Going Rogue (7 page)

“They’re not weird, they’re …” I couldn’t find a word that described the situation.

“They’re weird,” Roux said. “Trust me. And honestly, I’m not surprised. I could tell you were getting bored.”

“I’m not bored. We live in New York. It’s not boring.”

“C’mon, Mags. It’s me, okay? I know you well. You are
so
bored. How could you go from being an international safecracker to sitting in history class, pretending to learn facts about cities you’ve already lived in? I’d die of boredom and I’ve never even been anywhere.”

“Are you kidding? High school is agonizing! Give me a safe any day!”

“Exactly.”

I stopped short as I realized my Freudian slip. “I didn’t mean it like that,” I said. “I just meant that it’s difficult. I’m not bored.”

“But it’s not what you’re meant to do.”

The certainty in Roux’s voice stopped me and for the first time, I admitted to myself that I was bored. I was
so bored
. I loved Jesse, loved Roux, loved my parents, but nothing changed. The scenery was the same, our house was the same, the risk was the same.

“You spin imaginary locks between your fingers,” Roux said gently. “You do it all the time. Stop lying to yourself.”

I took a deep breath. I was pretty sure we were way late for our SAT prep class. “If I could have everything at the same time, I would,” I told her. “You and Jesse and my parents and Angelo and our house, and then I’d just work nights and weekends.”

Roux grinned. “Like Batman!”

“Just like him.” I laughed. “Same outfit and everything.”

“You definitely need those little pointy ears,” Roux agreed. “Okay, then, so what’s the plan? What are we doing?”

“We?”

“Duh. Of course
we
. What’s Jesse doing? Let me guess, standing around and doing that pouty thing he does? Because that’s
always
helpful.”

“He does not pout! He just … okay, maybe he looks a little pouty every now and then.”

“Ha! You knew I was right.”

“But it’s a
cute
pouty thing! And he’s doing nothing and
so are you
.
Nothing
,” I added as she started to protest. “You are both civilians in this one. I’m not dragging either of you back into danger.” I didn’t tell Roux, but I still woke up some nights gasping for breath, seeing Roux and Jesse run behind me and then disappear into the earth below, falling so fast that I was unable to grab them.

I could feel Roux’s glare even from behind her sunglasses. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Stone cold serious. Wait, is that a wrestler’s name? It sounds like a wrestler.”

“You’re just going to solve this whole thing by yourself?”

“That’s pretty much the plan, yeah.”

Roux sat very still for a moment and I steeled myself for the outburst.

Sure enough, I was right.

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said!” she cried. “So what, you’re going to go do your job without Jesse and especially without
me
? What am I supposed to do then? Do you think I
like
reading all those spy novels? If I have to read the word ‘Moscow’ one more time, I’m going to smother someone with a babushka!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

“I know! If Angelo hadn’t saved us, you’d probably be dead! We’d
all
probably be dead! I know about danger!”

“No, Roux, you don’t. Sometimes people are psychopaths, okay? I have a talent, I have a gift, and I’ve been trained since I was a little kid. I made a huge mistake by dragging you and Jesse into it last year, I know that, and I will
not
do it again. You deserve better.”

Roux sat back against the bench and looked very, very small. “So you go off and do your job and I stay here and do what?”

“You go to school,” I told her. “You apply to colleges. You harass Harold! Do whatever it is you enjoy doing! You
love
talking to Harold!”

It might have been just the sun, but I thought for a split second that I saw Roux’s lip tremble. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?” she said in a near whisper. “What it was like before you came here? Those girls hate me.” She pointed over toward our school, which was only a few blocks away. “They
hate
me. I made one mistake and they won’t let me forget it. Have you even
noticed
that you’re still my only friend? You
know
what they say to me, Maggie. How many different ways can you call someone a slut? Because I think they’re trying to set a world record.”

Now I knew it wasn’t the sunlight. Roux’s lip really was wobbling.

“My parents were home for two days and they took me to dinner and talked about themselves,” she said. “They asked about school and about friends and didn’t listen to
any of my answers. Then they taped a note to the refrigerator door this morning and left a thousand dollars cash for emergencies. They don’t care about me at home and they hate me at school. The only place I can go where someone doesn’t try to shut me down is your house.”

I sat dumbfounded. I had thought that nearly everything rolled off Roux’s back, that she didn’t care what anyone thought of her. She never even blinked when someone in the hall threw a slur in her direction, but I guess if you fire a bullet at someone enough times, eventually they learn not to flinch.

And it made sense now, too, why she thought our loft was safe. Even without the bulletproof windows and high-tech entrance pad, it was still the safest place she had.

“No, it’s fine,” she said when I tried to reach for her, and she slipped a finger under her sunglasses to wipe at her eyes. “It’s cool. I think … I think I’m just going to ditch the rest of the class, if that’s okay with you.”

“I can ditch with you,” I offered. “I mean it. We can do something. Do you want to get a manicure?”

She smiled a little. “You’re a good friend. But I think I want to be alone for a while. Gotta get used to it again.”

And before I could stop her, Roux turned and walked away in the opposite direction of our SAT prep class, not even turning around when I called her name.

“And then she just walked off. She just left me alone sitting on a bench like one of those people who feed pigeons and I feel awful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you even listening?” I stopped walking and turned to Jesse in the middle of the street.

“Of course I am!” He held up his hands in mock-surrender. “Roux left you in the park and you turned into a pigeon. See, crystal clear.”

I tried not to smile but my mouth gave me away. “You’re horrible.”

“I think you mean
hilarious
.” Jesse looped his arm over my shoulders as we started to walk again. We were going to Joe’s in the West Village for iced coffee and some much-needed catch-up time. I had spent the two days since Roux’s outburst researching everything I could about the 1933 double-eagle gold coin, Saint-Gaudens, and Dominic Arment. I also kept working on the lock that Angelo had given me, but I was no closer to cracking it. Jesse had spent those same two days in
soccer practice and, after his dad found out that he hadn’t done any of his summer reading yet, poring over
The Poisonwood Bible
and
Slaughterhouse-Five
.

Both things were excellent cover-ups for the fact that we weren’t really talking. I mean, we were talking. We just weren’t …
talking
.

“So Roux was upset and left you alone in Washington Square Park.”

“Yes,” I said. “And she didn’t answer any of my texts like she normally does.”

“What do you mean?”

“She usually sends lots of emoticons and emojis and exclamation marks. If she could text
actual
fireworks, she probably would.”

“Well, I’m really glad now that Roux never texts me. Okay, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jesse said, grabbing my arm and reeling me back as I started to stalk away. “Sarcasm off, okay? I’m listening.”

“No, you’re placating me.” I stood on the sidewalk as he held my wrist. “There’s a difference.”

“Yes, in the spelling. I’m sorry things are weird now between you and Roux.”

I was not feeling particularly charitable, though. I had spent two days doing ridiculous amounts of research, but without the Collective’s resources, it felt like walking on a tightrope without a net. My eyes hurt from the computer screen, my neck was all wonky from leaning forward to stare at the screen, and now I wasn’t even sure how to talk to my best friend.

“No, you’re not sorry,” I told Jesse.

“Now you’re pouting.”

“Am not.”

He smiled, the corners of his mouth quirking a little. “It’s pretty cute. Wanna stamp your foot, too?”

“Yes. Into your crotch.”

He drummed his fingertips against the inside of my wrist, making me shiver a little. “You’re cheating,” I said. “You can’t do that. I’m mad at you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Am I? Is this cheating, too?” He started to pull me to him and gently pressed his mouth against my shoulder, working his way up my neck.

“
Such
a cheater,” I murmured. “Okay, stop, stop,” I added when he started to kiss the spot just under my ear, the spot that he knew made me crumble faster than anything. “Jesse, seriously, we’re on the street. That guy by the fruit stand is staring at us.”

He gave me one last kiss before pulling away reluctantly. “Forgiven?”

“Perhaps. On one condition: you buy the coffee.”

“All men should be so lucky to have these terms,” he replied, then took my hand and laced our fingers together.

It was all I could do not to bury my smile against his shoulder.

At the coffeehouse, Jesse waited in line while I reserved a space for us on the bench outside. The city was teeming with people and kids and dogs and I watched from my perch, knees drawn up to my chest.

That’s when I saw the man again.

He was the same one who had been watching Jesse and
me from the fruit stand. At the time, I had thought he was just a creeper, but he circled the block twice in front of Joe’s, walking with purpose, but not enough to seem noticeable, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Black T-shirt, black jeans, Converse sneakers, nothing distinguishable.

Which, in New York City, made him very noticeable to me.

When Jesse came back outside with our coffee, I stood up. “Let’s walk instead,” I said, holding on to the crook of his elbow. “We don’t get enough exercise.”

“What are you talking about? I have soccer practice three hours a day. And we never get to sit on the bench. Someone’s always parked here. Remember the time that Philip Seymour Hoffman wouldn’t leave?”

“It’s really nice out. C’mon, late summer, the heat wave is over. Let’s stroll.” I had clearly been spending way too much time with Angelo, but there was no way I was going to be a sitting duck while some suspicious guy orbited around me.

Jesse eventually agreed (not before giving me a huge, world-weary sigh, though), and we headed west on Waverly, exactly the direction that the man had headed in not two minutes earlier. “So,” Jesse said, handing me my iced coffee. “Have you talked to Angelo lately?”

“I have,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “He says hello.”

“Oh, cool, cool. Tell him I said hi.” I could tell that Jesse was putting the same amount of effort into keeping his voice light, too. “How is he?”

“Fine.”

“Good.” Jesse cleared his throat, then took a sip of his blended drink. “Did he, um, say anything? Like, interesting or useful?”

I glanced up at Jesse. “You are terrible at this.”

“We can’t all be spies, Mags,” he said. “I’m trying my best here.”

I laughed with him as we both crossed the street. “Yes, Angelo did have something interesting to tell me. And no, I can’t tell you.”

“Damn.”

“That’s why Roux got upset. Because I wouldn’t tell her anything. See, you
weren’t
listening!” I playfully slugged him in the shoulder and he pretended to wince.

“Nothing, though? We’re pretty trustworthy, right? We’ve proven ourselves.”

“Of course I trust you.” I sipped at my coffee as I dodged an open restaurant basement door. “I just don’t want you to know anything because it makes you liable.”

“You mean like if we get tortured for information?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Jess, don’t even joke about that.”

“Are you serious? That could really be a thing?”

I didn’t want to think about the boatload of problems that could have happened if Jesse and Roux had too much information. “Look,” I told him. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, okay? Believe me, I want to tell you everything. I just don’t want to risk anything. Last time was …”

“An aberration?” Jesse offered.

“Yes. Wow. Good word.”

“It’s all that summer reading.”

“Well, either way, it’s not happening again. I’m not letting anyone shoot at you, chase you, or even—”

But I stopped myself when I saw the same man walk down the other side of the street. It was official: he was walking in circles. Large circles, to be fair, but circles nonetheless.

“Let’s go this way instead,” I told Jesse, spinning on my heel and making a sharp right onto Grove Street. “View’s better.”

“Why? What’d you just see?”

“Nothing.”

“Maggie? I may be a bad spy, but you’re a
terrible
liar.”

I rolled my eyes, but he was right. Everyone said so. “I just thought I saw someone.”

“Someone like … ?”

“I just thought someone was tailing me. Or us. Probably me. I don’t know. He’s been walking in circles for the past five minutes.”

Jesse looked around us, which I thought was pretty cute of him. “What does he look like? Do you want me to kick his ass?”

“Oh my God,
no
. Definitely no ass kicking allowed. C’mon, look, there’s a bookstore. Let’s go inside and see if he follows.”

“What if he does, though?”

“Then we pull the fire alarm and I’ll go for his knees while you slam him in the face with a fire extinguisher.”

“Really?”

“Of course not. See?” I added, poking him in the ribs. “I’m not such a bad liar after all.”

I led Jesse toward Three Lives & Company, where we went inside and hovered near the front windows for a few minutes. I kept my eye out for the guy while Jesse thumbed through the fiction section. “More required reading.” He sighed. “Do you see anything?”