It's Not Your Fault

Malory

“Did you find anything yet?” I ask, though Kyle is too busy staring at his computer screen and clicking away at his mouse in a hurry to answer me.

“Nope, how many flash drives have we already been through?” he inquires.

I rub my eyes. “Five, out of nine.” I pause from my own search, because it’s quite an inconvenience to me seeing as I can’t exactly help this process in any way. Anyone who Kyle may see as suspicious or dangerous could be on any one of these flash drives, and they would all be complete strangers to me. I’d just pass their names and say I don’t know them. Still, in the period within which Kyle and I have just searched those five flash drives, we were able to co operate through me just calling out the names of those on the two flash drives I plugged into my computer to check. Kyle would say whether or not they matter, and I could click out of their profile and on to the next one.

We’ve had no success in finding the inside eye at our school yet.