Dad grins. “I thought Princess Leia didn’t need to call in favors.”
“Of course she did. Look at Obi-Wan—that was the biggest beg of all time.”
Dad’s shoulders stiffen. “I’d say taking down an evil dictator is worthy of calling in a favor.”
“Okay, but in my boring world, let’s pretend this is my first real job and I’m being tested and if I fail, I lose my job and have to move home and live in the basement. Are you calling your friend or not?”
Dad laughs and shakes his head. “You sure you don’t want to be an actress? I know a guy.”
That makes me laugh, but I still want his answer. “Come on, Dad. Yes or no?”
He turns to me, and I’m startled by the darkened hue of his gray eyes. “There are three people on this planet I’d do anything for, and you’re one of them.”
My heart squeezes. Dad’s not a sentimental guy, but what he just said is like giving me a lifetime of hugs in one sentence.
“So that’s a yes?”
Dad grins and presses the accelerator, leaving the other cars in the dust, and I have my answer.
…
After dinner, I corner Mom in the kitchen while Dad takes a bin of veggies out to our backyard composter.
“Why did you talk to Dad about my…my…about Jason Riggs?”
She freezes mid–dish scrub and pivots to face me. “Uh-oh. Problems on the job?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. So many problems, I think.
“Yeah,” I admit. “But I’m never going to confide in you again.” I realize I sound about five years old, but I can’t stop picturing Carlos laughing in the garage.
Mom grimaces. “I’m sorry, honey. Maybe I should’ve told your dad not to hire him, but he has”—she breaks off, glancing away from me—“he deserves a chance at the scholarship.” Her forehead crinkles with worry. “What’s going on?”
I lean against the counter, thoughts careening through my mind. “It’s nothing.” Dad’s teasing isn’t a big deal, in the scheme of things. Yeah, it embarrassed me in front of Carlos, but I’ll survive.
“Can you tell me what was on the applications? They had to write an essay, right? About why they need the scholarship?”
Mom shakes her head. “I can’t tell you about the essays, hon.”
“But if I’m supposed to vote I need to know the full picture.”
She sighs and tosses the wet sponge in the sink. “Ask your dad and Mr. Mantoni.”
“I already did. They said the apps are confidential. The Manicotti told me to check out LinkedIn, which I did, but it’s not helpful.”
Mom brushes a few curls out of her eyes. “You have the rest of the summer to get to know them. I’m sure they’re all great kids and will open up to you.” Her expression relaxes into a knowing smile. “You’re easy to talk to.”
Right.
Nine
By the following Friday, the interns and I have settled into a rhythm. Elijah is funny and cool, and we share secret geek-outs together, debating superheroes and fantasy novels. Ashley is nice enough, but brittle. I’m starting to think her perfect facade is wafer thin and could crack at any moment.
Jason’s clueless and cute, like a Golden Retriever puppy. I know now we’d never work as a couple, but I still have a soft spot for him. Trish is still sporting the chip on her shoulder, but I’m hopeful I can knock it off, eventually.
And Carlos…he’s different than the rest. Polite and friendly. Smart and funny. Curious and charming. Genuine. He hasn’t brought up the mortifying garage scene, and for that alone he deserves a medal. It’s hard working with him every day and pretending disinterest, but I remember what my dad said about interns being disqualified for “fraternizing.”
As Dad and I drive into downtown, the spicy sweet aroma of the pumpkin chocolate chip cookies I made fills the car. He’s already eaten two cookies.
“Maybe you should have let me drive while you stuff your face,” I tease.
“Not on your life.” He steals a third cookie, keeping his eyes on the road. “Your Prius drives like a granny car.”
“You could let me drive the SUV once in a while.”
Dad snorts, then chokes on cookie crumbs. Serves him right for dissing my car. He chugs some coffee and gets himself together.
“So it’s been two weeks,” Dad says. “Give me your feedback.”
My stomach shrinks and cowers. “About what?”
“The job, Laurel. My company. The interns. All of it.”
Oh boy. I suck in a breath, then let it out. “It’s been…interesting.” I imagine the earful Princess Leia would give Dad if asked the same question. “Okay, so, the truth is, it’s been tough.”
Dad nods, keeping his eyes on the road. “Most jobs are, especially at first.”
So much for sympathy.
“Trish still hates me.”
Dad’s lips twitch, which annoys me. “What about the other interns?”
“They’re okay. I’m, uh, getting to know them.” Trying to, anyway.
“Any bad apples?” Dad pins me with the Vader stare, so I know he wants the truth.
“Not that I can tell.” Except maybe Trish, but I’m not ready to write her off yet.
I tighten the plastic wrap on my cookie tray.
He doesn’t say anything, but I know he wants more intel.
“I forgot to tell you I’m staying in town late tonight,” he says around a bit of cookie. “Your mom’s taking the light rail down to join me after work and we’re going to dinner and a concert, so you’ll need to take the train home.”
“Why didn’t you tell me before we left? I’d have driven my granny car.” And why didn’t Mom tell me? She’s the social organizer; I can’t believe she forgot about her date.
He shoots me a guilty glance. “Sorry, honey. It’s a surprise for your mom. I haven’t told her yet. Ms. Romero is going to call her and ask her to come to the office for a fake meeting.”
“Why is it a surprise?”
“We’re going to see Duran Duran, one of her favorite eighties bands. She asked me about going months ago and I told her I’d cut off my hand before seeing that pathetic boy band.”
That sounds more like the Dad Vader I know and love.
“So it was a deflection tactic. Good strategy, Vader.”
He chuckles next to me. “Clever I am. Surprised she will be.”
“Dad, you’re not Yoda. How many times do we have to go over this?”
“Give me another cookie,” he commands. “They’re terrible. I’m going to have to eat all of them so you don’t poison my employees.”
I quash my laughter so he won’t gloat, then hand him another cookie. I’d never admit it, but even when he’s being Vader, our drives are turning into the best parts of my day.
…
Once we arrive, Dad books it to his office, worried he’s late for a meeting. I take my time leaving the parking garage, awkwardly juggling my camera bag, messenger bag, and tray of cookies.
“Let me get the door for you.”
Carlos. Where did he come from?
“Thanks.”
I move through the doorway, covertly ogling Carlos. He’s wearing a white dress shirt today, with pale blue stripes, and jeans. It looks soft and comfortable, not stiff and starched like my dad’s shirts. I catch a whiff of his soap or cologne and tell myself to get a grip and keep moving. He hurries ahead of me to push the elevator button.
“Whatever you baked smells good. Are you going to share or are they all for you?”
I look up in time to catch the laughter dancing in his eyes. My stomach does an Olympian back flip.
“They’re for the foosball tournament.”
He holds the elevator door for me and I head for a corner. Being in a confined space with him is unsettling.
“Excellent. You playing in the tournament?”
I should play. I kill at foosball. But I don’t want any weird attention, like Aww, how cute, Mr. K’s daughter
is playing in the tournament. We should let her win.
“No. Are you?”
Carlos shrugs. “Maybe. I need to suss out the competition first.”
“Is that because you’re good or terrible?” I blurt the question before my stupidity filter kicks in. Fortunately, he laughs.
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
I don’t reply because the elevator doors slide open, which gives me the excuse I need to escape. As I start toward Miss Emmaline’s desk, Carlos’s voice stops me.
“What’s today’s joke?”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s smirking, which doesn’t help my nerves, but I shrug like I’m unaffected. “It’s for her ears only.”
He tilts his chin up. “Fine. But I bet I can make her laugh even if you can’t.”
“Because you helped fix her car,” I grumble. “You have an unfair advantage.” So much for my filter. As the elevator doors close, Carlos is still grinning.
I beeline to Miss Emmaline, who’s already giving me the stink eye. I’m going to make this woman like me if it kills me.
“Good morning, Miss Emmaline.” I balance the cookie platter on her counter. “Would you like a cookie? Homemade.”
She glances at my fabulous pastries and I can tell she wants one but won’t admit it. I lift the plastic wrap and hand one to her. Reluctantly, she accepts my offering.
“How much does a pirate pay for corn?”
Her eyes narrow behind her glasses.
“A buccaneer.” This stupid joke actually made me laugh when I read it online.
Miss Emmaline adjusts her glasses on her nose and sighs. I take that as my cue to leave.
…
Up in the sky box, the finance employees buzz in their corner, industrious and focused. Carlos sits at his desk, reading whatever mysterious book captures his attention every morning. I’ve tried to identify it from afar, but I can’t make out the cover or title on the spine. I could use my telephoto camera lens, but that would be creepy.
I settle in at my desk and check my email. Just one—another reminder about the foosball tournament from Miss Emmaline.
“Did she laugh?” Carlos’s voice jars me from my thoughts. He’s turned his book upside down on his desk to mark his page.
I shake my head, and he grins. He stands and quickly closes the distance between us, my heartbeat racing as each step brings him closer.
“What was today’s joke?”
“It was a classic. Only someone determined to hate me wouldn’t laugh.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Let’s hear it.”
Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms over my chest, like somehow that can protect me from the intensity of his chocolate eyes.
“How much does a pirate pay for an ear of corn?”
“No wonder she doesn’t like you.”
“You don’t even know the punchline!”
“A buccaneer.” He rolls his eyes. “You need better material.”
“Like what?” I’m indignant, but my body is also buzzing from the adrenaline of this…this whatever we’re doing. Are we just joking around? Or are we flirting? Whatever it is, I don’t want it to stop. But it has to. I’d never forgive myself if he was disqualified because of me.
“You need jokes that are actually funny.”
“How do you know the punchline to that one, anyway?” I try to fake annoyance, but I fail. I’m about as good an actor as Jason.
He leans a hip against my desk. His grin is an arrow piercing my heart. Must. Not. Swoon.
“I live with little people, so I hear a lot of dumb jokes.”
“Little people?”
“My sibs. They’re constantly trying to outdo each other with dumb jokes.”
I recall the restaurant website and the family photo. I’m dying to know more about him and his family, but I don’t dare ask, since that would reveal my cyber stalking.
“The best jokes are situational. Improvisational.” He says this like he’s given it a lot of thought.
“I thought you were interested in pre-law, not stand-up.”
He points at me. “See, that’s what you should focus on—spontaneous humor, not premade jokes.”
“But that only works if the other person talks to me.”
“I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?”
A weighted, expectant silence blooms between us as his eyes lock on mine. I swallow, my brain scrambling for a reply that doesn’t betray my true feelings.
The sound of laughter distracts us. The rest of the crew has arrived. Carlos steps away from my desk, quickly moving toward his own. My stomach drops. Is he embarrassed to be seen talking to me? All of the buzzy tingles evaporate.
“Yo, Rubio.” Elijah raises his hand for a high-five as Carlos passes him.
Elijah tilts his chin at me. “Yo, Jedi. What’s up?”
Trish rolls her eyes and shoulders past Elijah. Today she’s wearing a short black leather skirt with black leather boots, even though it’s Friday and everyone else is wearing jeans. Her blouse is red and looks like she met Edward Scissorhands in a dark alley.
“Don’t call me Jedi,” I whisper to Elijah. He frowns and lets Jason and Ashley move past him, chattering like birds, oblivious to everyone else.
“You ashamed of the Force?” Elijah points an accusing finger, but he’s grinning.
I motion for him to lower his voice. He glances around, then back to me. “You can’t worry about what other people think, Laurel. Besides, geeks are the new black, didn’t anyone tell you that?” He gestures to himself. “And as a black geek, that means I’m twice as cool. But you already knew that.”
“I’ll never be as cool as you. Just don’t call me Jedi. Please.”
His gaze sweeps my desk, then a frown wrinkles his brow. “Where are they?”
“What?”
He steps closer, glaring down at me for real. “Han. Leia. Chewie.”
I dart a nervous glance across the room. Carlos is watching us, a ghost of a frown flitting across his face. My pulse rate speeds up when his intense gaze connects with mine.
“They’re in a drawer. For safekeeping.”
Elijah rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, Lando.”
“I’m not a traitor.” I return his glare, but I’m not mad—mostly I’m embarrassed.
“Interns!”
The Manicotti looms in the doorway, bald head gleaming, beefy arms puffed up across his chest. He points to the table by the windows. The Rocky Mountains are gorgeous this morning, the peaks looming in the distance like immovable sentries.
Everyone stands and moves toward the table, including Elijah and me.
“A few pieces of silver and you hide your true nature, Judas,” Elijah goads, shoulder-bumping me.
“Shut up,” I hiss. “Nobody paid me to hide them.”
Carlos catches up to us. “What are you two arguing about?”
“Nothing,” I snap at the same time Elijah says, “Laurel denying her true nature.”
Carlos’s curious gaze shifts from Elijah to me.
“He’s just kidding around.” I slide into a chair at the far end of the table. Elijah and Carlos sit down on either side of me. Great. I won’t be making any funny notes or doodles with these two flanking me.
“All right,” Mr. Mantoni says, “it’s Friday. You’ve survived your first two weeks at Emergent. Don’t forget you’re presenting to Ms. Simmons, Mr. Kristoff and me next week.”
Like we’d forget. I want to share an eye roll with someone, but don’t dare.
“You’ll also be assigned your individual projects for the remainder of the summer. Final approval will be granted by myself and Mr. Kristoff.”
My fingers itch to doodle the Manicotti spouting rules and bestowing favors like a king, but I don’t because of the prying eyes on either side of me.
“So today’s our quarterly foosball tournament,” Mr. Mantoni continues. “One of our core values at Emergent is fun with a capital F. It’s built
into our culture, starting from the top with Mr. Kristoff.”
A snort escapes me. My dad, the embodiment of fun? Everyone stares at me, including the Manicotti, and I feel my cheeks burn. Trish’s smirk is triumphant, probably because I’ve just accidentally mocked my dad in front of everyone.
Mr. Mantoni clears his throat. “As I was saying, we value fun here at Emergent, and you’ll see that in action today. We’ll have pizza and beer at noon—not for you, of course, but sodas will be available. Tournament starts after lunch.” He pauses, his beady eyes scanning us. “Any of you planning to play? We’ve got some real competitors on our staff, but they’ll go easy on you.”
I snort again, annoyed at the suggestion that none of us could keep up with the great Emergent foosball champions. But as everyone’s gaze shifts to me, I want to slide under the table and disappear.
The Manicotti glares at me. “Laurel, do you have something to add to the discussion?”
“No.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Good.” His beady eyes lock onto mine. “Please follow me to my office.” He turns and stalks away.
Called to the principal’s office in front of the class. Embarrassed, I follow him, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Miss Emmaline watches me suspiciously as I cross the lobby several paces behind the Manicotti. You’re right, I want to call out. I’m busted again.
“Close the door, Laurel,” Mr. Manicotti commands. I comply, then sit in a chair, fiddling with my notebook. At least I was smart enough not to leave it behind this time.
He adjusts his glasses, then tugs at his tie, a horrible tie-dye pattern. I wonder if Trish picks them out, intentionally choosing the ugliest ones she can find.
“Your dad and I discussed your request to read the interns’ applications.”
I perk up.
“Our first decision stands.”
“But that’s—I mean—how am I supposed to…” My voice trails away.
Mr. Mantoni shrugs. “We want you to get to know them, Laurel. See beyond the surface. If you read the essays, it’s the easy way out.”
That sounds like something my dad would say. And why isn’t my dad having this conversation with me? Is he too busy to spend ten minutes with his own daughter?
Spies, Lies, and Allies Page 11
