Smash & Grab

by Amy Christine Parker

“Oh wow, that’s really beautiful,” I say, palming the bug as I make a beeline to the large ivory-inlaid box sitting on his desk. I turn around. “May I?”

  Harrison lifts an eyebrow, but nods.

  I will my hands not to shake as I pick it up and pretend to examine it, turning it over in my hands so that the lid falls off and lands on the carpet. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” I hurry to pick it up and then replace it—my back to the door, pressing the sticky side of the bug onto the bottom of the box as I do. I hold my breath as I set it down.

  “Angela, I’m afraid we need to go if I’m going to get back in time,” Harrison says, from closer behind me than I expected. I feel his hand touch my elbow, and I jump a little.

  “Sorry! I guess I got distracted.” Did he see anything? I can’t be sure. I don’t know when he came back into the room. I try not to imagine that his hand at my elbow is gripping me tighter than is normal, but is it?

  “So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Harrison prompts, his eyes twinkling as we wait for the elevator doors to open.

  “Actually, I was hoping to ask you about your time at UCLA. I’ve only just transferred there and have been a bit overwhelmed about deciding a minor. Do you mind if I ask what yours was?”

  The elevator doors open as he starts talking, listing the courses he feels I should pay close attention to, what minors would be best if I hope to work somewhere like LL National. By the time we’re walking through the lobby doors, I’m feeling calmer. I did it! The bug is in his office. And Quinn is parked somewhere near the building, listening.

  “Where are you headed?” Harrison asks.

  “I don’t know. To wherever I can get a salad or something before we’re due back from lunch.”

  He looks up the street. “There’s a food truck up there. Probably more than one. Fast and usually amazing. I’m headed there myself. You’re welcome to tag along if you’d like. Actually, you’d be doing me a favor. I’ve got a present on hold for my wife at the jewelry store around the corner. If you wouldn’t mind, maybe I could show it to you and you can tell me if you think it’s a good choice. A twenty-fifth anniversary present. So, you know, it’s gotta wow.” He winks at me. Ugh.

  “Sure,” I say, even though now all I want to do is get as far away from him as I can. This whole nice-guy routine he’s working is unnerving.

  We get closer to the truck, and the aroma of the food is ridiculous. Spicy and mouthwatering. Whatever they’re making, I want five. Wow. “ ‘Cocina de mi corazón.’ ” I read the words printed in graphic black letters on the side of the truck. The vehicle itself is bright red, with a series of colorful, elaborately designed hearts that remind me of the kind you see in Day of the Dead decorations or as part of a cool tattoo.

  “ ‘Kitchen of my heart,’ ” Harrison translates. “One of my favorites. It’s this hybrid of Argentinean, Korean, and Mexican food. Absolutely amazing.”

  If I were with anyone else, this would be the perfect lunch stop.

  “It’s not parked in the area all the time. Lately it’s been setting up out past the Bank of America building a few blocks down. We got lucky,” Harrison says as his phone rings. “You go ahead. I’ll get mine in a second.” He directs me toward the counter, and I look over the wooden menu tent propped up next to the truck.

  “Can I help you?” the guy behind the counter asks, and I look up. Christian is standing in front of me in a stained apron, with a basket of tacos in one hand. My heart nearly stops.

  “Christian,” I say, completely forgetting that I’m not Lexi right now—I’m Angela. I freeze. Crap!

  He leans over. “I’m sorry…do we know each other?” His eyes take me in, from the top of my head to my heel-clad feet, and he smiles a little. “I feel like I’d remember you if we had…” He narrows his eyes and looks harder at me. “Wait, there is something familiar….”

  It is all I can do not to panic and run. “Just give me some, uh, chips and a carnitas taco, please. And a Diet Coke.” I hold out my debit card and pretend to be bored.

  He takes it, still frowning at me, and turns toward the stove.

  “Have you ordered?” Harrison asks, off the phone now.

  “Yeah,” I say. I need to get out of here. Now. But it would look weird if I didn’t get my lunch first. Please, please don’t let him recognize me.

  All at once, there’s a gust of wind, just enough to blow a stack of menu flyers from the counter to the sidewalk. A total gift from God, I can’t help thinking as I turn and begin to chase them down. I’ll take my time and with luck, Harrison will get my card and meal from Christian before I collect all the menus. I stoop over and start gathering the fluttering papers.

  What I don’t expect is for Christian to be outside the truck a second later, stooped down next to me, grabbing for flyers, too. His arm brushes mine as he leans closer.

  “Lexi,” he says quietly, and my heart goes straight into my throat, choking me.

  How does he know? I thought the disguise was solid enough to fool anyone who didn’t know me really well. We’ve only met once, and I didn’t look anything like this. How can he know it’s me?

  “The card,” he says, holding it up briefly so I can see my name, my real name. Oh my god, I’m an idiot.

  “Why do you look like…” Christian starts.

  “Angela?” Harrison holds out his hand to help me up. Christian’s eyes flick from mine to him and back. He raises one eyebrow.

  I stare at Christian for a second, take a deep breath, and stand up. After a beat, he does, too. I thrust the collected flyers into his hands, hoping beyond hope that somehow he’ll pretend he doesn’t know me.

  “Here you go.” I give him a pleading look.

  “Thank you…Angela,” he says purposefully, and I mouth the words “Thank you” right back at him. “Give me a sec to get back inside and I’ll get your order.”

  Harrison peruses the bottles of hot sauce and grabs some napkins while I wait for Christian to come around to the window with my food.

  When he does, he gives me a little smile that sends both panic and butterflies careening around my stomach. He holds out a bag, and his mouth twitches. “Your order, miss.”

  I feel my face heat up. “Thanks.”

  “You work at LL National?” the girl behind the counter asks. Her eyes focus on the employee badge hanging around my neck.

  “I’m interning there, yeah.”

  She hands me some of the flyers. “Would it be weird if I asked you to put these in the lunchroom there? We’ll be parking here every day over the summer. You do and I’ll give you your next lunch free.” She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

  I can feel Christian watching me. “Sure. Sure,” I tell the girl as I stuff the flyers and my debit card into my bag.

  “Enjoy your lunch,” Christian says. That he doesn’t try to say anything else or throw me any weighted looks is a relief.

  “Thanks,” I say, meaning it in more ways than one.

  “No problem.” He leans over the counter and grins, and even though none of this is funny, I find myself grinning right back. Grateful. He’s not going to expose me to Harrison, even if he has no idea what’s going on. Well, I helped him out with his medal; one favor deserves another, I guess.

  I join Harrison on a bench opposite the truck, and we dig into our meals. Talking about the kinds of inane things you talk about with people you barely know: the weather, the orientation, summer plans. I don’t glance at the taco truck, not even once, but I swear I can still feel Christian watching me.

  “So, should we get that anniversary gift?” I ask Harrison when I just can’t stand it anymore.

  —

  Harrison wants to buy his wife a heart pendant with scrollwork and about a dozen diamonds in the center. It makes me think of something you might find around a medieval princess’s neck—elaborate to the point of being tacky.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asks.

  “Perfect, really. If I were
her, I’d love it.” I’m lying, of course. If I were her, I’d hate it, but I’ve never been into jewelry like this. I like bling, but the heart shape makes this necklace feel cheesy. I liked the heart on the food truck better. The food truck. Just thinking about it makes my nerves jingle.

  Harrison motions to the salesperson. “Okay. Wrap it up.”

  I watch her pull out pretty silver paper and a ribbon, and an unexpected lump forms in my throat. My father bought me a ring when I turned sixteen. I don’t wear it every day because it’s my birthstone—an opal—so it’s a little too fragile for constant wear. Harrison will still get to buy his family jewelry. My dad may never get the chance again. It’s so unfair that I can barely keep from screaming.

  “I need to get back,” I say. Suddenly, being with him for even one minute longer and acting like I think he’s this amazing mentor-type person is unbearable.

  “Oh yes. Well, thank you,” he says absently as he signs his receipt.

  I duck out of the store and begin the short walk back to the bank.

  “Angela.” And when I don’t turn around right away, “Lexi.” Christian’s jogging from the food truck toward me. I wince and stop in my tracks, waiting for him to catch up.

  “So. Nice hair. But I gotta tell you. I like you better blond.” He folds his arms across his chest and grins.

  I shake my head and look down at the sidewalk. What am I supposed to tell him about all this? Certainly not the truth, but then what? I grasp for some halfway-plausible explanation, but there’s nothing. I’ve got nothing.

  “So you want me to guess?” he asks. He paces back and forth in front of me. His jeans fit loose everywhere except his backside, and as panicked as I am, I’m also human. I can’t help noticing how sexy it is. “You’re a spy stealing bank secrets?”

  When I roll my eyes, he says, “You just became part of the witness protection program? Or you’re just, um, really into older, married banker-type dudes and don’t want your friends to know?” He reaches out like he wants to touch my hair, but at the last minute he decides not to. “Tell me it’s not that last one.”

  “Ew, no,” I say immediately. “Let’s go with the spy theory. Close enough. But no bank secrets involved.” I step closer to him so that our shoulders touch, and I look furtively to my left and right before standing on tiptoe so that my lips are close to his neck, grazing his earlobe. “If you must know, I’m trying to infiltrate an elderly band of white-collar criminals stealing mass quantities of paper clips from office supply closets.” I’m flirting. It’s only to try to distract him. And it helps me feel like I’m gaining back some control. If I can’t get him to stop asking questions, I’m in real trouble here. This guy gets too nosy and it could mess up everything.

  Christian laughs, and the sound of it—warm and low—nearly makes me forget to keep my guard up. “Okay.”

  “So you work there?” I ask, pointing at the truck, eager to change the subject. “What about school? Am I going to have to start investigating you, too?” I tease. At the risk of sounding conceited, I’m a master flirt. And it’s paying off right now. His eyes are alive, lit up inside, and his gaze keeps drifting to my mouth. He wants to kiss me. And in the name of protecting my agenda, I might let him. A girl’s gotta be willing to do what it takes to get the job done, right?

  He grins. “That depends. Does your investigation involve a thorough pat-down?”

  I roll my eyes again and he laughs. “School’s over in a few days, and my cousin really needed me. I’ll be doing this all summer anyway, so why not get a head start snagging some cash, right? But you don’t really want to know about all that. Seriously, what’s going on, Lexi?” Dang it. I thought I had him.

  “That’s classified. Top secret. You know, spy stuff. I could tell you, but then…”

  He groans, “Yeah, yeah, but then you’d have to kill me. Right. But…” He waits, frowning.

  I stop smiling. “Look. Can’t you just forget you ever saw me? Please?”

  He considers it. “Nah, sorry, but you’re impossible to forget.”

  I shake my head. This is too much. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.” I look back at the jewelry store and see Harrison walking out with his phone to his ear.

  “Okay, fine, but I need some kind of explanation if I’m going to keep covering for you. Meet me tomorrow afternoon,” Christian says. “Right here. Four o’clock.”

  I can’t tell if he’s being flirty or if he’s threatening me. Like if I don’t show up, he’ll somehow expose me to Harrison. I decide to call his bluff.

  “I don’t get off until five. And no,” I say.

  “Please. I’m not looking to hurt you. You helped me. Maybe I can help you.” There’s something in his eyes that makes me want to give in.

  I glance at my watch; orientation resumes in less than five minutes. “Look. Thanks for before, but I don’t owe you an explanation.” I hurry back toward the bank before he can argue, heart in my throat, hoping that he won’t even try.

  —

  Leo’s beach house is alive with lights, music, and people when Quinn and I pull up. It feels chaotic after the hushed atmosphere of the bank. I would normally be excited, but my brain is full to bursting with inane banking information, and after cozying up to that snake Harrison all day, I just want to go back home and take a long, hot shower, think through what to do about Christian if he doesn’t let our little meet-up at the food truck go, and go to bed. But this is Leo’s last big party of the school year, his “Night Before the Last Day” blowout. He’d be crushed if I didn’t show up.

  I get off my bike and stretch, relishing the freedom of not being in my work disguise. I take off my helmet and run a hand through my hair and sigh. The air is a thousand times cooler without that awful wig on my head. It’s not quite dark, but the sky is close to succumbing to night, the last tendrils of sunset pinks and oranges fading on the horizon. Quinn and I walk up the steep driveway past familiar cars, but as normal as it all seems, I feel different, like I don’t belong. We don’t go to Westwood Prep anymore. I wonder if this is what it feels like once you graduate, like some invisible curtain has suddenly dropped between the life you had and the one you’re headed toward. All I know is that it sucks, this abrupt separation I’m feeling.

  We let ourselves into the house and weave our way through the tightly packed crowds of people holding red Solo cups, laughing at the kind of stories and jokes you’d have to be there while it was happening to understand. A few people wave; several more glance at us and then away, whispering behind their hands as if we can’t see them, as if we don’t know that they’re talking about us.

  “Quinn! Lexi!” Whitney jostles her way over to us, barefoot and casual in a floaty little sundress, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. I can feel Quinn take it all in: the golden glow of her skin, the way her teeth look extra white by comparison, the fact that her wide smile is mostly meant for him. The one good thing about our leaving school is that it seems to have shifted something between them. They aren’t officially exclusive, but you can tell they’re close. Tonight could be the tipping point.

  “How was your day, dear?” Whitney asks me, half laughing. “Did you play nice at the office?” She leans into me and puts her mouth up to my ear. “Did they buy the disguise?”

  Everyone except Christian. But how do I say this right here? Right now? Quinn will panic. Someone might overhear. Besides, I want time to think, to form a plan so that when I do tell them, I’ll have a way to fix things.

  “Went exactly as planned. We’ll talk later. You see Leo yet?”

  Whitney shakes her head. “No, but knowing him, he’s hiding out in his darkroom.”

  Leo throws parties all the time, something his parents not only endorse but engineer. His playboy, high-rolling image has been carefully cultivated by his mother practically since he was born and she dressed him in a onesie that had BALLER on it. She’ll call the effort a success if and when he and his two brothers achieve Kardashi
an-type fame and she gets to be on their reality show. Leo goes along with it, but inevitably he spends half of every party holed up developing photographs the old-fashioned way in his basement, so that’s where I head now.

  “Lex, how’s it goin’?” Amanda Blake, a friend of Bianca’s and one of the mean-girl trio, is one floor above me, leaning over the circular glass-enclosed staircase that leads from the house’s third floor to the basement. Her straight red hair hangs over her face. “We miss you so much, hon.” A total lie. With me gone, she’s next in line to the It Girl throne—not a title I was all that eager to have or keep, mind you, but one she’s coveted since we started high school. She teeters a bit on the stair, and Derek, my text ex, steadies her elbow, looks pointedly at me, and nuzzles her ear. I guess he thinks I’m going to be jealous…and maybe that’s what that sinking feeling is in my stomach, but whatever, I’ll live. I have bigger things to worry about than high school drama.

  I make my way down the last few steps to the bottom floor. The entire back wall of the house is floor-to-ceiling windows meant to take advantage of the ocean view, but with the lights on, all I can see is my own reflection—a girl with long blond hair, not-so-pale skin thanks to my recent spray tan—gliding across the dark world beyond the glass like a ghost. I make my way to Leo’s darkroom. The door has a sign on it telling me to KNOCK FIRST OR DIE. I rap on it a few times.

  “It’s me.”

  Leo opens the door a few seconds later, squinting. “Lex!” He pulls me inside and puts his arm around my shoulders. “How’s my little spy doing?”

  “Not so peachy,” I say. “I have a problem I need you to help me brainstorm. Can you spare a few minutes and come hang with me?” I don’t want Quinn to know about Christian yet. I know my brother too well. He’ll decide that it’s too dangerous for me to stay at the bank and refuse to let me go back, maybe withdraw me from the program with a couple of keystrokes. Leo, on the other hand, knows me well enough to realize when he can’t talk me out of something, and he can keep a secret better than anyone I know. He’s the perfect person to confide in and hit up for advice.