Also Known As (6 page)

“Thanks,” I mumbled. “Tell me that part where I’m a wonderful spy again.”

Angelo laughed and shook his head. “Maggie, you’ve been the same since the day I met you. Very smart and
very
dramatic.”

I smiled despite myself. “Hey, thanks for the boots,” I said, holding up one leg to show him my new footwear. “I knew you picked them out.”

“My pleasure,” he said. “I did some research on what girls your age wear. Which reminds me …” He reached into his valise and pulled out a plastic bag from Hudson News. “I brought you some reading material.”

Teen Vogue
and
Seventeen
magazines were inside, the cover girls beaming up at me. “Spice Up Your Uniform!” screamed one of the headlines. I wondered if they suggested wearing your uniform inside out.

I looked up at Angelo. “You bought these for me?”

He shrugged a little. “A bit of an awkward experience, to be sure, but yes. Consider it a welcome-to-New York gift.”

“You knew I was going to high school, didn’t you.”

“Of course,” he said. “I thought you might be ready for the challenge.”

I put the magazines on my lap, feeling a little bad. All I had done since I had seen him was complain. “I’m sorry, Angelo. I’ll be fine. I’ll survive the cutthroat experience with minimal scarring. What’s happening with you? How long are you here?”

“Oh, who knows,” he said, using a tone that said he
definitely knew. “I’m enjoying my little life, my neighborhood, my new knives.”

“Are you slicing and dicing food or people?”

“Food.” He frowned down at me. “
Really
, Maggie.”

“Just checking.” I grinned. “Any cool assignments lately?”

“Oh, here and there,” he said, maddeningly vague. “I enjoy a bit of retirement now and then.”

“
Pfft
,” I scoffed at him. “Retirement? This from the man whose idea of fun is outrunning diamond smugglers in Botswana?”

He frowned. “Your parents weren’t supposed to tell you about that.”

“They didn’t. I overheard.”

He raised a disapproving eyebrow at me and sighed. “That’s very uncouth, Maggie.”

I just grinned. “Careful when you throw those rocks from your glass house,” I teased him. “Seriously, Angelo. Why don’t you go work for the Collective in London? You’d be good at it. You’re all mysterious and calm.”

Angelo shifted a little and looked over my head at the birdhouse. “Quite a ridiculous pagoda for birds,” he murmured. “And I don’t know, my dear. We shall see what happens.”

I was about to ask more, but he cut me off with, “Now, darling, I have to be going, but don’t worry, I’ll be around as you need me.” He stood up and straightened his suit jacket. “And you are going to be a lovely student. Just remember what we say—it’s all make-believe.”

“Make
them
believe,” I replied. Angelo had been drilling that into my head for years. “Thanks for the magazines.”

“And thank you for the espresso. A fair trade, I’m sure.” He offered me his arm. “Walk an old man out?”

I rolled my eyes but took his arm anyway. “Back to the world of assumed identities and dark secrets,” I said as we passed through the gates.

“Just like everyone else,” he replied, then leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Tell your wonderful parents hello.” And just like that, he slipped his arm from mine and went around the corner, disappearing once again.

After Angelo left, I circled the park once to see if there were any new locks that I hadn’t seen yet. They were still the same, though, simple and easy to access, and I knocked back the rest of my espresso, spilling a drop on my white shirt (of course), and headed home.

My mom called when I was two blocks away from the loft. At first I didn’t even realize it was my phone that was ringing. It was a new disposable cell that had some crazy German-dance-rave ringtone, and by the time I finally got it out of my bag, I was mortified.

“Where are you?”

“I went to see a friend,” I said. “A friend” is what we call Angelo over the phone. “He bought me magazines with teenage girls in them.”

“How nice.” She totally wasn’t paying attention. “How was school?”

“Wow,” I said, “how weird is
that
question coming out of your mouth?”

“It’s definitely odd,” she replied, “and you didn’t answer it.”

My jacket flapped a little in the breeze from the river, and I tried to button it with one hand. “Frustrating,” I told her. “I didn’t see him yet.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Because there are a thousand people at that school!” I exploded. “And apparently he ditches a lot, so if you want me to meet him, then I guess I’m going to have to start smoking really bad weed in some back alley with all the other delinquents, or whatever it is that he does!” I sighed and shoved my hair out of my face. Stupid bangs. “This is difficult, okay? It requires a little precision. I’m safecracking a
person
. I gotta figure out the code before I’m in.”

“Honey, we need to get this information as soon as possible—”

“I know!” I cried. “You think I don’t know that? I’m very aware that this whole thing is on
me
, thank you very much.”

“Margaret.”

“Sorry,” I said immediately. “Look, I can do this. I can do this better than anyone because I am a spy, okay? I am a
great
spy and—and something is licking me.”

There was a definite wetness on my calf and I glanced down to see a huge, shaggy golden retriever pushing his nose against my leg, then giving me a big doggie grin. I had seen this dog somewhere before, and I looked from the dog to his leash to his very cute owner.

Oh, no
, I suddenly realized, my heartbeat flying into overdrive.
Oh no, oh no, oh no
.

“So,” Jesse Oliver said, “what’s this about being a great spy?”

“Maggie?” my mother chirped on the other hand. “What exactly is licking you?”

“Bye,” I said, then pressed the END button as fast as possible. Jesse was still standing there; his dog was lying down, still giving me the doggie smile. “Um, do you always eavesdrop?” I asked. “It’s rude.”

He shrugged. “Do you always talk on your phone while surrounded by strangers?”

Why did he have to be so fast with a retort? I tried to think even faster. “I’m not telling you what I do,” I said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that because you’re …” He leaned in for greater emphasis, and why, oh why, did he have to have such nice, soft-looking skin? “… a spy?”

“I was talking,” I said huffily, “about a Halloween
costume
. Yes. A Halloween costume. That will be the best one ever. Yes.” I had no idea what I was saying. Halloween was still a month away, and the last time I dressed up, I was four and trick-or-treated at exactly one house: Angelo’s. (He gave me a full-size Snickers bar and a diary with a little lock and key. It was awesome.)

But that was then, this was now, and I had to get in the game.

“My friend Roux is having a Halloween party,” I continued, like I hadn’t just met Roux six hours ago. “Costumes are very important.”

“Roux?” Jesse repeated. “She’s having a party?”

“You know her?” I pretended to play dumb and twirled a lock of my hair for good measure.

“How many Rouxs do you think there are?”

“The one I know is the only one that matters.” My hair was starting to get tangled around my finger and it was hurting. I let it go and it spiraled out into a snarl.
Wonderful
.

Jesse snorted, which was really not an attractive quality for him. “You’ll probably be the only person at the party. So, you go to Harper?”

“Maybe,” I replied. “Where do you go?”

“Harper.” He extended his hand and his stupidly adorable golden retriever leaped toward him, like he was expecting a treat. “I’m Jesse. This is Max.”

“Hi. Hi, Max,” I added for good measure. Max appeared to have an out-of-control drooling problem, and I took a step back as he came toward me.

“What, you don’t like dogs?” Jesse asked.

“I like dogs. I don’t like saliva. Are you sure he’s not going to dehydrate?”

“So you’re new at Harper?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” I pointed out.

“Well, you’re answering them, so …” He shrugged.

“Yes, I’m new at Harper.”
Pull. It. Together. Maggie
. “I’m a junior. I didn’t see you around school today. Where do you ditch?”

Jesse gave me a real smile for the first time. “Here and there.”

“Is it easy to get off campus?”

“Not really, no. You have to want it.”

“Oh, I want it,” I said, and then found myself blushing a little. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

I was so, so, SO thankful that this conversation wasn’t secretly being recorded. I think I would rather have been targeted by a sniper than have anyone overhear it.

“We’ll see,” Jesse replied, then tightened Max’s leash around his hand. “C’mon, buddy, let’s go. Bye, Spy Girl,” he added as Max trotted past me, leaving a drool trail behind him. I watched them leave while mentally readjusting my to-do list.

Number one: make Roux my friend. Number two: convince her to throw a Halloween party. Number three: invite Jesse Oliver.

And somewhere in there, figure out how I became such a bumbling, ridiculous spy.

Chapter 4

The next morning, after tossing and turning for most of the night, I had a shiny new plan.

And like most of my plans, it involved deviousness, blatant lying, and coffee.

I started with the coffee first.

I had come up with the shiny new plan (SNP, because acronyms always sound more important) about three in the morning, after I realized that what I had said to my mom earlier was true: I was cracking a person, not a safe. Jesse Oliver didn’t have a keypad attached to his forehead, and this “let’s make googly eyes at each other” business was going to be a lot harder than I thought it would be. Let’s just put it this way: I’ve never had a safe make googly eyes at me.

The first step: changing my class schedule.

The second step: making Roux my new BFF. (Acronyms, like I said.)

I strolled into the school’s office at eight the next morning, large coffee in hand, still wearing my boring and itchy
school uniform. (Unfortunately, my SNP didn’t involve accessorizing. I’m a talented person, but some things are just out of my league.) Kids were filling the hallways, each person looking cooler than the next. Were teenagers always this loud? I was going to need to buy an economy-sized bottle of aspirin before this job was over.

“Hey!” someone yelled, and when I turned around, I saw Roux strolling toward me. “Seriously, not even a pin or something?”

“What?”

She waved her hand toward me. “Your uniform. Didn’t we discuss this yesterday?”

“Oh.” I glanced down at my plaid monstrosity. “Um, I thought that was more of a theoretical conversation.”

Roux just stared at me. “Theoretical conversation? Are you for real?” She continued on before I could even answer. “Look, please, do it for me. My eyes, they burn when I look at this situation. Help
me
help
you
.”

I’ve met a lot of people in my life, but this girl took the cake. “You realize that it’s just a uniform, right?” I said. “It’s not the be-all, end-all of who I am.”

“Good thing,” she replied. “Because if it was, it would be saying, ‘I’m boring.’”

“Boring?” I cried before I could stop myself. “
Boring
? Are you kidding me?” I started to laugh. “Oh my God, you have no idea.”
Boring people do not flee the Luxembourg government
, I wanted to add, but I kept my mouth shut.

Roux gave me the side eye as I tried to compose myself. “
Riiiiight
,” she said. “Okay, I’m just going to back up slowly
and hustle myself to class while you figure out something to do about this.”

“You do that,” I told her, still giggling. “I’m sure I’ll come up with a creative use for some safety pins and paper clips in the meantime.”

“That’s the spirit,” Roux said. “Trust me, I’m trying to save you from social extinction.” Then she turned and walked down the hall, so confident in her stride that people moved to get out of her way.

I could see that step 2 of SNP was going to need some revising. As was my uniform.

I shook it off, though, because I had bigger fish to fry. I needed to get my class schedule synced up with Jesse Oliver’s, which meant I needed to get into the school’s computer system.

This is always my favorite part of the job.

The administrative office smelled like old paper and burned coffee and looked like the kind of room where dreams go to die. There was a halfhearted GO HARPER! sign stretched across one wall, but it just looked ambivalent. It could have said, WE LOVE CHEESE! for all it seemed to care.

There was only one secretary in the office that morning, her desk empty save for a large box of Kleenex and a photo of her two kids. She was typing away furiously and didn’t even look up when I stood right in front of her desk. “And how may I help you this morning?” she asked.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m Maggie, I’m new here, and I think I have a problem with my class schedule.”

“Do you now?” She didn’t make it sound like a question, though.

I plopped down into the chair next to her desk, balancing my coffee in one hand as I began to rifle through my bag. “It’s just that I’m in geometry, and my parents, they want me to, you know, reach my potential and try to maximize my abilities.” I had no idea what I was saying, but it sounded good to me.

“Your class assignments are permanent unless—”

“Oh my God, are those your kids?” I changed topics like a seasoned pro. Which I was. “They’re so cute!” And they
were
cute, in a sort of missing-teeth chipmunk way. “Twins?”

This time, the secretary actually smiled a little. “Yes,” she said. “Six years old.”

“What are their names?”

“Detroit and Dakota.” She smiled a little more while I tried not to widen my eyes too much. Apparently I had gotten off easy with a name like Margaret. “They just started first grade yesterday and—”