ET IN HERE!” PENELOPE BARKS the next morning with uncharacteristic sharpness.

“What’s going on?” I ask, going into her office and dropping my knapsack onto a chair.

She whips her computer monitor toward me. My mouth falls open. “Oh, shit!” I squeak.

There on the screen, in full color, is one of those moving computer cartoons. Of Aragorn. And Legolas. In a rather compromising position, though Legolas seems to be having a good time.

“What the hell?” I ask. My heart is thumping wildly, my throat dry. “Someone must have hacked in! I’ll…I have to…I’ll get it off.”

“Yes! Do that!” Penelope says.

I fly over to my desk and turn on my computer. While it’s booting up, I notice that everyone else is studiously not looking at me. Lucia is answering the phones, which are ringing off the damn hook with angry citizens, no doubt. Carl is talking in a low voice with Danielle in layout. He glances at me in consternation…What the hell? Who could have done this? Penelope and I are the only ones with the password that can access the Web site design.

“Nice abs on Aragorn,” Pete murmurs without glancing up.

“Not funny, Pete,” I say. My eyes are burning. God, this is bad, bad, bad.

Alan looks furious. Well, he should! Our Web site has gay porn on it, for heaven’s sake! How many people have seen it? How many kids? Oh, shit!

My computer is finally booted. I start up the Web site design program, type in the password—my hands are shaking and I get it wrong twice—and there it is, Aragorn screwing Legolas.

“Bleecch!” I can’t help saying. I click on the image and delete it and it’s gone, thank God. Then I quickly save the changes and publish the site to the Internet.

“Is it gone?” I ask Pete.

He clicks on his screen. “Yeah. Too bad. I was getting a little turned on.”

“Not funny. Still.” For the next hour, I check all the pages and links to make sure Aragorn and Legolas aren’t getting it on somewhere else. They’re not, mercifully. Though I’m adept at setting up a Web site, I know very little about hacking. How someone got in is a mystery. We have firewalls, the password, which is a long series of random numbers and letters…I just don’t know. Then I call the company that supplies our domain and ask them to change the password, explaining what happened.

“Well, if someone can hack into the Department of Defense, they’re gonna be able to get into a little newspaper,” the drone at the other end of the phone says.

“Great. Thanks for your help,” I snap.

Angela cruises in ten minutes later. “Hi, everyone! I have muffins from a new bakery in Lake George. Help yourselves!” The mood of the office hits her, and she comes over to my desk. “What’s going on?”

“Someone hacked into the Web site and put up porn,” I mutter.

“Oh, no!” she says, her face falling. “How could that happen?”

“Got me.” I look up at her. “Lord of the Rings porn. Aragorn and Legolas.”

She goes white. “Oh, no,” she says again.

“I know,” I whisper.

A few minutes later, Penelope sticks her head out of her office. “Staff meeting!”

Like penguins, we all toddle into the conference room. The Web site is my responsibility. I’m sweating by the time I sit down. Even Lucia looks nervous.

“As everyone is quite aware, we’re in deep shit,” Penelope announces. “Chastity. Tell us what happened.”

“Um, well, someone obviously hacked into the Web site,” I say, looking around. “Someone who wants us to look bad.”

“Who would want that?” Lucia asks, nibbling a cuticle.

We all pause. “I don’t know,” I say. “I’m trying to figure out how they did it, but the truth is, anyone who can hack past the security we have in place is a lot more clever than I am. I’ve changed the password and ordered another firewall, Pen. If anyone has more suggestions, please speak up.” My cheeks are burning.

“We’ve had over fifty calls this morning, Chastity,” Pen says, her usually friendly face grim.

“I’ll be happy to field them,” I say, swallowing. “This is my responsibility. I wish I could do more.”

“Maybe you need to check the Web site every night,” Angela suggests.

“Definitely,” I say. I know that I’ll be checking it not just when I go to bed, but in the middle of the night and first thing in the morning, too.

“Damage control?” Pen asks.

“I’ll run a story, of course,” Alan says. “We can drum up some sympathy, explain about hackers, security, that kind of thing.” He sighs deeply, shaking his head, then looks at me, his angry expression softening. “Sorry this happened, Chastity.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Anything else?” Pen asks. No one says a word. “Chastity, in my office, okay?”

She lets the door close before leaning on her desk. I sit uncomfortably on the edge of the seat. “This is bad, Chastity. Do you think it’s a coincidence, it being Lord of the Rings and all? Because it’s kind of common knowledge around here that you’re a big fan.”

“So is Angela,” I mutter. “But yes, it seems a little coincidental, doesn’t it? Honestly, Pen, is there someone who might do this? Someone who wants the paper to have a black eye? Or just me in particular?”

We look at each other, both of us worried. After a minute, she looks away. “I know Lucia was really pissed when she didn’t get your job,” she begins, “but I don’t think she’d ever do anything to damage the paper’s image. She loves the Gazette.”

I nod. “And honestly, if she knows how to hack into a Web site, she’s hidden it well. She can’t even forward me attachments, even though I’ve shown her four times.”

“Yeah, she’s a bit slow when it comes to computers,” Penelope acknowledges.

“I know, Pen. I can’t imagine…” My voice trails off.

“What about someone you know, Chastity? Does someone have a vendetta against you or something?”

I shake my head. “Not that I know of.”

The rest of the day is grim and quiet. We do what damage control we can. The local news station sends a camera crew over, ensuring that every computer geek teenager in town will try his or her hand at hacking in tonight. I spend another hour on the phone with a Web site consultant and download more security. And I constantly check the Web site, all its pages, dreading what I might find. But it’s clean.

I’ve never been in trouble at work before. This feeling of sheepishness, of letting down the team, is new and not at all welcome. I stay late, check the new firewalls and passwords, then head for the river. Though I rowed this morning, I need to burn off the bad karma that’s been floating around me all day. Besides, this morning had been Ernesto’s lesson, and I didn’t get my usual workout.

I keep a change of clothes at Old Man McCluskey’s shed. Pulling them on, I lift Rosebud out of her sling and carry her out to the water. A few pulls on the oars and I’m out on the Hudson. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that the river is clear of any traffic, and I dig in. Feather…and square. Feather…and square. I don’t bother warming up today. I need the punishment. The image of Aragorn and Legolas refuses to be deposed, though. Damn it. Was it personal? Who hates me that much? Could it be a brotherly joke? I dismiss the idea as I pull on the oars, leaning back with all my strength. No, the boys wouldn’t—and probably couldn’t—hack into our system. Lucky might have the technical knowledge, but my brothers would never jeopardize my work. And there’s no way this can be seen as anything but sabotage.

Feather…and square. Feather…and square. Catch and drive…catch and drive. I bury the blade of the oar in the water and pull back, but my stroke is off tonight. My movements are jerky, the run of my boat not nearly as long as it usually is. First I’m rushing, then I’m slow, my seat threatens to jump the track. A shitty row, all in all.

Just then, I commit what is referred to as a crab. Because I’m distracted and off tempo, I don’t pull my portside blade out of the water in time. It drags, acting as a brake, and my oar jolts back at me. I struggle for a minute, trying to keep the boat from tipping, then wrestle the oar back into position. I pause, catching my breath. Even if this has been a crap outing, I’m panting like a Labrador in August. Glancing at the shore, I can see that I’ve drifted to about twenty feet from the riverbank, right by the park that runs along the river. Anyone watching me would have seen my graceless gaffe, which doesn’t do any more for my self-esteem.

I pause for a minutes, letting the current pull Rosebud. The park is lovely, one of the town’s finest graces. There are benches scattered about, and lots of people are enjoying this beautiful May evening. Couples hold hands, kids run around shrieking. Someone’s flying a kite.

I wonder if anyone there saw Legolas and Aragorn this morning.

Someone’s waving to me from a bench right alongside the river, a little upstream of where I am. I wave back before I can discern who it is, then pull on my oars and pull a stroke or two, drawing closer. There are two people, actually. Oh, great. Trevor.

He’s with Perfect Hayden.

“Hey, guys,” I call gamely.

“Looking good, Chastity,” Trevor calls back.

“Shows what you know, dummy,” I answer.

“Hi, Chastity,” Hayden says mellifluously. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” And then, yes, she scootches a little closer to Trevor. Not seeing each other, my ass. I’ll have to have a little talk with him. Wasn’t he out with Angela the other night, after all? And didn’t Perfect Hayden walk all over his heart with her tiny high-heeled shoes once already? Here they are, cuddled up on a bench on a gorgeous spring evening, but hey, they’re not seeing each other, are they? Of course not.

Without further thought, I turn Rosebud around and row back to the shed. If I’m stomping a little, who can blame me? It’s been a piss-poor day. I pat my boat apologetically as I put her back. “Sorry, pal,” I say. “I’ll do better next time.”