I took my tablet to ACPOD’s director of cyber-security services, who just so happens to be my father.
“This is rather odd,” he said, looking at the corrupted text on my tab.
“It’s more than odd,” I said. “It’s literary terrorism.”
“I wouldn’t go quite that far. Have you tried downloading a fresh copy?”
“Yes! It’s the same.”
“Let me try.” He picked up his own tablet and logged on to the county library system. A few seconds later Charlotte’s Web popped up.
“Hmmm,” he said, scrolling through the first few chapters. “Is Charlotte supposed to be a little girl who writes on walls?”
“No!”
“I didn’t think so. It seems the library file has been corrupted as well. Let me check out some other titles.”
A few minutes later he had looked over the digital editions of The Island of Dr. Moreau, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and War and Peace.
“These all look fine,” he said.
“I know who did this,” I said.
• • •
Nothing is ever simple.
If I were in charge, I’d have ordered an immediate SWAT raid on the Tisks and hung them up by their thumbs until they agreed to fix Charlotte’s Web.
That’s probably why I’m not in charge.
“Ginger, we don’t know with any certainty that Mr. and Mrs. Tisk are behind this,” my dad said.
“Who else would replace all the talking animals with talking humans?”
“It could be one of their parishioners, or any number of other people. What we need to do is wait until Monday and contact the administrator at the county library system. They’ll be able to restore the damaged texts and trace the invasive bug back to its source.”
“But I need Charlotte now,” I whined. I am not above whining. Sometimes it works.
“Then you’ll have to borrow a paper copy.”
“From who? The library’s closed!”
“Maybe one of your friends?”
“You’re the only person I know who reads paper books! Can’t you just go over to the Tisks and tell them if they don’t fix it they’ll be in big trouble? Mom would.”
He laughed. I hate it when he laughs while I’m trying to be serious.
“Maybe you should pitch this to her, then.”
“Maybe I will!”
“Good luck.”
• • •
I have to explain about my mother. My mom is scary. I’ve mentioned her long, blood-red fingernails and her glittery eyes and her crown of spiky black hair, but I haven’t told you she is six feet tall with a tongue that could slice a steel bar into frightened little disks. She would be the perfect weapon to unleash upon the Tisks—if I could get her with the program.
That was the problem. Mom is big on self-reliance, as in, Ginger, do not ask me to solve your Flinkwater problem for you.
In other words, she is not the nurturing type.
I found her in the backyard enjoying herself in a quiet sort of way by pinching beetles off her rosebush.
“Mom, did you ever read Charlotte’s Web?”
“The book about the pig and the spider?” she said. “I could use a spider right now. Look at what these creatures are doing to my flowers.”
“Yeah, I could use a spider too. But I have a Tisk problem.”
“Tisk problem?”
“Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Tisk have hacked my tab.” I explained what had happened and how I was sure the Tisks were involved. Several rose beetles met their doom as I spoke.
“Your father is the cyber-security expert. Did you talk to him?”
“He says he’ll contact the county library on Monday, but I was hoping maybe you could talk to the Tisks before that.”
“And why is this so urgent?”
“I need to finish reading about Charlotte.”
“Don’t you have other things you could be doing? Have you finished that report you were working on?”
“Charlotte’s Web is part of my research.”
“How is a book about talking animals pertinent to a paper about the history of Flinkwater?”
“It’s complicated,” I said.
“I’m sure it is,” she said as she pinched the head off another beetle.
• • •
It was no great surprise that my mother the beetle pincher had refused my desperate call for help. As I said before, she was not the nurturing type. Clearly, I would have to take matters into my own hands.