Page 77 of Chasing Headlines

“My source says several student athletes are involved.” Rivers's voice held a sing-song tone.

Source? Athletes? Wait, what?I spun around. “Who?”

“I'll make a call to the help desk, Rivers,” Mrs. P said.

“I don't have names. Yet. They're getting me the list of file accesses.” Rivers turned his laptop around and tapped at something. “I need to run matches on IP addresses and?—”

“What's the issue?” I moved closer.

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Rivers scowled. “Stolen tests.”

Mrs. P put her cell phone to her ear and turned away.

“Wait. Answer banks? Or tests?”

“It's hacking. Unauthorized use, misuse, academic misconduct. All of the above.” Rivers didn't bother looking up as he spoke to his laptop.

“Sure. Yeah, of course. It's bad. Really bad.” I tried to sound aghast. “Don’t they give out practice tests, though?”

“This was the live test bank. TST cyber team contained the server and they’re scanning for any malware. The theory is the hacker left a backdoor to access the live test bank anytime he wants. They’d always know what’s on the exam.” Rivers ran ahand through the mess of bangs on his forehead and shot me glare. I glanced away.

How is this an investigative news story instead of a matter for the school's IT team?

“My source says this version of the live testbank was leaked on a pastebin site. But the file had code embedded to track and log the IP address of anyone who accessed it. They’ve managed to retrieve the tracking data, but I would need to map it to the asset list.”

The whole thing sounds like entrapment. Never mind the fact that those who tried to cheat have been preparing for the wrong test, now. My guess is your source is the hacker, the only person whointentionallydid anything wrong.

My nails cut into my fists.I need to get ahead of this. If anyone on the baseball team had been desperate enough to fall for this scheme—they’ll be disciplined. Benched. Expelled.

I shifted from one foot to the other.I need Cathy.

“What are you doing here? I thought you lived in the baseball locker room.”

“Ah, you know, working on . . .” I shook my head and tried to get my brain to refocus. “My Founders’ Day article. Important interview coming up. As soon as Mrs. P authorizes my credentials with the interviewee?” I turned a pleading look toward our sponsor.

She gave me an exaggerated nod, her cell phone still glued to her ear.

“No shirtless pics this time?” Rivers let out his oh-so-appealing snerk with his oh-so-hilarious barb.

Shirtless boys sell.I just shrugged and smiled. “Some of us enjoy our work.” I met our faculty sponsor's eyes. “I want to do a story on Antonio Jimenez. He's been back and forth between the US and the Dominican for several years. His younger brotherplays in the baseball academy at home. His dad was a pro for several years before injury ended his career early.”

I knew a few things about that. Lived with it in my own house. And if there was one thing I could understand about Antonio, it was that baseball was his family business the same as it was mine.

“Sounds interesting.” She held her phone away from her ear for a moment. “And diverse. Good angle. But no.” She turned her attention back to her cell.

Dammit. I wanted that article so I could say I'd done what I could to help 'sell' Antonio to Hilda—who, I hated to be the one to break it to him, had a strict no Latino men policy for her dating life. She'd grown up around them, and decided at some point, they were not for her. I think her dad told her once she shouldn't bother going to medical school.

It wasn’t my business and it made me super uncomfortable to think about. Being Latina, Hilda could make the kinds of generalizations she spouted about the men in her family. La gringa white girl, aka me, could not. Would not. Nope.

Especially because I thought baseball players, the best of them, were sinfully gorgeous—I didn't care what color their skin was.

Ahem. Where was I again? Dammit, shot down on my Antonio piece.

“But Mrs. P? What if I?—”

“It's not baseball season.”

I sighed.

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