A Spy Like Me (22 page)

“Oh, okay.” My chest deflated.

How could I possibly tell him that mom
probably wouldn’t answer the phone? That she might never see
daylight again? I couldn’t. Not without telling him about my recent
spy missions. And then just like that, he turned and left.

There it was. Proof. I’d messed up big time
with Dad. I trudged back to my room and curled up into a ball in my
closet near the box of special mementos. Standing in open view in
front of windows didn’t seem very wise given the circumstances. I
flipped through the box of gadgets, thinking back on how my life
had changed in two weeks. My emotions veered back and forth between
rage at Malcolm for tricking me and extreme fear for my mom.

The door creaked open. “Savvy?”

“What?” I crawled out of the closet and sat
on my bed.

Dad studied me. I mean really looked at me.
He opened his mouth several times before spitting out what was on
his mind. “Do you want to stay here? With me?”

Tears burned. Dad had been the one to stay,
to provide, to burn the mac and cheese for me. He wasn’t perfect,
but he cared.

“Yes,” I said, my heart blooming and filling
some of the hollow spaces in my chest.

His whole body seemed to lighten and the
wrinkles smoothed out. The smile on his face radiated and was like
salve on my heart. He wanted me!

“Terrific. But I’ll still try and communicate
with your mom.”

“Why did she leave?” I blurted out, testing
him.

“Those are questions only your mother can
answer.” He stepped closer. “I know it’s hard, without your mom
around. A year ago your life was thrown into chaos.”

He sat on the bed and put his hand on my
shoulder. “But you’re strong. If you can survive my cooking, you
can survive anything. You’re a fighter. Don’t forget that.”

He kissed my forehead, then he left with a
fresh spring in his step. Wow. I was on dad-daughter-bonding
overload. He believed in me. Even though I’d screwed up, numerous
times, more times than he even knew, he believed in me. The anger
and fear faded and morphed into something new and different.
Determination.

Then I saw the hat. The spy hat. The
wonderful, glorious black hat Dad gave me as a gift. Laughter
bubbled up from some creepy twisted place inside of me because I
shouldn’t be finding a spy hat the least bit humorous. I crouched
down on the floor and ran my fingers across the folded edge. It
wasn’t so bad. At least it wasn’t zebra striped. Right?

And then there was the box of spy gadgets
from bugs to audio-recording devices to code-breaking books. But
many more lay in the box, screaming out the same message. They
almost vibrated. I ran my fingers over them, and the pulse shocked
my fingertips and spread like wildfire up through my arms. A switch
in my brain flicked on. I’d been doing it.

All along, ever since the fateful night that
I’d made the decision to tie up Malcolm, I’d been doing what I
swore I’d never do. I thrived on danger. I took risks. I wore
disguises and listened in on conversations. Oh. My. Holy. Spy.
Pants. What did I ever have against spying anyway?

I moved to the edge of the bed, my body
tense, racking my brain on how to rescue my mom and make things
right. The Extravaganza was this Saturday, the same exact time as
Spy Games. I couldn’t be in two places at once. I needed to be at
the Extravaganza. I’d probably never know what Mom was supposed to
do there, not if she’d been taken hostage. But I had to go. The
answer came quickly in the form of the person I’d offended the
worst. Peyton. I’d ask him to help me in Spy Games to make up for
my mistakes.

I’d been playing the game wrong, boldly
stepping into this chaotic mess like I had a right, like I was
immune to getting hurt. I needed to play a different game, one that
didn’t include clumsily spying on people and breaking and entering
houses. I needed to stop thinking of being a spy as James Bond and
007 and all that. Spies could be normal people. Like me. Innocent
people who drew on their strengths of normalness. I needed to
embrace my allies instead of leaning on my enemies.

For the first time in a long time, the
cobwebs in my mind cleared, and I felt purpose. I could find some
answers and free my mom. At the same time, I could make up for my
mistakes by taking action and making Dad proud. Step one in
Operation Save Prisoner?

Training.

I had one day to train and be ready for Spy
Games.

I grit my teeth to pull out another ten
sit-ups. When that was done and my stomach muscles allowed me to
move again, I hopped to my feet. I stood outside in the tiny front
yard, hoping our neighbors in the apartment building wouldn’t peek
out their windows.

I jumped back and forth and shook out my arms
like a boxer would before a match. I might not have done my job
before, but I would do it now.

Do fifty more push ups and twenty
lunges
, my internal trainer shouted.

I did them.

Harder. Don’t quit. Don’t slow down.

I didn’t.

The chill in the air encouraged me to move.
After completing a series of karate kicks and floor drops and ninja
turns—that I totally made up—I did them again. And again.

Thirty minutes later, after rolling in the
grass, kicking like the Karate Kid, and leaping like a ballerina, I
dropped into the grass and groaned. Sweat soaked my shirt and
dripped off the sides of my face.

Holy cow! I couldn’t keep training like this
or I wouldn’t be able to walk to the Extravaganza finals the next
day. I hobbled back to my room and dragged the box out of my
closet. The guilt that hung over this box could finally leave
because for the first time, it would get put to good use. Dad gave
me this when we arrived in Paris as a welcoming gift. It was one of
the many things he’d done to get me excited about his spy venture,
but I don’t think I’d ever looked through the whole thing. I dug
down for the book on breaking codes. At the bottom of the box, I
found a silver case. I’d never seen this. I opened it and my mouth
dropped open. A switchblade? With shaky fingers, I flicked it and a
sharp knife popped out.

Holy freaking hell
. Um, yeah. I closed
it back in the case and shoved it to the bottom of the box. Then I
found the book. After racing back to the kitchen the best I could
on my sore legs, I slapped down a page of basic code breaking.

Code breaking 101. You have five
minutes
.

I attacked each one like I was going for
Olympic gold, scribbling furiously, a smile spreading across my
face. If only Dad could see me. When the time was up, I sat back
with satisfaction. The days of starting off a training day at
Les Pouffant’s
were over. What would Aimee think? She’d
laugh and say, “About time.” I closed my eyes and pictured Aimee’s
infectious smile, the one that used to greet me every morning. We’d
chat and joke about Spy Games. Truth was I missed her.

An hour later, with a black scarf wrapped
around my neck and wearing dark, inconspicuous clothing, I studied
Peyton’s apartment building. It felt like years ago that Malcolm
and I crouched in the bushes waiting for the right moment to break
in, using my oh-so-sly methods. I kinda missed those days when
Malcolm and I would flirt and do spy stuff together instead of
against each other. And that was only a couple of weeks ago.

When I’d called Peyton, his phone number had
been disconnected. I contemplated how he might react to my surprise
visit. He could call the police. He could tie me up and stuff me
into a closet. Or he might just take my offer and help out during
Spy Games. My way of an apology on the path to becoming a better
Spy Games staffer and daughter. Only one way to find out.

Each step across the street and into his
apartment building caused a crack in my confidence. This guy hated
me. In front of his door, instead of slicing the pie or nonsense
like that. I knocked. And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

I knocked again. The idea of breaking in
tempted me. I mean I hadn’t turned my back on spying, just on my
laziness when it came to working for Dad. I knocked once more. And
the door opened a crack. Hmm. This wouldn’t be breaking in, just
popping in for a friendly Spy Games hello. Especially if I tripped
and my toes nudged the door open all the way and I just kinda fell
into the apartment.

Oops! I fell forward. How clumsy of me.

But it didn’t matter. The apartment was empty
of everything but the furniture. Empty. As in no signs of people
living there. No trash. No half-empty coffee cups. No loaf of bread
on the counter. I scoured the apartment. The nose strips were gone.
The books, the maps, everything. It was like Peyton never lived
here. Bummer. But I’d tried. I shrugged it off and went home to
gear up for the next day.

After a restless night’s sleep, the morning
of the Extravaganza and Operation Save Prisoner dawned. In the back
of my closet I found a pair of black leather pants I’d packed for
the Paris nightlife. I pinned the flower/audio-recorder to my
shirt. Then I pulled out the switchblade and tucked it into my
sock. Just in case.

I was a spy. But not the cold-hearted, sneaky
kind who worked for profit. I’d be different. The kind of spy who
saved people. Like my mom. The kind who solved problems and rooted
out the bad guys because they were bad. Not because of how much I
got paid. I’d be a daughter and rescue my mom. Even if the boy I’d
developed a huge crush on might be trying to kill us. And I’d make
my dad proud. I’d run my first tenner in five months even if it
killed me. And then, I’d be...a spy like me.

At nine a.m. on the dot, I creaked open the
door to the warehouse. On time. Gray Chalston wasn’t even here yet.
Dad studied his notes. I stared at him in awe. His hair was
perfectly styled, not for vanity, but so it wouldn’t fall in his
eyes while in the field. Maybe it was the only way to control his
hair or maybe no one ever told him he used a bit too much gel.
Nancy and Malcolm entered from the side, with Frankie on their
heels. Dad nodded at them as they took their spots around the
table. For some reason, I couldn’t make myself walk forward. I
couldn’t move from watching them through the crack in the door.

I mean how hard was this? I’d been doing it
for months. But that was when I didn’t care. I wiped my sweaty
palms on my pants, and sudden panic hit me. Maybe I shouldn’t have
worn these pants. They did make my butt look a little big. And the
hat was totally dorky. What was I thinking? Call me delusional.
They’d probably take one look at me and laugh. I should’ve got here
before anyone else arrived. Too late.

I watched as Nancy chatted gaily with
Malcolm. They laughed like old friends. God, he was cute. And a
flirt. He’d once turned that killer smile on me, and where had that
gotten me? Nowhere good. He’d tangled up my heartstrings, made me
care.

They all cast nervous glances at each other.
Waiting for me. Dad pulled a clump of gel from the side of his
hair, stalling, probably waiting for me to disappoint him. It was
time. I clutched my throat. Was it closing up? I stepped back from
the door and took several shallow breaths. Cool air breezed across
my face and hair sending goose bumps down my arms. I thought about
Aimee. Mom. And Dad. All his hopes and dreams in me. Deep breaths.
They needed me. I could do this. I could find and rescue my mom.
After one more giant breath, I grabbed the door and opened it
again.

Malcolm ran right into me.

“What are you doing out here?” Malcolm
asked.

“Nothing.” Why didn’t I memorize some cool
spy lingo?

With a flip of my hair, I faced him,
channeling the coolness factor of an iceberg. His eyes widened and
traveled up and down my body. I glared at him, trying to hide my
reaction. He backed up. I brushed past him and strode across the
warehouse toward the others, shoulders back, head up, chest out. My
black boots clomped on the cement. My spy hat slipped, and I pushed
it back into place. Dad opened his mouth but no words came. A
noticeable gleam filled his eyes.

“Welcome, Savvy.” He finally managed to
say.

Minutes later, I was clicking into my cables
and tightening the ropes. The metal rafter was firm beneath my
feet, and I simply refused to look down. My legs still felt rubbery
from my three-mile run, which had dwindled into a jog up and down
the street. Start small. That was key.

Gray nodded in approval. After his
introduction speech, Dad boomed out the names of the staff. Frankie
dropped down first then Nancy until it was Gray, Malcolm, and me.
My eyes flicked over to Malcolm’s. I couldn’t read his expression.
His steely gray eyes caught mine and held them for a few
seconds.

Gray interrupted. “Malcolm, your turn.”

He flew down to the cement floor in his hot
spy glamour, much to the awe of the clients.

Gray nodded. My turn.

Dad’s voice boomed, “And here’s Savvy!”

Without a thought, I jumped, my arm straight
out, my head held high. The wind rippled through my shirt and my
eyes teared up. I clenched the ropes until my feet landed on the
cement. I think I even got a few gasps myself. Damn. Soon, Jolie
Pouffant would regret the day he messed with Savvy Bent.

I breezed through my informant job at the
Eiffel Tower. I handed out clues with confidence. I stayed focused.
This round was not about a hostage. One of the clients was a mole,
a double agent, and the rest of the clients had to find the stolen
Da Vinci, while digging for the mole. Extra points for the team who
could name the double agent. I could. Malcolm. But that only
counted in my book, and I wouldn’t be receiving any prizes.