Spy Ski School (10 page)

“Now you've seen it,” Blond Mullet said dismissively. “So go read it.” He had a deep, imposing voice, but also a singsong Scandinavian accent that made him sound ridiculous.

I was still cowed by him, though, and almost shrank away. But then I noticed Jessica. Although she hadn't said a word, she seemed upset at Blond Mullet for trying to run me off so quickly. So I steeled myself and decided to ignore the bodyguard. I looked right at Jessica, as if Blond Mullet hadn't even spoken, and asked, “Is it your first day too?”

She gave me a shy smile. “It is.”

“I'm Ben,” I said. “Ben Coolman.”

The name had been devised for me by a team of CIA analysts. I'd been allowed to stick with my own first name so that I wouldn't forget it. And I'd been given the name “Coolman” because, well, it had the word “cool” in it, which a million dollars' worth of CIA research said made me sound cooler.

Jessica's smile widened, like she was thrilled someone had actually braved her bodyguards. “I'm Jessica.”

I started to say “It's nice to meet you,” but I barely got through the first syllable before Blond Mullet stepped between Jessica and me and pointed a finger the size of a
kielbasa at my face. “I told you to go,” he warned. “If you don't, I will rip your arms off.”

I might have backed off right then and abandoned the mission—after all, I liked having my arms attached to my body—if Jessica hadn't intervened. She stepped around the bodyguard, placed her hand on his, and said, “Dane, there's no need for that.” Her voice remained soft and sweet, but there was a firmness beneath it that unnerved the big man. Even though Jessica's hand was dwarfed by his, he lowered it obediently.

“But . . . ,” he began.

“He's only a boy,” Jessica said. “And he was just being friendly.” She then turned to me, looking embarrassed about the whole ordeal. “Sorry about that.”

I glanced at Blond Mullet—Dane—warily. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Not at all,” Jessica replied. “Dane overreacted. He wouldn't have really hurt you, I promise; he just likes to act tough.”

If Dane was upset by this comment, he didn't show it. Instead, he kept his stony gaze fixed on me.

“He's good at it,” I said.

To my surprise, Jessica giggled.

Dane's gaze grew even stonier.

The other three bodyguards were acting like I wasn't even there. They were staring off in other directions, watching the
crowd. With so many people around, keeping an eye out for potential threats was a big job.

“Where are you from, Ben?” Jessica asked.

“Near Washington, DC.” The CIA had advised me to use my real hometown, rather than a false one, because I'd never really lived anywhere else and wasn't ready to fake it. (I would have needed more research for that, and we hadn't had the time.) “How about you?”

“Shanghai.”

I did my best to act surprised, like this was news to me. “Shanghai, China?”

“No, Shanghai, Nebraska,” Jessica said sarcastically. However, she did it in an inoffensive way that made me laugh. Her sense of humor caught me pleasantly by surprise.

“Sorry,” I said. “It's just that . . . well, you speak English like someone who's actually from Nebraska. Actually, probably
better
than most people from Nebraska.”

Now Jessica laughed. “Thanks. I ought to speak it well, though. My father has taught it to me ever since I was a baby. Though I've never had the chance to speak it to anyone from the United States before.”

“No way,” I said.

“Well, I got to say a few sentences to the customs agent at the airport,” Jessica admitted. “But other than that, you're my first.”

“You're doing great,” I said, genuinely impressed—and Jessica seemed pleased by the compliment.

I thought about asking her about her father then and there—who he was, what he did, and so on—but decided against it. Kids didn't usually ask other kids about their parents right off the bat, and I didn't want to make Jessica suspicious. Or make her think I was a weirdo. As it was, she seemed surprisingly happy to talk to me, so I figured I'd just go with it. “So you came all the way here from Shanghai just to ski?”

“I've always heard Colorado was the best. So here I am.” Jessica looked around excitedly. “I wonder how many different classes there'll be. Looks like there's a lot of kids our age here.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, taking the opportunity to look around as well. My fellow spies had all come along by now, blending in with the other kids and doing their best to look normal—except for Warren, who had clonked several other people in the head with his skis. “They're not supposed to put too many kids in each class, though.”

“It'd be cool if we were in the same one.”

I turned to Jessica, unable to hide my shock that she'd said this. “Really?”

“Of course,” she replied shyly. “You're the only person I know here. So it'd be nice to get to stay together.”

“It would,” I agreed, pleased with how well things were going.

“All right, kids!” yelled a pretty blond woman in a blue Vail Ski School outfit. “Gather 'round! It's time to meet your instructors!” Several other adults in matching blue outfits stood behind her. The blond woman checked a clipboard and began to rattle off names. “Ben Coolman, Jessica Shang, Chip Stonehill, Zoe Kinsler, Warren Tinkleberry, and . . . Oh boy, I know I'm going to mess this one up . . . Jawhortlelal?”

“Jawaharlal,” corrected Jawa. “But you can just call me Jawa.”

“Jawa, right,” said the blond woman. “You guys and Sasha Rotko are all in a class together.”

Erica stepped forward with the rest of us. She was Sasha Rotko, the only one of us the CIA trusted to be able to use a completely fake name.

She had once again shifted out of her normal personality, just as she had around the Arabelle the day before. “Sasha Rotko” was nothing like the normally cool, calm, hyper-intelligent Erica Hale. Instead, she was an awkward, fatuous, gum-smacking ditz. Erica made everything about herself different, from the way she walked to the vacant look in her eyes to her voice, which was now high and squeaky. If they gave Oscars for undercover work, Erica would have won in a landslide.

“Hey, Ben!” she said to me. “We're in the same class! Super-coolness!”

“You two know each other?” Jessica asked warily.

“Not really,” Erica told her. “We just met at the pizza place yesterday. I was getting a slice and Ben was getting a slice, and both of us wanted to walk around town, so I was like, ‘Hey! Let's walk around town together!' So we did!”

She was telling the story for the benefit of Dane, who'd seen us together the day before. Despite how well Erica sold it, though, it was hard to tell if Dane was convinced. His stony gaze remained exactly the same, giving no indication of what was going on in his mind.

I wish I could have said the same for my fellow students. None of them had ever seen Erica transform herself like this before, and they all did a lousy job of hiding their astonishment. Chip, who had been so dismissive of Erica's ability to act a few minutes earlier, now appeared completely dumbfounded by her performance.

Luckily, before Jessica, Dane, or any of the other three bodyguards could notice this, the blond ski school woman intervened. She waved us all over to her and said, “Okay, kids, your instructor is going to be Woodchuck.”

My friends, who had finally recovered from the shock of seeing Erica morph into Sasha, now struggled to hide their surprise at the identity of our instructor. (Erica, of course,
registered no surprise at all.) Their reactions were subtle, though, so no one probably noticed but me. There was a good chance I showed some surprise myself, figuring it was unlikely that there were two people in the world who actually went by the name “Woodchuck.”

“Hello, future skiers!” a big voice boomed behind me. Sure enough, it was Woodchuck Wallace, the CIA's expert outdoorsman. Normally, Woodchuck ran our academy's summer facility for outdoor training—also known as spy camp—so I'd never seen him in winter clothing before. Or really, much clothing at all. He'd made most of his own clothes at camp, usually out of buckskin. So he looked a bit odd in a ski suit. But he was still the same burly, incredibly athletic, exceptionally confident guy—although he pretended that he didn't know us. “It's nice to meet all of you. I know it's only your first day, but I promise you, if you're ready to learn, I'll have all of you blazing down this mountain in no time!”

All my friends responded with enthusiasm, though Erica was the most enthusiastic of all. “Sounds great!” she whooped. “Let's do this!”

Woodchuck grinned and pointed at her. “I like that spirit!” He checked his roster and asked, “You're Sasha?”

“That's right.”

Woodchuck turned to the rest of us. “Take a lesson from
Sasha, gang. Skiing is ten percent physical ability and ninety percent attitude. If you
want
to do it, you can do it. So who's ready to ski?”

All of us whooped excitedly now. We weren't faking. Woodchuck's energy was infectious.

“Excellent!” Woodchuck cried. “Now, the ski school for kids is up at the top of the mountain. We've got an awesome setup there to teach you everything you need to know. So let's head over to the gondola right now and get to know each other on the way up.” With that he hoisted his skis onto his shoulder and led the way.

The rest of us grabbed our skis as well. Dane the bodyguard reached for Jessica's, but she made a point of taking them herself. Warren managed to bonk three more innocent bystanders in the head while starting out. Fortunately, they were all wearing ski helmets, so no one got hurt.

Jessica's bodyguards tried to stay around her as she walked, but she sideslipped them and dropped in next to me. “I'm excited we get to be ski buddies,” she said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Me too.”

Dane didn't seem too happy about this, though. Instead, he sized me up suspiciously, his gaze so cold that it made me shiver.

“And I'm excited to get out there and finally ski,” Jessica went on. “This is going to be more fun than a
bucket of weasels!”

“Bucket of weasels?” I repeated.

Jessica frowned. “Oh, shoot. I got that wrong, didn't I? I always have trouble with your idioms. They're so strange.”

Understanding came to me. “You meant ‘more fun than a barrel of monkeys.' ”

“Yes! That's it!” Jessica agreed brightly. “See what I mean? Honestly, would a barrel of monkeys be that much fun?”

“More fun than a bucket of weasels,” I pointed out.

“No way. Have you ever been around monkeys? They smell and they throw poo at you.”

“Are you two talking about monkeys?” Erica asked, slipping in between us. “I loooove monkeys! They're so cute! Especially lemur-monkeys!”

Jessica shot me a sideways “get a load of this airhead” glance. “There's no such thing as lemur-monkeys,” she said. “There are lemurs and there are monkeys. They're totally different species.”

Erica shrugged, unfazed, then looked to me. “Ben, you didn't tell me you had a friend here with you.”

“Actually, Jessica and I just met this morning,” I told her.

“Get out!” Erica cried. “Because it seems like you two are total besties. I was getting this vibe that you'd known each other since you were kids or something.”

Jessica smiled, seeming to like something about this. “We've only known each other about ten minutes.”

“Seems more like ten
years
.” Erica whipped out her cell phone and stiff-armed it to aim it back at us. “Selfie time!” she announced.

Jessica and I obediently looked at the camera.

“No photos,” growled Dane.

Erica turned to Jessica, a perplexed look on her face. “Who's this guy? Your dad?”

“My bodyguard,” Jessica said, like it was embarrassing.

Erica's eyes widened in fake shock. “You have bodyguards? No way! Are you, like, famous?”

“No,” Jessica said. “My dad's just kind of important. So he thinks I need them.”

“Who is he?” Erica asked bluntly. “Like an actor or a singer or something?”

“No, he's only a businessman,” Jessica replied, in a way that indicated she didn't really want to talk about her father at all.

Erica pretended not to sense this. “What kind of business is he in?”

“He's in the ‘none of your' business,” Jessica said curtly.

Erica screwed up her face in confusion, then faked a flash of understanding and burst into laughter. “None of your business! You're funny, Jessica! Really funny!”

We arrived at the gondola, which was kind of like a normal ski lift on steroids. Each gondola cabin was surprisingly
large, the size of a small bathroom, and able to hold up to nine people at a time. The cabins all dangled from a thick wire that would whisk us up to the top of the mountain. A line of several hundred skiers waited for it, but as ski school students, we were allowed to cut. There was a separate entrance for us. Woodchuck waved us all through, but then held up a hand to Jessica's bodyguards. “Gentlemen, I believe the ski school made it clear that having all four of you along is unnecessary—as well as detrimental to providing Jessica with the optimal ski school experience.”

The bodyguards all frowned at this, but then nodded grudgingly. Dane stepped forward. “I will be staying close to Jessica today,” he announced.

“All right,” Woodchuck said, looking him up and down. “But you're so big, you're gonna take up almost the whole cabin.” He turned back to the rest of the class. “We'll need to split up, gang. Jessica, you go with your guard here and . . .”

“Ben?” Jessica suggested.