Charlie sat on the floor. “Turn it on and look,” he yelled.
    I sat on his desk chair—leather soft as flannel—and fired up the computer. I scrolled through the programs. He had everything. He had Doom II, which Mom had forbidden once she’d seen Doom. And all the Tomb Raiders—Lara was hot. I pointed to Doom II. “Where’s the disc for that?”
    He gestured toward the CD rack. “I have Quake III Arena too.”
    I nodded. There wasn’t even time to look at everything.
    â€œAnd The Last Revelation. But mostly, I use it for homework. Like word processing.”
    I nodded.
    â€œPlay on the Web sometimes, especially since last year’s honors awards. Meeks’s keynote address was about the ‘Influence of the Internet on our children.’” He said the last part in Meeks’s lispy voice.
    I laughed. “What’d he say?”
    With his other foot, Charlie removed one whitish Top-Sider and kicked it to the floor. He wore no socks. Gate required them. “He’s against it. Misses the old days when they communicated by Morse code.”
    I laughed again. “Or Pony Express.”
    â€œSent Mary scurrying for the parental controls, though,” he said.
    â€œYeah, my mom did that too.”
    â€œI told her I’m not that easily influenced, and she respected that.” He kicked the other shoe aside, wiggling his toes. “It didn’t block much anyway. Mostly porn sites, and who cares about that?” I nodded, though I wouldn’t have minded seeing one. Charlie reached for the volume knob, turned down the stereo. “Found some wicked websites, though. Pranks, stuff to do to people. Pretty wild.”
    â€œLike what?” God, I still couldn’t believe I was there.
    â€œOne funny one was putting birdseed on someone’s car. Makes the birds come and crap all over it.” He grinned. “Haven’t done that one yet. Saving it for someone special.”
    I laughed, picturing it. “What else?”
    He leaned on his elbow, starting to tell me. Then, a voice from the hall.
    â€œCharlie!”
    I started. Charlie sprang to a seated position, feet to floor, hunting for his discarded shoes. “In here, Dad.” He rolled his eyes, mumbling, “Don’t you ever work?”
    Like Charlie, Mr. Good wore white—shorts, polo, tennis shoes. Actually, he was dressed for tennis. Charlie stood, still shuffling into his shoes. I stood too. Charlie’s Dad snapped off the stereo. “What’s this?” Walking closer, next to Charlie.
    â€œDad.” Charlie stepped back. “This is Paul Richmond. From