Friday night, three days after he invited me to #kaos, I'm watching d0pe type a message that appears in rainbow colors—red fading to blue fading to green. Then JaXx sends an action with some kind of ASCII art border around it. They're doing something I can't do.
A PM window pops up.
[Kaos] you want to learn?
[SKa] yeah definitely
[Kaos] lemme send you a file
Another window appears—DCC Send from Kaos. File: popups.mrc Size: 2KB.
I click Accept.
The file downloads in about two seconds.
[Kaos] load it through tools menu, then right click someones name
I fumble through menus I've never paid attention to before—Tools, Remote, some tabs and a load button. Find the file, load it.
I right-click on JaXx's name in the #kaos user list.
The menu that pops up is completely different. Where there used to be just "Whois" and "Query," there are now a dozen new options. Slaps. Hugs. Random actions. And at the bottom: Kick, Ban, Mode controls.
[SKa] what the hell
[Kaos] scripts man. little programs that add features to mirc
[Kaos] you can script anything. auto-responses, channel management, protection
[Kaos] make irc do whatever you want
I had no idea you could just... add abilities like this. That the tool itself could be modified.
[SKa] how does it work?
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[Kaos] open the file in notepad, ill show you
I open Notepad. The file is just text—menu names, dots, commands. Kaos explains the syntax. Two dots means it's a command. $$1 picks up whoever you clicked on. Control-K for colors.
It's programming. Actual programming. Not just using software—building it.
"Dinner!" Mom's voice from downstairs.
"Be right there!" I yell back.
I need to learn this, but I gotta eat, and mom is an excellent cook. I head down for some grub.
Twenty minutes later I'm back upstairs. An hour after that, I've added my own section. Music-themed, because that's my thing. Two options with colored text.
I save it, reload it in mIRC, right-click JaXx's name.
There it is—"Music" in the menu.
I click one.
In #kaos:
* SKa gives JaXx five stars for that track!
The text is red.
Something warm spreads through my chest. Not just that it worked—that they noticed.
I'm getting good at this. They see it.
---
It's Tuesday night. I'm in the middle of helping Kaos test a new channel bot when I hear it downstairs.
The phone. A click—someone picking up downstairs.
A split second later: SCREEEEEEEEEECH.
The IRC window freezes.
Disconnected.
"WHAT IS THIS NOISE?" Mom's voice carries up the stairs.
The handset slams down.
Footsteps. Fast ones.
I quickly close mIRC, open a homework folder on my desktop. Try to look like I was just finishing an assignment.
Mom appears in my doorway.
"The phone line has been busy for three hours." Her voice is scary-calm. "My client tried to call. Four times. Couldn't get through."
"I was just—"
"How long have you been online?"
The clock reads 10:17pm. I got home from school at 3:30pm.
"I had homework—"
"The PHONE has been BUSY. Do you understand what that means? Nobody can call us. Nobody can reach us. What if there was an emergency?"
I don't have an answer for that.
"Two hours a day. Maximum. And not after 10pm." She points at the clock. "School night. You should be asleep."
She leaves. I hear her go back downstairs, pick up the phone, dial someone. Probably her client.
The blank IRC window sits empty on my screen. I was in the middle of learning something.
---
Wednesday morning before school. There's a note on the kitchen counter next to the phone bill.
The bill is $142. Apparently last month was $62.
The note, in Mom's handwriting: "THIS HAS TO STOP."
Dad catches me looking at it before school.
"We need to set some limits," he says. Not angry—just firm. "The computer's great for learning, and I'm glad you're interested in this stuff. But we can't have the phone line tied up constantly."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Two hours a day, max. Not during dinner. Not after 10pm on school nights." He pauses. "And we need to talk about your grades."
My stomach drops.
"Mr. Peterson called. Said you got a C-minus on your last essay. Said you seem distracted lately." He's looking at me carefully. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, I just— I'll do better on the next one."
He nods slowly. "This computer stuff is fine as a hobby. But school comes first. Understood?"
"Understood."
I mean it when I say it. I do.
But that afternoon, as soon as I get home, I'm back online.