Spies, Lies, and Allies

by Lisa Brown Roberts

  We watch a slick mini-movie that includes my dad being pithy, Ms. Simmons talking about branding, and a few people I don’t recognize extolling the awesomeness of Emergent Enterprises. Interspersed with these nuggets of wisdom are shots of magazine ads, social media ads, a couple of TV spots, and photos from events.

  “Product launches,” Ms. Simmons says as we study images from a fancy foodie event and a packed floor of trade booths at the convention center. The last few photos are from charity events—Emergent employees at the Race for the Cure, serving a holiday dinner at a homeless shelter, wrapping toys in Christmas paper.

  I have to admit the propaganda movie makes my dad’s company look cool…and him, too. An unexpected pulse of pride strums through me.

  Ms. Simmons turns the lights back on and we all blink at each other.

  “First, you’re all going to work as a team. I want you to come up with a product launch campaign. Figure out your target audience, stay within a budget, and give me your best idea.”

  Ashley’s grin is wide, her lips red and glossy to match her dress. Jason chews his lip, a nervous habit he’s had since forever. Trish studies Ms. Simmons, actually looking interested, which surprises me. Elijah and Carlos take notes on their laptops.

  Carlos looks up from his laptop. “Is this a real product or a fake one?”

  “It’s real, but not for a company we represent. It’s a warm-up activity for you.”

  Ashley clears her throat. “What about each of us working on our own project? I thought we got to do that.”

  Ms. Simmons’s responding smile is tight. “You will, eventually.” She glances at me. “Don’t forget that Laurel is part of your team, too. She’ll be happy to assist however you need.”

  Whoa. Who told her to say that? I bet it was Dad. Ugh. Everyone glances at me, but no one smiles.

  “Now, for the product,” Ms. Simmons says dramatically. She reaches into her tote bag and pulls out a plain white box. Everyone shifts in their chairs, leaning forward. I fantasize about an oversized jack-in-the-box sprouting a maniacal clown.

  But when Ms. Simmons opens the box, she pulls out…a miniature Death Star. We all look at each other––correction, they all look at each other. In my excitement, I try to make eye contact with someone, anyone. I wonder if this is my dad’s private message to me. That would be epic, but I don’t think he’s that clever.

  “What is that?” Carlos asks, frowning.

  “You don’t recognize it?” I’m disappointed. Even non-geeks should know it on sight.

  “I know it’s the Death Star.” The smirk flashes. “But what does it do?”

  Jason picks it up. “I think it’s a speaker.” He flips it over. “Yeah, Bluetooth connection.”

  “Let me see it.” Ashley holds out her hand and Jason slides it toward her. She studies it like she’s never seen the Death Star. I bet she hasn’t ever seen Star Wars. I wonder if she’s one of those people who dismisses all things geeky. “Is this for kids?”

  Ms. Simmons shrugs. “That’s for you all to figure out.”

  “Dude.” Elijah glowers at Ashley. “Star Wars is for everyone. Not just kids.”

  Is Elijah part of my secret tribe? He must feel my worshipful stare because he graces me with a grin.

  “What’s our fake budget?” Carlos asks.

  “Three thousand. It’s a small start-up company,” Ms. Simmons says. “Let’s pretend they’re based in a tiny town in North Dakota and this is their first product. They’re passionate about it, but don’t have money. They’ve set up a website but haven’t sold much.”

  “Hey, this is a real thing.” Jason waves his phone at us. “It’s on Amazon for fifty bucks.”

  Note to self: buy Death Star speaker with first paycheck.

  “Ah,” says Ms. Simmons, “that reminds me. For this exercise I want you to pretend Amazon doesn’t exist.”

  “What?” Jason yelps.

  “I know it seems unfair.” Ms. Simmons smiles apologetically. “Selling this on Amazon is the easy way out. I want to see how creative you can be without using the retail gorilla.”

  Carlos runs a hand over his mouth, hiding a smirk. I wonder why he finds this so amusing. He seems to find a lot of things amusing. Our gazes meet across the table and hold until I look away, my breathing coming faster than normal.

  “Just sell it at Comic Con,” Trish says, finally chiming in. “Travel around the country to all the comic cons.”

  “Genius,” Elijah whispers, putting out his hand for a fist-bump. Trish complies, smug and triumphant.

  I have to admit it’s a great idea. I love Comic Con. Denver’s is the third biggest in the country and I go every year. I’m almost done making my Qa’hr costume for this year.

  “Interesting idea.” Ms. Simmons closes her laptop and slides it into her tote bag. “Remember, the fake company is in the middle of nowhere, not close to any big comic con cities.” She slings her tote bag over her shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it. I look forward to your presentation.” She hands me a stack of papers. “Laurel, please make copies of this for everyone.”

  I nod, even as my face burns. Copies. Snacks. Great. But I’m the one who offered to work as an assistant. I shouldn’t complain. The room is quiet until she leaves, but as soon as she closes the door, everyone starts talking at once.

  “This is dumb,” Jason complains. “If we can’t sell it on Amazon what are we supposed to do?”

  “She’s treating us like children,” Ashley complains. “It’s a toy, for goodness sake.” She slides it down the table to Elijah, who picks it up with the reverence it deserves.

  “This is not a toy.” Elijah stares down Jason. “Dude. We’re supposed to be creative. Amazon’s too easy.”

  Carlos tilts his chin at Trish. “I like your idea. Let’s see if there are any small comic cons within driving distance to Podunk, North Dakota.” His fingers fly over his keyboard.

  A hot current bursts through me as Trish smiles at Carlos. Reminding myself to focus on the project, I doodle a small Death Star in my notebook, with music notes wafting out of it. I love that Elijah’s a nerd because at first glance he seems way too cool for geekdom.

  I used to fantasize that Jason was secretly a geeky jock, and that someday we’d discover a shared love of dorky fandoms. But as he stares into space, his only idea to sell the speaker on Amazon, disappointment washes over me. Just because he looks like he might star on The Big Bang Theory meets Friday Night Lights doesn’t make it real. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. My fantasies never come true.

  As everyone chatters around me, I lean across the table to pick up the Death Star. Whoever came up with it was brilliant; I’d like to meet him or her.

  “I’m sure your dad will buy you one,” Trish snarks.

  The room goes quiet and I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Heat crawls up my skin. I force a smile, pretending her statement was innocent rather than an insult.

  “I’ll buy it myself. After payday.” I don’t want everyone thinking what a spoiled daddy’s girl I am.

  “Seriously?” Ashley asks, her perfectly shaped eyebrows shooting up. “Why would you want it?”

  “Because I love Star Wars. And it’s portable, which is cool.”

  “How convenient,” Trish says, her voice laden with sarcasm. “You could take it out to your swimming pool. Or your horse stables.”

  Apparently Trish hasn’t forgotten anything from when she visited our house. I can’t make eye contact with anyone. This is mortifying. She’s made me look like a spoiled rich girl in a room full of people who are here because they need money for college.

  I take a breath and turn the speaker over in my hands, determined to ignore Trish and act normal. “Anyone want anything from the kitchen?”

  Everyone shakes their heads in unison, so I set the speaker on the table, grab the stack of papers from Ms. Simmons, and leave, closing the door behind me, but not quick enough to drown out Ashley’s voice.

  “She has h
orse stables? For real?”

  I wish I was like Rey in The Force Awakens, brave and tough. Or Princess Leia, snarky and brilliant. But right now, I feel like a young Anakin Skywalker, when no one thought he was capable of piloting his own Podracer, let alone winning a race.

  …

  The copier is in the supply room next to the kitchen. A couple of people stand around talking, but they don’t pay any attention to me as I try to decipher the copier’s touch screen.

  “Need any help?”

  I glance up, meeting the curious blue eyes of a guy who looks to be in his late twenties with curly red hair and a friendly smile.

  “Uh, yeah.” I return his smile, grateful for his offer. “I need to collate and staple this stuff.”

  He touches the screen and walks me through the steps, making me feel like an idiot because it’s so simple.

  “You one of the summer interns?” He leans against a large metal filing cabinet, watching me with friendly curiosity.

  I shake my head and stare at the copier as it spits out papers. “No. I’m…assisting them, sort of.” I glance at him, and he frowns. Then his expression clears.

  “Oh, wait a minute,” he says. “You’re Mr. K’s daughter, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m Laurel.”

  The guy holds out his hand. “I’m Brian.”

  It takes me a second to realize I’m supposed to shake his hand. I do, feeling like an impostor in a world where I don’t quite belong.

  “Well, good luck, Laurel. This is a cool place to work, but I guess you already know that.” He smiles again, and I feel off balance.

  He’s way too old for me, obviously, but he’s friendly. I could use a friend around here. The copier continues to whir and make a weird chunking sound every time it staples a new stack of papers. Maybe I could move my desk in here and be the copy queen. Boring but safe.

  “See you around, Laurel.”

  “It was nice meeting you.”

  He grins and flips me a wave as he leaves.

  I take the elevator to the roof, hoping no one else is there. It’s my favorite place at Emergent, surrounded by potted trees and plants, with small conversation areas set up in the corners. Fortunately, no one else is here. I beeline to the farthest corner and flop into a cushioned wicker chair.

  I have to figure out a way to survive. I picture Trish’s pinched face. Somewhere underneath that attitude is a girl like me. We shouldn’t be enemies. Maybe I should try talking to her, even though the thought makes my stomach twist.

  I lean back in the chair and let the warm sun beat down on my upturned face. Below me, traffic hums, horns honk, and a distant siren ramps up its volume. I love being downtown, so that’s one thing I can do to cope––use my lunch break to explore. I can start shooting photos for the Faces of Denver photography contest I plan to enter. I pull my phone out of my skirt pocket but instead of texting Lexi I text my sister Kendra.

  Can you talk?

  What’s wrong?

  Summer job from hell.

  Ugh. Sorry.

  How’s your job going?

  Great!

  I sigh as I stare at my phone. If Trish thought I led a charmed life, she should meet Kendra.

  Is Dad being a pain?

  Not too bad. But it’s weird with the interns. I’m supposed to be their “assistant” but I don’t think they’re going to let me.

  Let’s talk tonight. Ten o’clock your time?

  Sure.

  She texts me a bunch of hearts and I shove my phone back in my pocket. I take the stairs down to the third floor, hoping none of the interns ever finds out about the rooftop. I’d like to have an escape pod no one else knows about.

  The interns are at their desks. I drop off the copies, head down so I can avoid eye contact. When I flop into my desk chair, my Hello Kitty notebook winks up at me. Oh no; I left it on the conference table. Who brought it back? And did they look inside to see my stupid doodles and notes about everyone?

  I open my notebook and discover to my horror that someone has not only read my notes but commented on them.

  Note: Jason, while adorable, is not very prepared. Comment: He’s definitely not prepared. You really think he’s adorable?

  Note: Does Trish like Elijah? Comment: Trish flirts with everyone.

  Note: Carlos is trouble. Comment: True. Is Carlos adorable?

  Note: Too little, too late, Manicotti. Comment: Who’s the pasta?

  Note: Bring camera and yarn to work tomorrow. And knitting needles for self-defense. Comment: Now you’re scaring me. Do you take photos before or after you stab a person?

  That one makes me laugh out loud. Who did this? I sneak glances around the room but no one’s paying any attention to me. I expel a long sigh and stash my notebook in a drawer.

  Note to self: never, ever leave private items unattended.

  …

  During my ride home with Dad, I quiz him about the Death Star.

  “Who came up with the test project?”

  “Ms. Simmons. Why?”

  I study his profile for any signs of lying, but it’s hard to tell since he’s watching the road instead of me.

  “So, it’s just a coincidence that it’s a Star Wars product?”

  “Is it?” He glances at me, surprised, then grins. My dad has a great smile, but I don’t see it very often when he’s in work mode. “What is it?”

  “A Death Star Bluetooth speaker.”

  He laughs, something else I don’t hear too often. “You sure it wasn’t your idea?”

  “I wish.” I sound irritable and his smile evaporates.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” I turn to stare out the window.

  We’re quiet for a bit, then he speaks again. “Well, it’s a weird coincidence, but a good one. I’m sure you can help the interns with a lot of great ideas on how to market it.”

  Oh, yeah, Dad Vader. My geekspertise is in great demand.

  After more silence, Dad turns on the radio to listen to droning stock market news, so I plug in my earbuds and listen to my book. The kidnapper alien brings Qa’hr food once a day, and this time when it opens the door to her cell, she’s ready. She slices the jagged edge of the metallic wall panel across the alien’s body and when it doubles over, oozing goop, she bolts to freedom.

  …

  My sister Kendra calls me promptly at ten, as promised. I hear laughter and music in the background, then it fades away. I picture her leaving a party and moving to the balcony of her apartment. She lived in the dorms her first year, but now she’s living off-campus with two friends. I try not to resent her freedom.

  “Hey, Laurel-bell, how are you?”

  When she uses my childhood nickname, my resentment fades. I love my sister, and I miss her.

  “Laurel,” she prompts, “are you okay?”

  I lean back against my headboard and close my eyes. “Yeah. Just being whiny. It’s my superpower.”

  She laughs in my ear. “No, it’s not. What’s up? Is working for Dad that bad?”

  I sigh into the phone. “It’s not him so much as the Manicotti, and…well, you know about the scholarship, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s awesome.”

  “It is, but I’m sort of freaking out because Dad wants me to vote on who wins. He says I get two votes.”

  “What?” Her voice pierces my eardrum. “Seriously?

  “I know. It’s crazy. I mean, I offered to give him my feedback on the interns, but I don’t want responsibility for the decision.”

  “No way. Besides, they probably all deserve it. What do you think of them so far?”

  I pick at the crocheted afghan on my bed, made by Mom when I was five years old. “I don’t know them yet. It’s only the first week. But they all seem smart.” I blow out a breath. “Jason Riggs is one of them.”

  “Ooh…you always had a thing for him, right?”

  “He’s okay. Not quite what I expected, up close and personal.”

  “
I know just what you mean. When I dated Chris Hemsworth that’s exactly what happened. He’s not very cute with his shirt off.”

  “Shut up,” I say through my laughter.

  “Look,” Kendra says, her voice now serious. “Dad has you there for a reason. You’re smart, Laurel. And you read people well.”

  Maybe. I’ve managed to avoid a lot of drama and general assholery in school by being very picky about who I spend time with.

  “Get to know them,” Kendra continues. “Ask Dad if you can read their applications to get some insight. If you do have to make this decision, everyone should get a fair shot.”

  “Thanks, Ken. You’re right, as much as I hate to admit it.” She laughs softly in my ear and I wish she was flopped on the bed next to me. “I wish I could channel your friend-making skills. You always know how to win people over.”

  She huffs in my ear. “Not true. We have different styles, but people like you, too. Everyone thinks you’re funny. And you’re adorable, like I want to put you in my pocket adorable.”

  “Great. So, I’m a real-life Polly Pocket doll.” I roll my eyes all the way San Diego.

  “See what I mean? Funny and adorable. Use that.”

  “So far it’s not working. I can’t even get Miss Emmaline to laugh at my jokes.”

  “Really? I love Miss Emmy. She’s all crusty on the outside but gooey on the inside.”

  “Like a pie, only filled with poison.”

  Kendra chuckles in my ear. “What about the girl interns? Start with them. Work up to the guys, if they make you nervous.”

  I picture scary Trish and beautiful Ashley. “Not sure that will work.”

  “Oh, come on, Laurel. Working women have to stick together. You can’t believe how much sexism is still out there.”

  “Sure, I can.” I tell her about Mantoni’s sexist secretary remarks and she groans.

  “I’m sure you can bond with the other girls. Women always have something in common with each other, even if it doesn’t seem that way at first.”

  I close my eyes and burrow into my giant pile of pillows. Kendra always finds a way to bond with other girls, but it’s not as easy for me. Not everyone appreciates my goofy ways when I try to be funny, or when I reveal too much of my nerdiness.