“Where were you raised?” Kal asks.
I don’t like his questions. I don’t like any personal questions to be honest. The last thing I want him to do is figure out who my parents are.
I shrug my shoulders. “We moved a lot. I grew up in South America mostly. I spent the majority of my childhood in Argentina and Venezuela. I also spent a few years in Peru.”
“Explains your accent,” he says.
“Accent?” I raise an eyebrow in wonder. I’ve never been told that I have an accent. In fact, it’s something my parents trained me not to have. I mean, I can have whatever kind of accent I want, but when I speak normally, I just sound like an average American, even though the time I’ve spent training in Florida is the most time I’ve ever spent in my home country.
“Just when your mad.” He grins. “It’s cute.”
I roll my eyes.
“Why do you do that when I call you cute?”
I don’t bother responding. While I do like Kal, we aren’t at the point where I feel comfortable sharing my past with him just yet. “Do you like living in Florida after living in Hawaii for so long?”
“It’s just different.” He doesn’t point out my subject change, even though I can see the curiosity in his eyes. He wants to push, but he won’t. “The waves here are baby ones. I miss surfing. But there are worse places to be.”
I rather like being in Florida. And my team, well... I like them more than I care to admit, even to myself.
“If it really bothers you when I call you cute, I won’t do it anymore,” Kal says.
I turn to him, shaking my head. “No. It’s not you. It’s me. My issues and all that. I kind of like it when you call me cute.”
I’m surprised by the honesty of my answer. Kal doesn’t say it to me like an insult—he doesn’t say it like the way I look is the only redeeming thing about me. And even though he jokes with me, I know he sees me as a good agent. Even after I got him shot, he thinks I’m good enough to be on this team.
“Want to watch something with me?” he asks, putting his arm around me as he turns on the TV.
“Sure.” I lean into him. If the other guys were here, they’d be scowling at us. To be honest, Kal probably wouldn’t be sitting this close to me. But the other guys aren’t here and Ian is hiding in his room. What the rest of them don’t know won’t hurt them. Besides, Kal is my friend. Against all odds, we have somehow gotten close.
Kal turns on some medical drama that I’m surprised he even watches, though I shouldn’t be. Kal does like a lot of chick shows. And we stay there just like that, watching about four episodes before finally going to bed.
For the first time in a week, I have hope that things are going to turn out all right. I mean, they have to, right?
Friday, September 29
You’re a failure.
An obnoxious tune coming from my nightstand wakes me up. It’s the tune to ‘Cruella De Vil,’ which is, not so ironically, my mother’s ringtone. As a kid, I always thought of my mother as Cruella, only instead of hating puppies, she hated me.
I want to ignore the phone call, but I know ignoring it doesn’t work. My mom will keep calling until I answer. Or worse, she’ll call one of the guys and demand to speak to me. Seeing as I don’t want the guys to know who my parents are, I decide to just answer.
My stomach is in knots as I lift the phone to my ear.
“Hello.” There is no need for me to greet her or call her ‘mommy.’ Unlike the friend of the assassin, I do not heart my mother. As harsh as it sounds, I wouldn’t even mourn her if she were to pass away.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” Mom says.
Tone?
What tone?
My mother is freaking insane. She calls me at four o’clock in the morning, wakes me up, and accuses me of using a ‘tone’ with her. Any tone I’m using is my half-asleep voice.
Still, I stay quiet, deciding it’s better not to respond to her at all. I just wait for het to get on with whatever she called to yell at me about.
She sighs and I can literally feel her disappointment through the phone.
Ah, so this isn’t going to be a good call.
“I heard about what happened on your mission, and your father and I are very disappointed in you.”
I remain quiet, not knowing what to say—this is a conversation that we’ve had many times before. She and Dad are always disappointed in me. Well, she says my dad is, and Dad never says anything to correct her. Maybe he’s just as scared of her as I am.
“You are such a failure. I just don’t know where I went wrong.” Mom’s voice is stern and I can almost see the look she would give me—the long stare, the narrowed eyes, the slight shake of her head. She’s embarrassed to have me as a daughter and she’s told me so many times that it doesn’t even hurt me anymore, not like it used to.
My mom pauses, and I know she’s waiting for me to say something, but I still don’t know what to say. No matter what comes out of my mouth, it won’t be enough.
“I’m sorry.”
She snorts. “Sorry? That weak cry baby routine worked when you were a child, but you are an adult now, Roxy Villareal. Get your butt in gear. Spend more time training. Do whatever you can to be the best, or you will be forced to change your last name. I refuse to be related to somebody as weak as you are.”
Tears press against the back of my eyes, but I don’t let them fall.
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the call comes to an end and I pull the phone away from my ear to see a black screen.
Tossing my phone onto the bed, I get dressed and ready for a quick morning run. It’s early to leave for my run, the other guys won’t be ready for nearly an hour, but I need to run. I need to push myself. I need...
New parents.
For a moment, I wonder if having a new last name would be all that bad. The last name Villareal has haunted me my whole life. If my parents disown me then I won’t have to worry about being a disappointment anymore. Maybe I can quit The Royals—I could quit Spy School. But then what would I have? Spy School is my life and The Royals is my dream. Wanting to join The Royals has nothing to do with my parents and everything to do with me. I want to make a difference and I will make a difference.
I will show my mom—I am good enough. It’s why I got the invitation and it’s why I work so hard.
I push my door open quietly, not wanting to wake West, but find him coming out of the bathroom as I am coming out of my bedroom. I nearly run into him.
“Sorry,” I mumble, stepping aside.
West is standing there in only a pair of boxer briefs. I force myself not to look down and I clear my throat.
“Do you always sleep naked?”
He smirks. “Before a chick moved in with us, yeah. Now I have to wear clothes.”
I don’t really consider boxer briefs ‘clothes,’ but I’m not going to fight him on it.
“Why are you up at four in the morning wearing workout clothes?” he asks, as if he’s just now noticing what I’m wearing.
I look down at my white sports bra, light pink top, and my pastel pink flowered leggings. “I always go running early.”
“Not usually this early. And not that it does you any good. You still suck.”
I roll my eyes. “So, now we’re throwing petty insults at one another for no reason.”
“Oh, I have a reason. You nearly got my best friend killed.”
I flinch at the harshness of his words.
West is in a mood this morning.
“Maybe you should go back to sleep for a while. You’re cranky this morning.” I go to walk past him and head toward the door, but he reaches a hand out and grabs my arm.
“Why are you trying so hard?” he asks.
I turn to him. “What do you mean?”
“I want a reason to kick you off the team,” he says. “Give me a reason.”
I yank my arm from his grip and turn around, leaving him standing there.
/> No matter what I do, I can never seem to be enough for anybody. Not enough for my mom, not enough for West and my team. Am I really that bad?
As I run, I ignore the tears that roll down my face. It’s better if I don’t acknowledge them. If I do, it just proves that my mom is right—I am weak.
I wish for once in my life that I could be good enough. But I’m always the odd one out. At Spy School, I had friends, but they were just people I hung out with at school. Come summer, I wouldn’t hear one word from them until school started back again. Meanwhile, they would go to each other’s houses or go on vacations together—not me. I was always left out.
The day I got an invitation to The Royals, I thought it was the best day of my life. At least until the guys basically told me I suck and they don’t want me on their team.
But one of them voted for me. I just can’t figure out who.
I suppose it could’ve been Kal. He’s been nice to me. We even hung out for hours last night, watching that dumb TV show—not that we really paid much attention to the show. We mostly just talked. It was nice. It gave me hope that things could be better.
Then my mom called.
And West yelled at me.
It’s always one step forward and two steps back.
But if I quit... if I prove my mother right and I give up, where does that leave me? The only thing that I have ever wanted is to be in The Royals.
I won’t give up. My mom and West are wrong. I can do this.
Now... I just want to go back to bed and sleep until tomorrow, but unfortunately, my day has just begun.
Conference call.
When I get done with training that afternoon, I am sore. I want to take a long, hot shower, but considering the five of us all have to take showers, I settle for a lukewarm, short shower.
Maybe they like making trainees suffer. That’s why they shove five of us in this tiny condo with two bathrooms and the world’s smallest hot water heater. But I know that this is temporary. I’m starting to miss my small dorm room at Spy School. At least I had my own bathroom and I never ran out of hot water.
West scoffs as I come out of the bathroom. “Why does it take you twice as long to shower as everybody else?”
I roll my eyes. “Are you kidding, Kal takes the longest—”
“Hey!” Kal yells.
“But even so, it takes a long time to wash all this.” I motion at my hair. “I suppose I could cut it to make you happy.”
“No. Don’t cut it.” West turns and walks away from me.
Geez, West really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.
I walk into the living room where I find Alek and Ian fighting over something, and Kal is stretched out over half the couch. West takes a seat at the dining room table with his laptop open, so I sit on the end of the couch, on top of Kal’s feet. He moves them at the last second and then puts his feet on my lap.
“You could rub my feet for me.”
I throw his feet off my lap. “In your dreams.”
Kal tries his best to look sad. “Sometimes my feet hurt—you know, from my gunshot wound.”
I chuckle. “Right. Your feet hurt because you got shot in the arm. It makes total sense. But I’m still not touching your feet. Not even if you paid me. Gross, Kal.”
He sits up, scooting next to me. “I would rub your feet.”
I lift up my foot and wiggle my toes. “Get to rubbing.”
“You have nice feet,” he observes.
I put my foot back on the floor. “Please tell me you don’t have some kind of weird foot fetish.”
“No.” He wrinkles his nose. “I just like that you paint your toe nails.”
They’re currently a pastel blue color and my finger nails are white. Despite what the guys say, painting my nails is not a bad thing.
“Want me to paint yours?” I offer.
His eyes light up. “What color?”
West looks over his computer toward Kal and me. “Kal, if you paint your toe nails I will put you on trash duty for a month.”
Kal frowns. “Never mind. I don’t want my toes to be pretty.”
I lean closer to Kal and whisper, “We could always paint West’s toes while he’s sleeping.”
He laughs.
West grunts. “Kal, I think you and Princess need to put some space between you. I don’t like all the giggling that is going on. What are you, a twelve-year-old girl?”
Kal winks at me before scooting over half an inch.
He’s defiant. I like that.
West opens his mouth, probably to yell some more, when his computer starts playing a tune.
“Video call from Michael Sinclair,” West announces.
Everybody sits up straighter, waiting for West to command them. Either we have to listen in on this call or this call is for West only. I momentarily wonder if West talked to Michael Sinclair about how badly I messed up in Santorini, but I try not to focus on that.
“Hey,” West answers.
“West, are your teammates around?” The familiar stern voice asks.
“Yeah.” West waves us all to come around his computer.
I get up from the couch. I notice Kal winces as he’s getting up—where he got shot still pains him when he moves certain ways, even though he is mostly healed now. I feel guilty and I wait for him, making sure he doesn’t need help.
Kal puts his arm around my shoulders and we walk toward the computer where West, Ian, and Alek are waiting for us. West is glaring at Kal, so Kal drops his arm. I roll my eyes at West, but I put a smile on my face as I come around the computer. I don’t want Michael Sinclair to see me scowling at West.
Normally at Spy School you’re allowed to pick who you want to be on a team with, but The Royals are different. Yes, the four guys had a vote of who they wanted, but Michael Sinclair always gets the final vote. He tries to put together teams he thinks will get along well, but it’s more important that we work together well. Whenever a team has a problem getting along, I hear Michael will sometimes lock a team in a room and force them to work out their differences.
My dad told me the story of how I was conceived once—it was disturbing. But he said that my mom and he were having differences, so Michael Sinclair locked them in a room together. They had everything they needed, food, clothes, shower, a bed. But that was it. There were no books or TVs or any other way to get entertainment. Every day, Michael Sinclair would call them at six in the evening and ask if they were getting along yet. Two weeks passed before they finally worked through their problems, by that time my mother was pregnant with me, though they didn’t know, and Michael Sinclair let them out. I used to think it was harsh, but that is Spy School. Nothing about us is normal. But it does scare me. The last thing I want is to be locked in a room with these four guys. I shiver just thinking about it.
If Michael Sinclair locked the five of us in one room, West and I would most definitely kill one another. Or I’d try to kill him. He would be the one to kill me. No matter how strong I think I am, he’s stronger. Maybe in a few years I could take him, but not now.
“I’m calling to give you an update on the situation in Saudi Arabia,” Michael says.
My heart sinks.
Right—that situation. We took care of the assassin, but he was hired by somebody. He was a pawn. Though the five of us helped with the case, it isn’t completely ours. I know there are other people working on it. Even Michael Sinclair himself is working on it.
“They are on the brink of war. They want justice for what happened to the king’s favorite son.” Michael sighs. “Since the assassin is dead, we need to figure out who hired him.”
The guys glance at me for a split second, but quickly look back at the computer screen.
Right... like I didn’t feel guilty enough already.
“I’m not blaming anybody,” Michael says. “I knew this mission would be tough. Since the assassin isn’t around to be questioned, I’m going to leave it up to you. I am doing everyth
ing I can to delay a war, but things are not good. I want you to focus all of your attention on this between training.”
“Yes, sir. We will find out who hired him,” West says. “I believe Ian will be our best weapon in this. Will you excuse him from training and classes while he figures it out?”
“Classes, yes. Training, no. I want Ian to keep training.” Michael pauses. “And Ian, make sure you’re getting plenty of sleep. I will be monitoring it. If I suspect that you’re losing sleep to work on this, I will assign the case to somebody else.”
Ian nods.
I wonder what’s up with that. Losing sleep on the job is pretty normal, especially one this important. But then again, Ian is a pretty obsessive guy. Maybe he’s had problems with not sleeping in the past, in order to try and solve things, I’m not sure. Nobody says a word about it.
“And Roxy, I hear you’ve been doing excellent in training. Keep up the good work,” Michael says.
“Thank you, sir.” I am surprised that he knows I’ve been doing extra training. There are a lot of Spy School agents. The fact that he has taken any interest in me shocks me.
The call ends abruptly and we all stand there for a few more seconds, staring at the computer screen.
Ian is the first one to break the silence. “I suppose I should get started on what Michael Sinclair asked me to do.”
West nods. “You can take the desk into your room. Kal and Alek won’t bother you in there.”
Ian nods, then turns to walk to his room, grabbing his laptop from the coffee table.
West looks at me. “That goes for you, too. Don’t bother Ian.”
I roll my eyes.
As if I would bother him.
Ian and I do not get along, and if West hasn’t seen that by now then he’s not as smart as I think he is.
“You don’t have to always be a jerk,” I tell him.
He grins. “Yeah, I do, Princess.”
There he is with that stupid nickname again. I missed him calling me that, but now I’m starting to wonder why I missed it. It’s infuriating, which is probably why he calls me that. He likes to get me riled up.
The Unwanted Spy Page 10
