Diary 1: From Heroes to Zeros DIARY 1 FROM HEROES TO ZEROS
Today, Apricot treated us to a joke Valentine’s Day card she created.

“I think,” she said to Banana, Crabapple, and me, “that F.A.R.T.’s Brain Modem is like getting a card from your parents that says, ‘We’d love you if…’?”

We’d love you if…

You’d stop dreaming.

Grab a broom

And your room be cleaning.

Read a book and get some smarts.

Your rotten grades are off the charts.

Change your goofy point of view,

And hang out with a better crew.

And if none of that is getting through,

We’d love you if

You weren’t so YOU.

She had nailed it, all right. That was what F.A.R.T.’s Brain Modem promised to do: grant your parents’ wish to create a better you—except that you wouldn’t be you anymore.

Apricot laughed at her homemade card, but her tears gave her away. The Brain Modem was truly the dream of a dark heart.

Call me a fool, but until yesterday I didn’t think F.A.R.T. would stoop so low. Sure, we all knew that the secret society called Families Against Rotten Teens, or F.A.R.T., was devoted to keeping kids frazzled and frustrated. We knew that their motto was:

“It doesn’t matter who wins, as long as kids lose.”

That’s what their insane parenting manual is all about, and why we had led a revolt against them. (If you’ve been part of it—thank you for your service!) But creating a Brain Modem? That was unthinkable.

And just plain mean.

Even F.A.R.T.’s former president, Lola Butcher, had pledged never to use it, but that didn’t stop their research. In fact, after we hacked F.A.R.T.’s secret website, we saw pictures of dazed Brain Modem testers with spaghetti-like wires dangling from their heads. It seemed like a joke at the time, but Banana didn’t laugh.
GEE, YOU HARDLY NOTICE IT.
Although he believed in weird internet nonsense like “Burger King once ruled England,” Banana was also a genuine cyber-samurai—a gamer who conquered pixelated realms and a programmer who tamed wild algorithms. He knew his stuff.

“You wait,” he had cautioned. “Sooner or later, everything gets smaller and faster. Brain Modems will too.”

We didn’t have to wait very long.

Twenty-four hours ago, here, in this very room at Baldy’s—an abandoned hair salon that we used as our rebel HQ—we had intercepted an emergency bulletin from F.A.R.T.

It said that we rebels had done too good a job. F.A.R.T. was hurting so much that they had replaced their leader, Lola Butcher, with their ruthless security chief, Stig Plunger. (See left.) Memorize his face. Stig is the kind of guy who would steal gas out of an ambulance.
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Stig LOVED the Brain Modem so much that he shrank it down to the size of a fearsome flea, small enough to hide in your food, and strong enough to do the job. Once you’d swallowed a Brain Modem and F.A.R.T. had activated it, your parents could order you around with an app, just like they’d order a pizza from Grubhub, except you’d be the pizza.

Can’t you just see it?

Dad: Son, would you take out the garbage?

Son: Sure, Pop!

Dad: And paint the garage?

Son: Sure, Pop!

Dad: And get me a coffee?

Son: Sure, Pop!

Dad: And a donut?

Son: Sure, Pop! Sprinkles on the donut?

Dad: NO SPRINKLES THIS TIME!

So there we were—four tired rebels slumped in Baldy’s barber chairs and drowning in questions: WHERE exactly was F.A.R.T.? HOW would F.A.R.T. distribute the tiny Brain Modems? Were some kids ALREADY infected? Were WE?

This was no way to start our midwinter school break, believe me. Being surrounded by old posters of women in strange hairdos laughing at us didn’t help either.

Oh, and as an added bonus, one more whammy was headed our way, and Crabapple was about to deliver it.
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A SPECIAL NOTE TO YOU—THE READER

I know what you’re thinking. I’ve thought it myself: What would be wrong with having great grades and no worries with a Brain Modem? You’d smile plenty, that’s for sure, except you wouldn’t know why. Check out this last installment of the F.A.R.T. manual to get a taste of what this evil organization is about. Jack Hack and Fearless Publishing reprinted it from a genuine copy I lifted from my parents. AND REMEMBER: If this were an actual F.A.R.T. manual, Stig Plunger could destroy it by remote control. That’s who we’re dealing with.