NICK WAS SEEING DOUBLE. Her chest heaved. She fumbled at the lock of her house, staggering inside before collapsing on the sofa, face first. Her desperate pants for air were muffled by the ancient-smelling cushions.

Nick, in her attempt to evade Ben’s pursues for the answer to the riddle, had also managed to evade the bus. Typical.

She had run home as fast as possible, which wasn’t very fast at all, just in case her mom decided to come back and pick up something. This rarely happened, but when it did, Nick knew better than to be away. The last time this happened, Nick had been at the library, when a furious stream of calls targeted her phone. Nick had been yelled at by both her mom and the librarian, which was about as frightening as being nearly rode over by an eighteen-wheeler (which also had happened when Nick was biking home at top speed).

Her efforts had gone to waste today. Her mom was not home.

Nick’s mother would best be described as a ghost. You rarely see her, yet you feel the presence. Nick’s mom was almost always away at work. The few moments she was at home—that is, late in the night and early in the morning—she was glued to her smartphone or laptop, texting or typing furiously at coworkers.

Nick didn’t mind it too much, really. Nick didn’t like talking to people, something unavoidable in school. She’d much rather stay at home and do her own thing. However, having the lack of a motherly figure did dump a heavy load of responsibilities to Nick, like cooking, cleaning, and being well-mannered. Everyone in school were too eager to grow up and have responsibilities. But responsibilities were one thing Nick couldn’t share.

Oh well. Some guy had once said something wise like “Man make really nice plans, but God blows them up.”

Some other guy had said. “Life doesn’t give participation awards to everyone.”

Nick had once said, “Life sucks.”

Nick fell rolled out of the couch, and was painfully reminded that the force of gravity was still in action, and that hitting your head on wood was a very undesirable event.

Nick dragged her legs to her room, locking the door behind her. Like all technology-driven teenagers, she instinctively flipped open her laptop, before remembering she had to complete homework, which was in her backpack all the way at the end of the hall.

Life sucks.

The laptop played its welcoming jingle, and Nick remembered one of her social studies assignments was to check up on the latest conspiracy theories, and then write a five paragraph essay summarizing the most interesting or convincing points.

How was conspiracy spelled again? Nick frowned, her browser search bar still blank. “Con-spear-i-see,” Nick said, sounding it out. Conspearisee.com, Nick typed.

She half expected to be redirected and told that the website did not exist. But a black screen started loading in. Then, pixel by pixel, white words were formed on the screen. Nick blinked.

It wrote:

Hello Odriew. This is the fifth time I had to translate this, so I’m not in a very good mood. Like, I thought the most used language was supposed to be Mandarin, and therefore that was the global language. But no! I’ve got to translate it to Spanish and French and Italian and now English. I’m going to do binary next because who knows what language your robots speak!

Right, so this website needs you to agree to a Terms and Conditions. I’ve taken the effort to install a timer right here, which will count down the moment you scroll down. After ten galactic minutes, you will automatically agree to the Terms and Conditions.

This is the timer: 10 galmin. remaining.

This website also uses cookies, though I’m not sure how you should give it to me. I’m sort of floating in space, but I suppose you could send one of those outdated rockets to mail a packet of cookies. However, remember, I don’t like raisons. I hate those cookies who pretend to be chocolate chip but are actually oatmeal raison.

Where was I? That’s right. Terms and Conditions. Well, here they are:

This thing I’m doing is going to be pretty dangerous. But if you have a life to spare, please join me. The brief synopsis is that I’m an alien and there are a good number of invading alien species whom have settled in your planet Driew. I provide free water, but you’ll have to purify it.

You’ll probably want to bring your teethbrush or something. I don’t have any to spare, and I’m not going to buy any. Be warned. Also, it would probably be nice if you brought your own food and oxygen. I’m running a bit low.

Some things that are not allowed in my ship:

Beanbag chairs. They’re way too big, and my ferret is more that likely to poop on it.

Guns. I mean, what’s the point of bullets in space? I’ve got a pretty nice arsenal of laser darts so you don’t need to worry about protection.

Cheese Puffs. I find no pleasure in smelling the horrible smell of cheese puffs. Why Sodriew find them so pleasurable is beyond my knowledge. They are blobs of stuff with orange dust on them. I can make some that smell way better.

Automatic Bubble Blowers. I do not harbor criminals or violators of the Galactic Yelling Papers. The use of Automatic Bubble Blowers is strictly prohibited as using them is counted as cheating. Of course, primitive planets like Driew are excused from the Galactic Yelling Paper until the fifth millennial, marked from the birth of Jesus Christ, a really nice guy that visits all planets sooner or later.

Also, the cost of your fares is a big jumbo pack of bubble solution. It’s the galactic currency, though I’m sure you know. Even a primitive planet like Driew has got to have some mediocre bubble solutions. I—

At this moment, Nick stopped. She had previously been reading mindlessly, but it wasn’t until now had she suddenly processed the information.

This had got to be a joke.

Of course it was a joke.

Then, it occurred to Nick that this was not a very good website, and there was a very big probability that her computer was currently being hacked. Nick stared at the website.

At the bottom right corner, there was a little gray box labeled “chat”. The only thing in it was [Hello, Sodriew.]

Tentatively, Nick typed in a message. [are you hacking me]

There was no answer.

Nick breathed out a breath she had been holding. Of course there would be no answer. A hacker wouldn’t answer her. A hacker would be busy hacking, of course. Nick was an idiot. She should close this tab right now. She shouldn’t still be spending time in it.

[What’s a hacker, Sir/Madam?]

Nick jumped. The message popped up along with a little “whooping” sound.

Nick read the message again.

So someone was admitting that they were on the website. Some kid maybe, who didn’t know what a hacker was. Awfully polite for a kid, though.

[Hello?]

Another message. Someone was chatting on this site. Nick’s fingers hovered on her keyboard.

[what is your name]

A moment’s pause.

[I don’t have one.]

[you’ve got to have one. everyone has one]

[I don’t have a Nedriew one.]

[what the hell does that mean]

[Well, I have a galactic name. It’s Exflibberaguil.]

[youve got to be kidding]

[I think it’s a very nice name.]

[no offense, but i don’t believe you]

Another longer pause.

[Wow. Sodriew really are true to their name.]

[what]

[What’s your name?]

Nick hesitated, then remembered her nickname was a boy’s name and felt rather sure it wouldn’t do any harm.

[nick]

[Hello.]

[…you said that already]

[I know. I suppose you’ve agreed to the terms and conditions?]

This comment caught Nick off guard. Terms and conditions. The little timer showed less than a minute.

Of course. Nick was an idiot. In less than a minute, this hacker would have extracted all her information, and put a virus in that cavity. In less than a minute, her identity would be stolen. Nick was an idiot. An idiot. She clicked for the X button in panic.

[Hello?]

[Are you still there?]

[Dammit. You’re gone, aren’t you.]

[Box, what’s a hacker?]