Wealth, status, and beauty define the elite of Kensington Prep. Every one of them possesses the ability to get away with anything and everything they want, unscathed and remain as privileged and superior as ever.
But Amory Scout decides that tim...
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Cedar Tavern is tucked in between West 4th and West 10th street, a little gem rumoured to be the birthplace of the Beat Generation. It used to be an illicit 60's speakeasy where the original members of the Beat Generation hung around and wrote poetry and literature while high strung on amphetamines. No longer a 60s speakeasy but now a trendy hipster cafe with tacky, wooden furniture, a library of second-hand books and dreamcatcher paraphernalia hanging from the cedar-beamed ceiling. Sure, it's where all the plaid-wearing, unemployed twenty-somethings hipsters go with their laptops to write slam poetry and drink overpriced coffee but I like it. It has a charm to it.
"They're all here," Hadley points through the murky window of Cedar Tavern. She's right, I notice. The whole crew of ANON420 has arrived.
Anybody who passes us would not spare us a second glance. One look and they assume we're a bunch of college hipsters, discussing a group project or hanging out. That's the good thing about playing up a stereotype- people are willing to quickly believe it because it's something their brains are able to accept. They won't know Steven Wu, the boy with thick horn-rimmed glasses and a lisp, is actually part of the infamous internet hacktivist group who wore Guy Fawkes masks called Anonymous. Or they wouldn't think Meena, the mousy, shy Muslim girl in the back with a soft-spoken voice is part of the WikiLeaks team, directly responsible for the Hillary Clinton leaked emails.
Whatever it is, ANON420 is a collaboration of small hackers from across the city, who work together to teach each other tips and tricks. I'm just here purely to crack through the files and passwords I've downloaded off Luciana's phone. While I've barricaded through most of her personal folders and pictures, all of which are questionable and easy material to bring her down but they're not enough to provide a succulent take-down that will send them throttling down their thrones for good. I'm wondering if I can access any of her deleted things so I can rummage around her trash for anything particularly useful.
"Hadley, we're over here," Steven, the leader of ANON420, calls us over as we enter. Immediately, my senses are overwhelmed by burning incense and the tranquil smell of coffee wafting my noses. I inhale deep, sucking it in. Steven, Meena, Aarav and Kai Hong are situated by the cosy patched couches, laptops open, their hacker paraphernalia hidden safely amongst their clunky backpacks which could be mistaken for massive college textbooks and sipping on warm mugs.
Hadley beams at all of them with genuine cordiality, breaking out of her inverted shell that she usually builds at the company of others. At school, Hadley hates socializing with people outside of her enclosed circle. She always had. That's how we became pretty close when we both attended Kensington. It was Hadley, Delphi and I; the trio who prefer to stick to libraries, heads buried under books, so anonymous you didn't think we exist. Hadley is only comfortable around people she chose to like, which are people who could understand her or relate to her, who could carry conversations about equational math or coding. That's why she limits her social circle to only ANON420 despite the fact that more than half of them have committed nationwide cybercrime felonies. Hadley doesn't mind, though. Neither do I.
