And here I’d been hoping that my homecoming date’s father wasn’t involved in the national security risk du jour.
“Understood, sir.” Brooke’s tone bordered on sounding military. “We’ll handle it. Have the results come back yet on yesterday’s explosion?”
“We’re expecting the labs back this afternoon, and that leads me to the point of this conference call.” The voice paused. I was starting to see where Brooke and Co. got it from. “This case is sensitive, girls. It’s dangerous. And we’ve officially designated it a Do Not Engage. Under no circumstances are any of you to engage your marks. If you see something suspicious, call it in, and one of our teams will take care of it. Your mission is strictly observational. Have I made myself clear?”
For a moment, there was silence, and then at Brooke’s nod, the rest of the Squad, minus me, chimed in. “Yes, sir.”
I said nothing. For one thing, I wasn’t exactly keen on speaking in unison, and for another, I wasn’t about to make any promises I couldn’t keep.
“Toby.”
I jumped in my seat. The Voice actually knew my name. And somehow, he had the freaky ability to ascertain that of all of us, I was the one who hadn’t responded.
“Do you understand?”
I contemplated telling him that what I didn’t understand was his familial relationships, but stayed momentarily silent, causing everyone within a three-foot radius to kick me under the table at once.
“Ow!” I cleared my throat. “I mean, yes.” I didn’t throw the sir on the end, but apparently, that was good enough for the Voice.
“Excellent. Report in tonight, and we’ll have more information for you all tomorrow. And girls?”
“Yes?”
“Congratulations on the homecoming nominations. We’re all very proud.”
And with that, the line went dead, and I was left trying to figure out what part of this exchange (aside from the obvious Jack’s uncle factor) had been the most surreal: the official commendation from the government on being nominated for homecoming court, or the fact that Brooke had chosen the poppiest of pop ringtones to signify a call from the CIA.
“Okay, guys. You heard the man. We’ll meet back here for seventh period and head out from there.” Brooke looked down at her watch. “We still have an hour before class starts. Who’s up for tumbling?”
At that point, I realized something. The most surreal part of this entire morning had nothing to do with ringtones or homecoming and everything to do with the fact that I had enough energy and potential frustration built up inside of me that the physical release of tumbling actually sounded good.
CHAPTER 14
Code Word: Luscious
Word to the wise. Never let a high school junior try to teach you how to do something called a layout, because either you won’t be able to do it, in which case you’ll feel like the cheertard everyone else thinks you are, or you will be able to do it, in which case, the aforementioned junior might take it upon herself to teach you something harder.
On a related note, I really, really do not recommend trying to do anything with your body that includes the phrase “full twist.”
After forty-five minutes of tumbling, every muscle in my body was rebelling, and I’d added several bruises to the arsenal I’d started the day before. Unfortunately, the twins didn’t see any of this as a reason to go easy on me on the personal appearance front. The second we got back to the locker room, they insisted on signing off on my outfit and did so only after supplying me with yet another pair of boots to supplement my growing collection.
I got all of ten minutes of peace while everyone was getting dressed and primped for the day before the twins returned to gaily consider my newly conditioned hair, anxious to see the results up close and personal.
And I mean personal. Tiffany actually stuck her nose into my hair and took a big whiff. After some whispering behind their hands, the twins informed me that my Bounce Index had improved considerably, and I was clear to go for a day at Bayport High.
Call me crazy, but I found it difficult to care about whether or not I qualified as “sufficiently luscious” when we were mere hours away from a mission so large that all five Squad teams would be deployed: two to each of the TCIs, and one to Peyton, Kaufman, and Gray.
I mean, yes, this was just an observational mission, and yes, we had been explicitly forbidden from making contact of any kind, but the thought of getting out there again and doing what the ten of us were born to do was enough to make me submit to the twins’ high-speed primping and fluffing without issuing so much as a single death threat.
I was still smiling with anticipation a few minutes later when I left the Quad and headed up to my first hour. My mind on reconnaissance missions and tailing hostile individuals who may have posed a threat to our national security, I wasn’t watching where I was going, and as I rounded a corner on the way to my geometry class, I ran smack into a large, smirking Jack-shaped object.
I bounced off of him and stumbled backward, falling to the ground. I jumped immediately back to my feet, the way I would have in the middle of a fight. Jack caught me in his arms and grinned.
“Happy to see me?” he asked, taking in the goofy smile that was still plastered to my face and ignoring the reflexive narrowing of my eyes that hit me the moment his hands touched my arms.
“I have to say, Ev, the whole smiling thing really works for you. Not that your little scowl isn’t cute, too, but…”
I tried to glare at him, but he just touched the side of my face.
“See?” he said. “Cute scowl.”
Just then, I didn’t care who his father was, or his uncle. All I could think was that I’d show him cute.
“Vote for Toby!”
Any violent and/or furious kiss-related thoughts rising in my mind were immediately quelled when I heard a familiar voice that sounded way too self-satisfied for its owner’s good.
“Vote for Toby. Vote for Toby. Hey, baby. How you doin’?” Slight pause. “Vote for Toby.”
Jack glanced over his shoulder at the source of the voice and then turned back to me, incredulous. “Does your brother have a death wish?” he asked.
“Toby Klein—the people’s candidate. Voting for Toby is like voting for yourself, except it’s not at all narcissistic. Vote for Toby. She’ll—Well, hello there, gorgeous. Call me. We’ll do lunch.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again.