Chapter 1
Mia
It was Monday morning again and the beginning of a new week. Even though I was a Computer Science major, every now and then it was important to unplug from the world. I liked to turn off my phone, computer, beeper, pager, anything that could interrupt because unlike everyone else my age, social media was never really my thing.
Still, it has its uses, particularly for meeting and networking with other female programmers. Aside from that, I rarely tweeted, posted anything on Snapchat, or ever uploaded a single photo of myself on Pictogram. All my profile pics were avatars of myself designed from scratch. If asked, anyone would be hard pressed to find an actual photo of me anywhere on the web.
Because I hate getting my picture taken. Selfies from my phone never turned out right either. My imperfections stood out painfully, what with the curviness of my body. My breasts were double D’s and I had full wide hips that swung like a pendulum when I walked. In photos, these so-called assets looked embarrassingly ginormous.
As for my face, my lips were too big. Were celebrities actually paying money for fuller pouts? All my huge pucker did was make me self-conscious. Honestly, I never wanted anyone to look at my face too long anyway. My preference was to blend into the background, like the wallflower I was meant to be.
I guess other people might think I had low self-esteem, but I just wasn’t so self-absorbed that I wanted to plaster myself all over the internet all the time.
Jill, my dorm mate, was away all weekend visiting her parents. It gave me a chance to shut myself off from the rest of the world and not have to talk or interact with anyone for an entire two days. Both Saturday and Sunday were spent alone in my dorm room blissfully listening to music, reading the latest in the Unwired science fiction series, and playing the video game Intergalactic Smash. In fact, I was pretty proud of myself for getting all the way to the 17th level in just two days.
I’d ordered delivery and didn’t leave my dorm suite once. Lazy weekends of Me Time were my jam. After all, living in a dorm, getting alone time like I’d had at home living with my mom didn’t happen a lot. Mom worked a ton of overtime.
Don’t get me wrong. My roomie Jill is awesome. We’d met in the Summer Bridge program a month before school started and clicked instantly. We both majored in Computer Science and came from small towns in Southern California that no one had ever heard of.
I was from Carpinteria, a seaside town, whose only claim to fame was an avocado festival, which was amazing fun, by the way. I planned to visit my mom in October so I could go. Avocado Fest had the world’s largest vat of guacamole that I wouldn’t miss for the world.
Jill was from Solvang, an entire town loyal to its Danish roots and more importantly, Danish food. Our first week living together in our dorm suite, she brought with her Danish treats like aebleskiver, yummy puff pastries, kringles, pretzel pastries, and authentic spandauers, which is an authentic Scandinavian pastry. We spent many late nights studying and munching on those delectable goodies. Her mom made sure to send us a new supply every few weeks.
I could be myself around Jill. I loved having a dorm mate that loved to eat food as much as I did. My biggest worry was that I’d get one of those psychotic girls that would spout off how many calories any particular treat had. I went to high school with someone like that. We’re not friends, obviously.
Jill and I usually walked to our Data Science class together, but her flight must have been running late that morning. She wasn’t in her room when I left our dorm suite for breakfast.
Against dining hall rules, I snuck out Lucky Charms in a Ziploc bag. The dining hall had a stupid rule that no one could take any food out, but if you were on a meal plan, all the food you ever got was from the cafeteria. Did the school seriously expect us to not ever be hungry for snacks?
Munching on my stolen cereal, I walked our usual route to campus down Bancroft Avenue to Wheeler Hall. I’d taken the same exact Data Science class online during my junior year in high school. Class lectures and the syllabus were available to the public. The college had a ton of free courses online if you were motivated enough. For the most part, I found high school boring, so I took additional classes online for fun.
In theory, going to class was unnecessary since I basically already knew the information, but I found it interesting anyways. Sitting in a large lecture hall with other students made me feel like I was a part of the Berkeley campus without having to go to a party or anything too social like that.
I cut through Sproul Plaza, noticing a few people looking over at me. Was it my imagination or were eyes trailing me? No. That couldn’t be. Brushing it off, I kept walking, telling myself that it was nothing. People usually didn’t notice me. A lot of people just don’t see big girls most of the time, we’re invisible to most of the world.
Once inside Wheeler, I walked down the steps to the middle seats where Jill and I usually sat. The intense stare of hundreds of pairs of eyes crawled on the back of my head as I took my backpack off and sat down.
A girl a few seats back whispered, “OMG. That's her!”
The girl next to her squealed. “Unbelievable! I knew she was in our class.”
I didn't dare turn around. My neck started to prickle with sweat. Was I going crazy? Were they talking about me?
One of the girls said in a hushed tone, “She’s really pretty. I just never noticed her. She's so quiet.”
I swallowed. They couldn't possibly be talking about me. Me? Pretty? I was imagining things. They were probably on their phones talking about some celebrity or something. No way did they mean Mia Nelson. After all, my form was curvy and voluptuous. At times, with the right blousy outfit that hid my figure, I might be cute, but never ever pretty. Trust me. The world’s smacked me in the face with that fact many times.
Just then, Jill rushed in out of breath. “You're not going to believe what's happening!” She sat down next to me with an intense frazzled look on her face. “You’re going to kill me!”
“What? Why am I going to kill you?” I said shifting uncomfortably in my chair. Her abrupt entrance into the lecture hall drew even more attention to us. My ears burned with embarrassment. “Whatever it is,” I said, looking around sheepishly. “It’s okay. No need to shout.”
Jill pulled out her phone. “No seriously, Mia. Do you remember the photo I took of you on the rooftop last week?” Jill sputtered, flailing her hands around excitedly.
“Yeah. So?” What was Jill talking about?
“Okay. Well, I posted it to Pictogram,” she said, her voice rising at the end of the sentence so that she finished with a shriek.
I looked around again seeing more of our classmates looking at us. If Jill didn't pipe down, I was going to have to gag her. “Stop screaming,” I entreated.
I remembered that day on the rooftop. It had been an unseasonably warm. We'd taken a break from computer lab and gone up onto the roof. Often, Jill and I got too absorbed with our coding that we made it a point to take a break every couple of hours to get some sunshine.
It was the perfect time to head outside because one of our classmates, Roger, a thin wiry asshole, had just insulted us. He’d looked at our pasty faces and then smirked.
“You gals here all weekend? Figures you two would need the extra lab time,” came his nasty comment.
Infuriated, Jill and I had gone up to the rooftop to bitch about Roger and the other guys in our classes who had similar arrogant attitudes.
Jill fumed, pacing like a lion. “Why does Roger assume we suck at programming? It’s so fucking misogynistic and unfair.”
“Why do you think?” I said.
It was mid-day and the sun beat down hotly on our heads. Figuring that because it was a Sunday and no one could see me up on the roof, I peeled off my shirt, boobs encased only in a bra.
“Really Mia?” said Jill, making a funny face. “Really really? Bra only?”
But it was just us girls on the rooftop with no one around. So why not? I was hot and Jill had seen me in a bikini numerous times.
“Don't mind me,” I said. “Keep going. I’m just getting some sun.”
And ever game to get a tan, my friend snapped her fingers.
“You’re right, healthy and bronzed is way better than pale and doughy. Okay, I’m doing it too.”
And with that, the blonde slinked off her shirt so that we were both in bras only. Looking sideways at Jill, I marveled at our differences because even though we’re best friends that doesn’t mean we’re anything alike. Jill was thin and tiny, her boobs the size of mosquito bites. Me, on the other hand? I’m full Double Ds, the scale tipping to the big side. Yep, my girls are large and in charge, and right now, the bra was barely keeping them in place, the creamy mounds luscious.
But I felt like we were fine. It was just us with no one to see. So I leaned back, savoring the warm afternoon rays.
Unfortunately, Jill was still worked up. Biting her lip in thought and narrowing those blue eyes, the blonde huffed again, still pissed off by Roger's comment.
“I mean, he has no idea how good you are,” she complained. “He's never seen your code or seen what you can do to be such an asshole like that.”
Throwing a handful of Lucky Charms into my mouth, I shrugged closing my eyes and leaning back to enjoy the sun on my face. “It doesn't matter. Good code is good code. If he sucks, one day he’ll be found out. It's freshman year. Who knows if he is going to make it all the way through?”
Jill stopped pacing. “You're right.” She picked out a few marshmallows from the bag.
“You’re violating rule number one of Lucky Charms contraband. Do not pick out marshmallows!” I joked. “I’ll let it pass since you’re upset.”
Jill laughed as she chewed. “Sorry!” She paused and started to pace again sending her blonde ponytail in a jaunty swing. “You know, one of Roger's brogrammer friends, Isaac, refused to be my partner in our Machine Structure class.”
I got angry myself. A brogrammer is a term we used for asshole programmers who somehow still thought computer science was an exclusive field just for males. I sat up watching Jill pace. “What do you mean he refused?”
Jill threw her hands up. “He said he didn't want to be partners with a girl because then he'd have to do all the work.”
Anger crept up spine. Gritting my teeth, I asked, “What did you do?”
Jill put her hands on her hips. “Well, Danica is in my same lab section. She paired off with her boyfriend, Ryan, but she switched so she could be my partner just so Isaac would shut up. It was sad. Really, really sad.”
I stood up and started to pace, too.
“Who the hell does that? What an asshole!”
“I know, right?” said my friend. “But trust me, it happened.”
Shaking my head, I spoke then.
“You know what we should do the next time a brogrammer says something stupid? I’ll tell you what.”
I raised my fists up into the air and screamed to the skies.
“FUCK YOU!”
Wow, that felt good.
My voice echoed in the courtyard below; a few passerby turned their heads quizzically. Fortunately for them, my shout made just a faint noise, nothing too outrageous.
But damn, it felt good to scream like that and vent my frustration because I’d been the target of haters before too, especially snobby computer nerds who thought they could be the next Mark Zuckerberg.
Try again, losers. You’re just a wimpy kid who knows code.
But tell that to these snobs. Silicon Valley worships brogrammer types, and they were riding high on the hog.
Jill laughed though, face mirthful.
“Ohmygod. You would never do that to their faces!” She grabbed her phone and a handful of cereal. “I wouldn't either!” she said with a mouthful of Lucky Charms.
I stretched my arms out and spun around fully enjoying the freedom of being the only few people on campus at that moment. No one could see me up here on the roof. It was liberating. “I would never have the nerve, but still, it's fun to pretend that I would.”
Jill pointed her phone at me. “So, what would you say again?” she laughed.
I stopped spinning and looked right at the camera this time. Extending my middle finger, I screamed with a smirk, “I'd say, 'Fuck you!'“
Jill snapped the photo giggling. Looking at the photo on her phone, she gasped, “Mia, look! You look amazing in this.”
Eating another handful of Lucky Charms, I stood next to her staring at my photo. Honestly, it hardly looked like me because the girl there was belligerent, beautiful and outrageous all at once. Usually, I’m a shy mouse, the egghead typing away at her computer in lab.
But this time, Jill had captured a secret side of me that lurked within because everything looked different about me. The brown curls that are wild, zany, and too crazy to tame? In the picture, they looked vivacious and buoyant, sassy and sexy.
The big brown eyes that were generally looking down, avoiding eye contact? Here, my gaze was direct and challenging, as if telling the viewer, “Get a piece of this.”
And Jill, always my best friend, nudged me with her elbow. “You look really pretty when you're having fun.”
I stared at myself on her phone screen, hardly believing it was me.
“Thanks,” I said with a soft giggle. “It's fun to pretend you're a badass sometimes.”
The blonde rolled her eyes and let out a sigh.
“You are a badass, Mia. You’re the top student in the Computer Science program, but no one would ever know it because you’re too humble to brag.”
I guess that was true. A GPA doesn’t lie, after all. But still, there’s no need to be a princess. I’m not like that, I’m more of a tomboy.
But sometimes, it’s great to escape, you know? So laughing, I stood with my hands squarely on my hips channeling Wonder Woman, and challenged Jill.
“It’s fun to pretend to be a bitch. Do it with me.”
The blonde giggled a little, but I was totally serious.
“Come on, Jilly. Let’s do this together. On three, scream ‘Fuck brogrammers.’ You can do it. It’ll feel good.”
My buddy rolled her eyes again, but then took a deep breath in preparation.
“One. Two. Three….”
“FUCK BROGRAMMERS!”
And with that, we collapsed laughing, our arms around each other. Because until then, I hadn't realized the need to let it all out, but once done, damn, it felt good, like a huge pressure off my chest.
So now, staring at Jill in Wheeler Hall, I had no idea what she was talking about. That had been a fun day and the photo was just of me goofing off. Okay, I’d been screaming profanities to the skies, but still. What was the big deal?
My buddy waved her phone in my face. “You aren't on Pictogram so you probably don't know.”
“Know what?” I demanded.
Jilly shoved her cell in my face. Okay, there was her Pictogram account with my sassy face caught mid-laugh.
But then I gasped.
Because the photo had 1,213,462 likes. Jill had posted the hashtags: #howIFeelAboutBrogrammers, #FuckBrogrammers, #WomenWhoCode and #GirlPower.
Holy shit.
My jaw dropped open.
1.2 million likes?
Only Kim Kardashian got stats like that.
How was it possible?
Sneering, Roger sat behind us and dropped a poster on my desk. And another gasp escaped my lips.
Because it was the same photo on Jill's Pictogram account, except the image had been commercialized. There I was, doing my half-laugh, half-taunt, but plastered beneath my image was the trademark logo for Marc Janow, a young, hip fashion designer.
#GIRLPOWER, the ad read. #LADIESROCK.
Holy shit.
They’d taken my photo and made me into their emissary.
For an expensive, downtown-cool clothing line too.
What in the world?
But it was too much. What I’d thought was private, was now out in the world for everyone to see.
My saucy expression. My creamy cleavage, visible in the lacy black bra. And worst of all, that middle finger, making like I was a bad girl.
Oh god. It felt like the entire lecture hall was staring at us. Grabbing my backpack, I stood up with shaky legs.
“Mia, you look so pretty. You really do!” Jill exclaimed, grabbing my arm. “Don’t go!”
She tried to make a bad situation better. Jilly would say anything to boost my spirits.
Roger piped up then, that asshole.
“Pretty? Not just pretty. Fuckin’ hot.” He made a hissing sizzling sound with his teeth like some disgusting frat boy.
Oh my god, I was going to be sick.
Because Roger was oozing sarcasm, for sure. Even if other students nodded and agreed, it was all fake. I’m not pretty. I’m chubby and round, the type that no one ever notices.
So face burning with humiliation, I rushed out of the lecture hall feeling dozens of my classmates’ eyes boring right through me. Bed sounded good. That, with the comforter pulled over my head, just like when I was a little girl.
Because how could this have happened?
But my nightmare only got worse because on Bancroft Avenue, at the 51 bus stop, I saw it.
Oh god.
It was a huge billboard of me in just my bra.
Holy cow! Might as well erect a billboard of me in Times Square next.
Tucking my head down and pulling the hood of my sweatshirt up, I walked briskly the rest of the way to my dorm.
Back in the privacy of my room, I navigated to the Pictogram website. How did my photo become an ad? How was this possible?
And what I found shocked me. Any user who signed up for a Pictogram account gave up all rights to their uploaded photos. Pictogram had the right to sell my photo to any advertiser for what I could only imagine would be an arm and a leg. Marc Janow was a major fashion designer. He undoubtedly had the money to spare.
Taking slow deep breaths, I tried to calm myself down, but I couldn’t. How could this popular app abuse its users like this?
Livid, my fingers punched the keyboard, googling Pictogram’s CEO, Theo Wainwright. The first link that popped up was a tabloid story of him, shirtless, with a supermodel on his yacht. Although not an actual user of Pictogram, I’d still heard of Theo Wainwright. He graduated from Berkeley. In fact, he’d built the beginnings of Pictogram in his dorm room.
What I didn’t know was how ridiculously hot he was. Like a groupie, I searched for more photos of him. With his penetrating blue eyes and chiseled jaw, the man was devastatingly gorgeous. Shirtless, he had a six pack and thick muscular arms. I found a shot of him in tight jeans and nearly died. He had a fantastic ass, too. The photos of him in a full suit were what made me almost fall out of my chair. He had a sexy arrogant smile that made him look handsome, debonair, and unabashedly cocky.
I shook my head. Hot or not, Theo Wainwright was probably a brogrammer like Roger. He got to travel around the world and lounge about on his yacht with supermodels because he didn’t care about his users. He sold their images for a pretty penny and couldn’t give a shit.
Taking another long look at Theo’s gorgeous face, I decided he needed to be warned. Hacking into Pictogram’s site, I found his personal information: private email address and phone number. Under the name Anonimo, I sent him an email urging him to change Pictogram’s privacy policies.
And taking a deep breath, I pressed send. Served him right. Because how could anyone do that? How could anyone take someone’s photo off their site and sell it to a third party without a second thought?
But that’s the beauty of being a skilled hacker.
Because I know how to get to the bottom of these things.
And Theo Wainwright would have to pay, simple as that.
So what if Mr. Wainwright was gorgeous, powerful, and rich, with ladies hanging off his arm? The fact was that my rights had been violated and I was going to get revenge.