Read Online Borderline by Allan Stratton - Free Book Online

a lying scum bag?
    I go downstairs, unpack, and slip behind my computer. Andy and Marty are already online. Marty told his folks we’re back early cuz the J’s septic tank backed up. Nice. Andy’s sorry about his meltdown and wishes he’d hung in. Now he’s stuck alone and he can’t stop thinking about guess what. “Wanna keep me company? Come over for a swim? The heater’s working; water’s warm. We could see a movie after?”
    I put my bathing suit on under my pants and grab a towel. A swim, that’s all I want. But the snake in my ear keeps hissing about Dad maybe having an affair: His cell phone records. Why not see if there’s any calls to strange women in Toronto?
    Don’t be stupid. There aren’t any.
    Why not be sure?
    I go back to my computer. Dad’s e-bills are in his e-mail account. Getting in is a snap. A while back, he showed Mom and me photos that Mr. Ibrahim, one of his friends from mosque, sent of his trip to Mecca. I watched him type his user ID: Arman158—his first name plus our house number. And his password: NARHET— Tehran , the city where he was born, spelled backward.
    Dad’s inbox has thousands of messages. I keep mine messy too, so if Dad snoops it’ll be hard for him to find the gross-out links the guys send me.
    The snake slithers inside me. Is your dad the same? Trying to keep things and hide them at the same time?
    No. Just because I’m sneaky doesn’t mean Dad is.
    I want to stop now, to sign out, but my fingers type AT&T in the search window. Up come Dad’s cell phone bills. I scan for Toronto. Allah forgive me. Spying on my father. It’s evil.
    It’s not . You’re doing it to protect your mom.
    How? By acting like Dad’s cheating?
    If he’s innocent, what’s the problem?
    The problem is I dishonor him!
    Who’s going to know?
    Me. I’ll know.
    You deserve to know.
    But I still won’t know. If the woman’s not from Toronto—like, if she’s just flying in for the security conference too—she could be from anywhere. In that case, his calls wouldn’t be to Toronto. Every long-distance number on his bill could be suspicious. Or if they’re using e-mail, their hookup plans could be in any of the thousands of messages in his inbox.
    True. And what if your dad has an e-mail account you don’t know about? Or what if they use text messaging?
    AAAH! I want to rip the snake out of my head. But before I can, it strikes.
    Three Toronto numbers leap off the screen. Does one of them belong to her? I write them down, kick myself. Why did I have to spy? I could’ve pretended everything was fine. Not now. Now I have to check these numbers out, or go insane.
    I can’t call from here: Dad pays my cell bill, he’d know what I did. I can’t borrow Andy’s or Marty’s cells, either: I don’t want them to know what I’m thinking.
    Wait, I got it. Tonight, when the guys and I go to a movie, I’ll sneak out during the trailers and call from a pay phone in the lobby.
    I put my computer to sleep, grab my towel, and run upstairs. “I’m going to Andy’s for a swim,” I shout to Mom, back in the family room.
    â€œThat’s nice,” she hollers back. She blows her nose loudly. It figures; she’s watching Children of Heaven again.
    I throw open the front door. Brainwave. There’ll be a file about the Toronto conference on Dad’s computer. It’ll have addresses and phone numbers for Toronto hotelsand contacts. If my mystery numbers are there, it’ll mean they’re legit and I can relax. Sort of.
    I slam the front door so Mom will think I’ve gone, and sneak up to Dad’s office. If Mom catches me at his computer, what’ll I tell her? Oh my god, stop now. Turn around, go to Andy’s. I try, but the snake is a puppet master. Next thing I know, I’m inside Dad’s office, the door shut