“Dad, it’s almost time.”
I came upstairs from my bedroom into the TV room, where Dad was watching a CNN news report on our big screen. I noticed with a wince that he was watching an update on Timothy McVeigh and his upcoming indictment by a grand jury. For the months following the Oklahoma City bombing I religiously monitored the news coverage. Partly because I was punishing myself, and partly because I was terrified they would link something to me.
I kept looking for any signs that my warning phone calls—my failures—were being investigated. While there were rumors that warnings had been given to evacuate, it was eventually decided that it was due to accomplices that got cold feet or something like that. I assumed that they didn’t want to announce that the police disregarded the warning I gave them. I would occasionally wander by the payphone that I used, to see if there were any mysterious cars staking out nearby, but I never saw anything.
While I was confident that there would be no way they could possibly connect a teenage girl in Minnesota with anything related to the Oklahoma City bombing, I still felt withdrawn. I was wracked with uncertainty about any sort of good I could do with my foreknowledge of the next thirty years. I began to question whether the only effect I could have on the world was accidentally preventing loved ones from being born. I was useless.
I couldn’t undo Oklahoma City. All I could do was accumulate resources and influence so that next time no one would ignore me. I had years to prepare, and I grimly set about my next move. Today was going to be a notable step in that direction and involved the initial public offering of the newest tech darling of the summer. Since July I had been pressing the brokerage to reserve IPO allocations at the initial price point of twenty-eight dollars a share, and given how quickly my account had grown I had enough leverage to negotiate.
Dad pointed the remote at the TV, and McVeigh’s mugshot blinked off as he switched to the finance channel. “I have to say, sweetie, I’m still nervous about starting my own account.” He kept his eyes on the ticker. “And I still don’t know why I had to call in sick and not tell your mother. I’ve never even heard of this ‘Netscape.’”
“It’s going to be fine, Dad,” I assured him. “By the end of the day you’ll make back your initial two grand, and in a few months you’ll earn four times as much. All you have to do is make the call. At the right moment.”
Dad was transfixed at the running ticker on the bottom of the screen. “Why did it start at seventy-one when you said we would buy at twenty-eight?” he asked, wringing his hands. “Is that a good thing?”
“It’s a very good thing. This company is on fire; Netscape hasn’t even made a profit, but there’s a lot of hype, so the price is going up. But we locked in the price at twenty-eight already, and we’re going to sell it when the price gets to about seventy-four.”
“We’re…just going to sell it?”
“About half of it. Just to make back the initial investment. The rest we’re going to leave until December, to let it grow. Oh, here it is—get the phone ready. And just read this.” I handed him a script to read off to the broker.
Dad compliantly dialed the number I had written. “Bill Henderson? David Brown here, with instructions.” He cleared his throat, and read off the card. “I want to place a Market Order to sell twenty-eight shares of NSCP immediately. Please use the proceeds to purchase as many shares of M-S-F-T.”
Dad gave me an uncertain shrug, and I returned a thumbs up.
“Once that’s executed,” he continued reading, “I want the proceeds to remain in the cash sweep. I’m handing the phone to my daughter, Maya. She manages the investment decisions for her custodial account, and I authorize her to give instructions for her trade.”
He passed the phone to me, and he went back to staring at the screen. I wandered upstairs out of earshot to confirm my own sales—around five hundred shares—and rolled the proceeds into my previous Microsoft positions. After confirming the fill prices, I ended the call and went back to sit next to Dad.
“What was that MSFT that I purchased? I don’t see it anywhere on the screen.”
“It’s the stock ticker symbol for Microsoft.”
“Ah,” said Dad as he leaned back on the sofa. “The computer company. Why did I buy Microsoft?”
“Later this month, they’re coming out with something called Windows 95. By buying now, your stock will explode by the time school starts in September, and it’s only going to go up from there.”
Dad gave a satisfied nod. “Hm, I guess your old man is a savvy technology investor, eh, sweetie?”
My mind flashed to my own positions. I had been putting money into Microsoft for almost two years, and the thirty-seven grand I just shifted for my own account was just another addition. But Dad would be too occupied with his own earnings to pry into my own.
“Yes, Dad. Very savvy.”
***
After Labor Day, freshman year began. I had that same existential fatigue of sitting through freshman orientation in the school auditorium for a second time in my second life. While my friends were all stressed and anxious about finally becoming high school students, I was pretty much nonplussed. I remembered Matthew’s time in high school much more clearly than I had middle school, probably due to him being older and having firmer memories. As a result, the layout of the building was very familiar to me and I spent the first week guiding Catherine and the rest of the freshman cheerleaders to their classes.
I knew that classes were going to be simple, as usual. Despite only having four classes per day instead of seven, high school was still going to be time-consuming. On top of this, the coach of the cheerleading squad announced our practice schedule was going to be a grueling three afternoons a week, and that didn’t include games.
In the first week of classes the school club sign-ups were held in the cafeteria and all of my friends were signing up for extracurriculars. There were a couple dozen tables set up with signs and clipboards waiting for signatures. I browsed through several of them, and I decided to join the newly formed computer club and signed up at their table.
“Maya,” scolded Catherine as I was signing the form, “You can’t only sign up for that club!”
“Why not?” I countered. “It, uh, will help me with my schoolwork.”
“But it’s a nerd club!” she teased.
I rolled my eyes, but she had a point. Everyone else was joining the “cooler” drama club or the language clubs, but I needed the computer club resources. We didn’t have internet access at our house yet, and I was eager to get back online for the next stage of my next plan. However, Catherine had a point, and I was aware of the social standing I had to maintain. I scanned the other tables for additional options.
“Here, student government,” I said, gesturing at their table. “I can be freshman class treasurer or something.”
“Ooo, you’d be good at that. But I think you’d have to be elected.”
“Well,” I smirked, “good thing I can rely on the cheer squad, huh?” We shared a laugh.
***
The computer lab was an offshoot of the library, with its beige walls slightly peeling and a slight whiff of old pizza. As I stepped in, I heard the sounds of digital gunfire from the cluster of boys chattering with each other. Their banter stopped when I entered the room, and all six of their heads turned. They weren’t hostile, just a little confused as to why a girl, a pretty one at that, had entered their space. I recognized a couple of them; Paul Jenson and Mark Kowalski, who had been friends of Matthew in my previous timeline. They were Matthew’s friends for years, arguing about comics and video games, and they even built a computer together in their senior year. In Maya’s timeline, they were simply strangers.
I shook off the phantom memories and approached the desk. Seated there was a younger man with a blonde mustache and thick glasses. He had been idly thumbing through a tech magazine as the boys busied themselves with their game. I stood awkwardly as I waited for him to acknowledge me. It took him a moment to notice as he set aside his reading material.
“Yes, miss, can I help you?”
“My name is Maya Brown, and I’m here for the computer club. Are you Mr. Erikson?” I asked, aware the boys were still watching from behind me.
Mr. Erikson looked lost for a moment. Clearly he was more of a supervisor than a club organizer. “Yes, yes, this is the computer club. Did you want to get set up on one of the machines?”
“Actually, I wanted to ask some questions about the internet, if that’s okay.”
“Please,” he gestured to one of the nearby chairs, “what’s on your mind?”
I pulled the chair to his desk, smoothing my skirt as I sat down. “It’s…sort of a weird question. I was reading about DNS, and how it translates a domain name into an IP address. But I couldn’t figure out who actually controls those names. For example, if someone wanted to register a specific address, how would they actually do it?”
Mr. Erikson was wide-eyed. He leaned back into his chair, clearly impressed. “That’s a pretty deep cut for a freshman. You’re right to be curious; in fact, there was just a change last week on how that was done. It used to be done by the government, but now there’s a company that takes care of that.”
I played it casual. “That’s what I read. I was thinking about maybe getting a domain for myself. For a website or something.”
“Well, you can buy one, but it’s about one hundred dollars to own it for about two years. Pretty expensive for a student’s hobby.”
I smiled coolly. “So, how would I get started?”