Investigating the Hottie (3 page)

“He’s going to jail for messing up some singles ad web site?” I tugged at the collar of my sweater.

“No,” she said. “There was no real harm done. He left a message though that he has plans for more “chaos” a week from tomorrow, which will, quote ‘impact millions of Americans.’  We need to get to the bottom of this before then. His last attacks were relatively harmless, but he did display the know-how for doing some real harm.”

“Millions of Americans? That really doesn’t sound good.” I looked at Nic.

“We’re really interested in what you think of him after you meet him. Try to see how he interacts with the other students. Listen for any comments about how he’s changed or that he’s been self-isolating recently.”

“You have six days,” Christie said. “Then we’ll have to take over. We can’t take a chance on him carrying out this threat. A computer virus can do significant harm. To hospitals and financial institutions, and everything else.”

“Sounds not so safe.”

 “It’s your first mission.” She put her hand on my arm. “You won’t be accusing him or apprehending him.”

Then, she settled back and put a picture on the screen of a real hottie in a navy blue jacket with an emblem and a maroon tie. “Meet Will Middleton. Starting forward on the soccer team. Excellent student. And one of the most popular boys in school.”

“That’s the guy you want me to make friends with?” He was hot with blue eyes and a killer smile.

“He’s kinda cute,” she said, in a teasing voice. “It shouldn’t be that horrible for you.”

She didn’t get it. “A guy like that is never going to notice me, much less hang out with me.”

“All you have to do is be yourself. We’ll do the rest. I’ve arranged for you to be in all his classes.” She sounded so sure of herself.

“I can’t talk to boys, Christie. Not strangers. And definitely not cute, popular boys.” A week to befriend a computer nerd, totally doable. A week to get close to a real hottie, impossible.

“You talked to Nic without any problems,” she pointed out.

“Yes, bu—”

“I know. He’s older and he’s no hottie.” Christie was really enjoying herself.

“Hey!” Nic took offense.

I tried to explain. “He’s easy to talk to. And he isn’t a high school boy.”

“You’ll be fine.” Christie waved a hand, dismissing my concerns. “I was shy too, but all you have to do is be yourself. You’ll be in his classes. And I have a list of options for additional contact. You don’t have to get him to fall in love with you or ask you to the prom. Just spend some time with him.”

“I’m beyond shy, Christie. I’m totally, socially inept.” How could I possibly explain just how impossible this all was? Since my first middle school dance, interacting with boys had been nothing other than humiliating. I moved to Dunwoody and went to a Youth Group dance two days before school started. I was taller than the boys, but one asked me to dance anyway. He was kinda cute, and I danced a slow dance with him thinking it was going so well, so much better than I expected. And then, he’d opened his big fat mouth and asked if I knew that boys were supposed to lead and would I mind if he led for a while. I was horrified. I felt like crawling under a rock. As soon as the song ended, I climbed to the top of the bleachers and sat there in the dark watching the others dance until my mother came to pick me up. In the four years that followed, things hadn’t improved.

“In a week, you’ll never have to see this guy again. You won’t know anyone here. No one knows you. You can be whoever you want to be.”

“Christie, I—”

“Besides, you’re a good Southern girl, friendly and full of smiles. Trust me. They’ll love you up here. I know you have lots of friends, Amanda. Your mom is always telling me about the parties and the sleepovers...”

“I have friends.
Girl
friends. Boys are different.” 

Christie’s lips twitched and settled into a grin. “True, but they aren’t as bad as you seem to think. We’ll get you some one-on-one time with him. Just try to talk some about your interests and see if he talks about his. Just be friendly.”

“I’ll try,” I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest. “But don’t be surprised if this doesn’t work.” Here was my chance for excitement, and I didn’t have a chance in Hades of doing it.

They briefed me on Will, definitely “Mr. Best All Around Everything.”  Then, Nic left for his bartending job, and Christie took me to see my room.

My bedroom looked nothing like the living room. The bed sported a deep purple comforter and some furry purple pillows.

“Awesome.” I stopped and turned to look at Christie.

She shrugged. “I get sick of all that white, too. I shopped a little after talking to you yesterday.” She motioned to a purple laptop sitting on the desk. “I want you to feel comfortable while you’re here.” Grinning, she said, “Despite all the shocks. You can check your email. It’s a secure connection.”

I walked over and sat on the fuzzy purple chair. “I told my friends you probably wouldn’t have a decent Internet connection.” Purple tea lights dotted the bedside table, and a hot pink candle the size of a soccer ball sat on the dresser.

“Why don’t you email your Mom. Or call her. She’s probably expecting to hear from you.”

It wasn’t going to be easy to talk to Mom. “She doesn’t know about any of this, does she?”

“No.” Christie shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed. “She worries a lot. I’ll tell her, but I’d rather tell her in person. And later.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Much later.”

I saw her point, but how was I supposed to sound normal on the phone when I was dealing with this whole alternate universe where nothing was as it seemed. Except maybe Bridget. And Lexi’s peeing brother. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

Christie pursed her lips and tilted her head to the side. “She’ll probably assume you’re tired from the flight and stressed out over the divorce. Besides, it’s good practice for your undercover work.”  

When had lying to my mother become good practice? “I thought it was up to me whether I join GASI or not.”

“It is. I swear. But you are so talented with languages, and I think you’ll enjoy it.” She patted the bed next to her.

I got up and moved to the bed. She put her arm around me, just like she used to do when we hung out. “You don’t have to make any sacrifices yet. You’ll finish high school and college, working for the agency at times, if you want. With the right training and your talent for languages and accents, you’ll be able to slip into so many situations unnoticed. Like a chameleon. You’ll be able to get information for us. You’ll learn how to protect yourself, and you’ll have back up.”

I wouldn’t have been me if I’d known how to turn down a challenge. And Christie was right. It did sound like fun. “Okay, so I go to school this week and pretend I’m moving here. Am I going to be wired with a camera and recorder?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “The most important piece of equipment is new padded bras. I got you some.” She stood and went over to the dresser.

“Padded bras?”
She’s kidding, right?
 

She rummaged in the drawer and pulled out a handful of bras. “They’re necessary for the mission.”

She handed me a bra and I studied it. I usually wore sports bras or flimsy little lacy ones. These looked like serious business. “Are you saying that I need bigger boobs if I’m going to be a spy?”

Her eyes widened in horror. “No. Not at all. We just need the extra room for the tracking devices, unless you want them implanted in your skin. It’s up to you.”

I shuddered. “No way. Will I be wired for sound?”

“Sort of. I’ve got a contact lens for you to wear. That takes care of the video and a support unit for sound.”

“You know my bra size and have my contact lens prescription.” I cringed and set the bra on the bed. “I hope other people can’t get private stuff like that easily.”

“Most can’t. Some can.”

Not making me feel better.
“How can a whole video camera fit in a contact lens?” 

“There’s a digital support unit for it that you’ll wear in the cup of the bra.”

I could totally picture walking around with a giant lump in my bra.

“Besides,” she said, “you’ll be carrying a mini cellphone in the other side. We can’t have you stranded without communications, and the school doesn’t allow phones.”

Make that two giant lumps.

She took two small black things off the dresser. They were the size of matchbooks but curved. “This is the audio and video support with the tracking device.” She motioned to the left hand. Holding up the right hand, she said, “This is the cell phone.”

“So my breast will ring?”

“No. It’s mostly for you to contact us, but it’ll vibrate very slightly if we call you.” She handed me the two surprisingly light objects.

Great, a vibrating breast should help me fit in.
“How do I answer it?” 

“You’ll have to go in the bathroom and slip it out of the pocket in the bra.” She said it as if she pulled things out of her bra all the time.

“I guess they don’t have metal detectors at this private school.”

“Oh, no. But it wouldn’t matter. This is the latest technology. It can’t be picked up.” Her lips curved into a big smile. “Take out your right lens and try the camera real quick, call your mom, and then let’s have movie night. Just like old times. I bought all the ingredients for banana splits, and I rented our movies.”

“
Clueless
?” I asked hopefully. 

“You know it.
Never Been Kissed
and
While You Were Sleeping
.” 

“Awesome.” We’d watched those movies two years ago at the beach, the last time I’d seen her. I guess I was willing to trade in the Birkenstocks and herbal teas if I got to keep the ice cream, candles, and movie night.

I held up the bra next to the cell phone. “I guess you won’t be able to tell with all that padding.”

“This kind of recording equipment is more reliable than a pin or jewelry because you won’t be likely to lose it or take it off unintentionally.” She took the bra, video device, and cell phone from me and moved them to the dresser.

I lose jewelry all the time. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken my bra off accidentally.”

“Good.” Her grin turned devilish. “Besides, going up a cup size can’t exactly hurt.”

I threw the fuzzy purple pillow at her as she ran from the room.

Then, I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. None of this felt real. But I’d have to find a way to cope with it, because this was the adventure I’d been longing for.

Chapter Three

I smoothed the pleated, plaid uniform skirt that Christie had given me and tried to look casual like the other girls at Princeton Academy. The outfit reeked of that new clothes smell. I was much more comfortable in jeans at my public school back home. Skirts weren’t really my thing. My legs, which I admit are pretty nice, because I got them from my mom, have a way of attracting attention. I’d have loved to shed the crisp white shirt and conservative navy blazer for my usual sweaters and T-shirts. I felt like I was wearing a costume, not a uniform.

“And today, Amanda is playing the prep school junior,” I muttered to myself as I wandered down the marble hallway to the class. Even the walls in this building exuded a feeling of wealth. I’d have to sell secrets to terrorists to afford this kind of school.

“Okay, Amanda, you can do this. You aren’t shy; you’re outgoing. You like meeting new people. You wrap boys around your finger. And you’re not a sophomore. Remember, you’re a junior.”

Room 157, 159, 161. The new contact worked remarkably well. I was more aware of it than my usual one, but it didn’t really bother me. My vision was perfect. I stopped to take one last deep breath before opening the door to the sea of strange faces.

“Hello there,” the teacher greeted.
Was it Ms. Wilson?
“I’m Ms. Simpson.” 

Maybe I’m not cut out for this spy stuff.

“You must be our new student.”

Here goes nothing.
“Yes, Amanda Peterson.” I stepped forward and focused on the back of the classroom like my speech teacher had taught us. 

“Let me see your schedule, dear.” She took the printout and skimmed it. “Who has American Government first period?”

For a moment, I thought no one was going to answer. Then, I heard a voice from the rear of the room say, “I do.”

“Wonderful,” Ms. Simpson said while I scanned the back of the room for who had spoken. “Mr. Middleton can show you to your first period class. Welcome to Princeton Academy, dear.”

“Thanks.”

The bell rang before I even sat down. I moved back toward the chalkboard to avoid the swarm of kids trying to squeeze through the door.

The room cleared out pretty quickly, and I saw that Will looked just like his picture. Only, even hotter. And tall. And his hair was a little longer, and scruffier, but it so worked for him.

I’m totally screwed.

I tried to smile.
Say hello
.
Say hello
. “Hi.”
Good job
. 

“I’m Will,” he said.

“Amanda,” I said. Then, I felt stupid because he’d already heard my name. I forced myself to look at him again, and I saw a pair of friendly blue eyes. They reminded me of my friend, Lexi’s. “Sorry you got roped into showing me to class.”

“It’s okay.” His crooked smile made my heart thump.

“Thanks.”
This isn’t so bad. But why did he have to be so good looking?
Hottie was an understatement. Since I found him attractive, I’d become even more socially inept. Inepter even. They’d have to invent a new word just to describe me. 

“We better get going.” He started out the door and I followed.

The hall was thick with teens in blue blazers, but Will kept glancing back to make sure we didn’t get separated. Christie had said that just because boys and girls were different didn’t mean they weren’t the same. Sure she was nuts, but maybe she had a point. Will was being nice to me just like I would to a new kid at my school. Maybe I had something in common with a boy after all.