Chapter 3
So, it’s Saturday afternoon and I get this text from Wong:
Meet @ roundabout @ 6? We walkin!
It’s a nice change from the million messages that Frankie and Chris have sent me to download something called ntch which even my meagre computer skills tell me is a virus of some kind. I mean, I try to keep my internet presence to a minimum because, you know, the internet never forgets and all that, which is pretty terrifying, right? I don’t want my little secrets airing for whatever kinds of enforcement to peruse. And whenever adults say stuff like: if you’re not doing anything wrong you have no need to be afraid, I can’t help scoffing ‘cause everyone is doing something wrong on the net, right? Doesn’t matter if they’re saving copyrighted images, which basically everything is, or stea
