It took Susan another hour and a half before she was satisfied that Daisy’s account was secure, any unopened e-mails recalled, and the mystery hacker identified and neutralized. For good. As often happened when she was singularly focused on something worthy of her skill set, Susan had been oblivious to what was going on around her. She’d missed a call from one of her six older sisters (not the good one, so it wasn’t like she had to return it) and several messages from her friends back home. Shrugging, Susan popped her phone into her pocket and went to return Daisy’s laptop. She watched over her friend’s shoulder as Daisy turned it on and checked her e-mails, just in case something unimaginable had happened.

It hadn’t, but Daisy was frowning at the screen nonetheless.

“Umm . . . Susan? Why does it say I have 203 e-mails in my spam folder?”

“Because you have 203 e-mails in your spam folder. Just a wild guess.”

“And that’s nothing to do with the hacker?”

“Nope.” Susan met Daisy’s glance of trepidation with a reassuring smile and watched as her friend reached out a trembling finger to open her spam folder.

Dedicated follower of fashion? Calling all catwalkers, FASHION FIRST will be meeting in Catterick bar at 7:30 P.M. Friday for vogue-ing and vodka . . .

CIRCUS SOC NEEDS YOU! Drawing from all levels of the talent pool, from trapeze-walking fire-breathers to anyone who can make a passable shadow puppet, Sheffield Circus Soc invites *you* . . .

Ever feel like the world would be better if speech bubbles emerged from your mouth and someone else had control over your facial expression? Here at Comic Club we appreciate the magic that happens when words and illustrations collide . . .

DEBATING: for or against? . . .

“It’s all the clubs I signed up for at the Activities Fair!” Daisy squeaked, darting a guilty glance in the direction of her desk, which was littered with candy wrappers, a miniature croquet set, pin badges, and a Student Union–branded mug overflowing with promotional pens and pencils, rulers, and what looked like a magic wand.

Susan’s phone buzzed again, and she slipped it out of her pocket to check. Yet another message from her friend Beebz. A picture . . .

“What do I do?” Daisy asked, scrolling in panic through her spam folder. “There’s so many of them!”

Had Daisy looked up, she would have been one of only seven (living) people to witness Susan Ptolemy having her own brand of server meltdown.

“So many what?” Susan looked up, the screen of her phone pressed to her chest in case Daisy was tempted to look.

“Clubs . . .”

“Excellent. You should try some of them.”

“Really?” Daisy’s voice rose in surprise. “I thought they were ‘enforced fun for people who don’t have anything better to do with their lives’?”