A Spy Like Me

by Laura Pauling

  Nineteen

  We waited.

  I didn’t dare move.

  I tried my best to peek through the leaves of the branches but couldn’t see much. Hopefully that meant whoever was on the outside couldn’t see me.

  “Who—”

  “Shh. No talking,” Malcolm reprimanded.

  Minutes passed. I huddled close to Malcolm, trying to shrink from sight. My mind seemed incapable of logical thought, and all the sounds around me became extremely loud. The rustle of the leaves. The wind moving in the branches. The geese on the nearby lake. Malcolm’s breath on my neck. Footsteps on the gravel path.

  Footsteps? Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap. Oh, crap. I closed my eyes as tight as I could and held my breath. I didn’t want to hear those footsteps coming closer and closer. I didn’t want to see a gun poke through the branches.

  I wasn’t sure how much time passed but I needed to breathe. So ever so slowly I let air escape out the side of my mouth.

  “It’s okay to breathe,” Malcolm whispered. “Whoever was on the path didn’t see us. They kept walking.”

  The rest of my breath came out in a big whoosh. I took several deep breaths, trying to steady my shotgun heart and shaking legs. I held back a sob.

  “It’s okay,” Malcolm said, “I think we’re out of danger.”

  My voice trembled. “I don’t dare move. What if he’s waiting for us to come out of hiding? What if he’s still searching?”

  “We can wait a bit then.”

  Malcolm wrapped his arm around my waist, and I’d never been so thankful for human contact. I pressed into his warmth, but my thoughts stayed on the fact that I’d gotten shot at twice. I couldn’t believe Peyton would try to shoot at us. At me. I screwed up at the Louvre and the Eiffel but my actions hardly deserved sudden death. Who could it be? My body stiffened.

  “What’s wrong?” Malcolm asked.

  I was glad I didn’t have to look him in the eyes. “What if this wasn’t Peyton?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I thought about my mom’s disguise at the Eiffel, her directions to burn the package, and her fear when she’d shushed me. She did not want to be found. Then I’d opened the package anyway and went through with the instructions to sign up for the Extravaganza. And all that money. What if this was about the money?

  “Savvy?” Malcolm asked again.

  “This might be about my mom.” I spoke the revelation before realizing it.

  “What do you mean? About your mom?” His voice rose as if he were suddenly interested.

  “This is the second time we’ve been shot at and we didn’t know Peyton the first time.”

  “It has to be Peyton. I saw him on the other side of the bridge.” Malcolm shifted his body and sat up. “After I dropped the tracking device into the lake, he must have circled back.”

  I didn’t want to talk about my mom, or share about the package. My gut told me to keep it a secret, so I played along with the Peyton theory.

  I faced him. “Right. He must’ve. And the hostage site.” I couldn’t forget about the food wrappers and frayed rope, possibly the same rope that matched the one I’d found in Peyton’s apartment. My stomach growled, interrupting us. I laughed. “Glad he’s not walking past right now.”

  “Aha! That’s why I came prepared.” He pulled off the spy backpack that I’d made fun of when I first saw it.

  “You don’t happen to have a Hawaiian pizza in there, do you?” A girl could hope.

  “Sadly, no. But maybe this will do?” He pulled out a handful of chocolate bars, crackers, and two small bottles of water.

  My eyes widened. “You’re the best!”

  I leaned forward and kissed his cheek right above his old man beard before realizing what I was doing.

  “I didn’t say I was going to share it. You’re the one who’s supposed to be training me to be the ultimate spy. Where are your provisions? What did you do to be prepared in the face of danger?” He covered the food with his hands and waited for an answer.

  I scrambled. “Well, it is important to be prepared, but it’s also important to have the stamina to go without food in case of imprisonment.”

  “Good cover.” He handed me a chocolate bar.

  “Thanks.” I unwrapped it and smelled the milk chocolate.

  For some reason, I felt as if I were sitting by Willy Wonka’s chocolate river, only this tasted even better. As we munched on the food, our conversation dwindled and awkwardness settled in.

  “So, tell me your biggest fear.” Malcolm guzzled his water, then looked at me with honest eyes. “Since we’ve been shot at together. Twice. Maybe we should know each other a little bit better.”

  I bit my lip. My biggest fear? That was easy. “Black crickets.”

  Water came out Malcolm’s nose when he laughed. “Crickets?”

  “What? Not what you expected? Black crickets freak me out. Especially when there are hundreds of them covering my yard, hopping around like they can’t wait to get in my house and jump into my bed.” I shuddered. “Your turn.”

  Malcolm played with the cap of his water bottle and studied a pile of dirt. After a few minutes, he looked up. “My biggest fear is failing my dad. That during this year away from home, I won’t be able to meet up to his expectations.”

  He fell silent, lost in thought.

  “A year away from home?” I asked.

  “It’s a tradition. When we turn eighteen, we have a year to live on our own and prove ourselves before we’re welcomed into the family business. First my brother did it and now it’s my turn.”

  Wow. Talk about pressure. And failing parents? I knew something about that. His confession made my black cricket phobia look like a joke, or like I was afraid of being close to someone or had a problem sharing my deepest thoughts.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” I said, “I already failed mine, both of them.” Why else would Mom have left? And why she didn’t trust me enough to talk to me?

  “No way. Your dad loves you. I can tell.”

  “He has a funny way of showing it.” Time to change the subject. “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

  “That’s easy. There was this one time. I was on a date with this cute girl.”

  “Oh.” For some reason, I didn’t like the idea of Malcolm on a date with anyone else.

  “And, well, because of a misunderstanding, she got really mad at me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, hoping he wasn’t talking about what I thought he was talking about.

  “And to my great surprise, she tied me up, took off all my clothes, and then left me in my underwear. But that wasn’t the embarrassing part.”

  I clasped my hands together and fiddled with my fingers. This was my most embarrassing moment, for sure. “What was it then?”

  He put his finger under my chin and lifted my head so I was looking into his eyes. “That I went behind her back and made it look like I was on the date for other reasons. She didn’t trust me, and when we got shot at, I couldn’t protect her.”

  I tried to lower my head, but he wouldn’t let me. Instead we locked eyes, and I felt my breath slowly squeezing out of my lungs. Gray flecks swirled in his eyes and I fell into them, head first. Moments passed, and we didn’t say a word. The breeze hugged us, pulling us closer together. I leaned forward. He leaned forward. My heart quivered just before our lips brushed like the soft sprinkling of sugar on a donut. Sweetness. The breeze swirled, and for a moment, I forgot everything. But then he stiffened and pulled away, the honesty in his eyes fading.

  “We should be okay to leave.”

  “Right.” I brushed off the hurt and confusion and helped him pick up the chocolate wrappers.

  Minutes later, we trudged up to the gate. He grabbed my hand but then let go as if he made a mistake. “Let’s go. Enough excitement for today.”

  On the Metro ride home we didn’t say a word. The whole being married pretense was dropped and even though he s
at next to me, he didn’t touch me. He stared out the window at the blurred underground walls.

  My body moved with the sway of the train, but he leaned away from me at every turn. What had changed? Maybe he’d decided I wasn’t worth getting shot over. Some friends are willing to die for each other but our friendship was new, just budding, needing sunlight to grow. Possibly being killed moved a big ole cloud right over us. I shivered in its shadow.

  Somehow I knew I’d wind up on my own trying to find Aimee. I had reached that dead end. The trackers hadn’t worked, and the device was at the bottom of the lake. I had absolutely no other clues. I wanted to ask him what to do next, beg him to sit down and brainstorm with me, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Hands shoved into his old man pants, he said, “I have to work at Les Pouffant’s this weekend. Next Monday, then?”

  “Sure.” I was officially on my own.

  Perfect time to check on Aimee’s grandmother and maybe snag some gingersnap cookies. I wanted to check out Aimee’s room again. Something hadn’t felt right the first time. I’d missed something, some clue, important to finding her. Or maybe I just wanted to feel close to her.

  At Marie’s house, right away I knew something was wrong. The once happy blooming flowers in the window boxes drooped. A shadow seemed cast over the house and the cute little cottage looked a bit forlorn and neglected.

  I knocked on the door.

  No response.

  I knocked a bit harder. “Marie?” No answer. Not even a scuffle of footsteps. “It’s Savvy. Aimee’s friend?”

  My guilt over Aimee and not being fully honest with Marie the last time got to me, so I twisted the knob and gently opened the door. I expected the smell of cinnamon and ginger because Marie always baked. But there was nothing. Not one hint of spice or warmth.