Ceasefire {girlxgirl}

Neuf

Molly quickly tapped Twitch’s ID number into the login box and hit enter; a second later we were in. I don’t know what I was expecting, but any ideas I’d had about secret folders full of evil world domination plans, or background pictures of artistic depictions of my bloody murdered corpse were dispelled as the regular Windows default filled the screen along with the usual shortcuts.

                ‘Check her history,’ I instructed Molly, grabbing the desk chair for the next computer over and swivelling it around to sit on.

                ‘She’s cleared it,’ Molly said impassively when the list of shady online dealings we’d been searching for failed to materialise.

                I sighed. ‘Well let’s see if-’

                ‘I didn’t say that was a problem,’ Molly interrupted me, grinning as her fingers flew deftly over the keyboard and I stared wide slack-jawed awe. I’d always known Molly was clever, the kind of clever that got her commendations and special shout-outs from Mrs Hastings at the end of every term, but I’d never known she was cool clever.

                ‘I bet you knew Pluto wasn’t a planet before Neil DeGrasse Tyson did,’ I muttered, waiting for her to finish up.

                ‘I had my suspicions,’ Molly quipped, as the screen filled with a list of webpages and links that Twitch had obviously been frequenting. ‘Okay, you’re the master spy here. Where do you wanna go first?’

                It was juvenile, but the first link I pointed to was her Facebook page. I was just so curious about her actual life – her friends and family and whether she was actually a cyborg or not.

                Molly resolutely clicked on it and Facebook popped up in a new tab, handily logged in to Twitch’s account and a newsfeed full of regular Facebook gossip: “Nevr drnkn agn!” and “Sarah Hyde is now in a relationship with Chris Tucker.” Pre-empting me, Molly clicked on Twitch’s Info section and a whole tasty array of personal nuggets wrangled for our attention.

                ‘She’s single,’ I murmured, and Molly gave me a weird look.

                ‘Her favourite books are Tolstoy,’ she whispered, sounding impressed. ‘I don’t know anybody who reads Tolstoy apart from me.’

                I nearly spat, ‘Why don’t you just marry her then?’ but caught myself just in time, amending it to, ‘She’s into heavy metal and classical music.’

                ‘That’s hardly surprising,’ Molly countered. ‘She dresses like you.’

                ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

                ‘Well you’re into all that metal stuff, aren’t you?’

                ‘Do you always just assume that you’re right?’

                ‘Assuming otherwise confuses me,’ Molly murmured, her attention already back on the computer screen. ‘Shall I check her private mail?’

                ‘Obviously.’

                I stared and Molly blushed as Twitch’s inbox revealed a host of unanswered messages from girls extolling her virtues in the bedroom, praising her physically, and begging to see her again.

                ‘Looks like she has a type,’ Molly suggested timidly, examining the thumbnails of the senders closely. ‘They kind of look like you, a bit. Dark and gothic-y. Listen to this one: “I knew when you started making fun of Miss Sullivan that you had a silver tongue, but after last night you can use that silver tongue on me any time.” Yikes.’