Investigating the Hottie

by Alexander, Juli

  I glanced over at Christie.

  “Look closer,” she said.

  As, I stared at it, the brown portions started to look a little like a road map. In the center, a lone green fleck moved slightly on a pink square.

  “He’s in the chemistry building,” Christie said. “He’s the green speck. The orang-ish square is his house. The dark brown is the bar.

  “Cool. It tracks him on this map,” I said.

  Christie grinned. “Looks like a normal compact at first, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said, closing it and handing it back. “So, does Nic carry the makeup thingy too?”

  “Not if I can help it,” he joked. “There’s a cell phone version, too. But for women like your aunt, high maintenance women, the make-up makes more sense.”

  He really knew how to get to her.

  “Pretty big talk coming from a man who wears make-up,” Christie said.

  What?

  Nic glared at Christie. “Only when the mission requires it. You know that.” He turned to me. “She knows that.”

  “Maybe she likes to bring it up because you’re a little sensitive about it,” I suggested.

  “Maybe,” he said. “Too bad I can’t tell you about the time in Manhattan that she—”

  “Nic!”

  “But I can’t because that whole episode,” he paused to torture her, “was classified.”

  “You’re darn right it was.”

  “But someday. When time passes, it’ll get declassified, and I’ll retire, and write my memoirs, and…” He took a long sip of his Coke. “Then we’ll see.”

  “You wouldn’t.” Christie lifted her glass and held it near him.

  “You have an arsenal of weapons, and you threaten me with water?”

  “I can’t threaten you with anything else. It’s against regulations.” She lowered her drink. “Of course, there is that little thing that happened to you in New Orleans last year.”

  Nic’s eyes narrowed. “You weren’t even my partner then.”

  “No, but the story got around.” Christie broke into an evil grin.

  “You heard about . . . ” He glanced at me. “It?”

  Until I saw Christie’s expression, I’d never gotten that whole cat-ate-the-canary thing.

  “No, I saw the footage.”

  Nic frowned. “They were supposed to destroy that.”

  “I guess it got intercepted.” She bobbed her head to the side and pressed her lips together. “Too bad.”

  Nic glared at her for a moment before saying, “Truce?”

  “Truce,” Christie agreed.

  They shook on it.

  The pizza arrived, and we leaned back so that the waitress could put it on the table.

  “Thanks,” Christie said.

  “Can I get a to-go box please?” Nic asked. “A small one.”

  “Sure,” the waitress said. She went off to find one.

  “Now that you’ve both rudely talked about stuff that you can’t tell me about… ” I teased.

  “Sorry,” Christie said. “We get a little—”

  “Carried away sometimes,” Nic finished.

  I just looked at them. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

  “What?” they said in unison.

  “Nothing.”

  “Thanks,” Nic said as the waitress handed him a box.

  “What?” Christie asked.

  “He finished your sentence.” I folded my arms across my chest. “Explain that one.”

  “He did not,” she said as he said, “I did not.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Ooh. Gotta go,” Nic said. He jumped up, got two slices of pizza from the pan obviously burning himself, because he jerked his hand back and shook it. He popped the slices in the box. “I have to get to work.”

  Christie looked at her watch. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

  “Keeping tabs on me, huh?” He grinned. “I like that.”

  “Barf,” Christie said.

  “See ya later,” Nic said.

  We watched him walk away and out the door, right behind a woman in a nurse’s uniform and Will. Strange coincidence?

  “He’s following him,” I said.

  “He won’t hurt him,” Christie said, squinting at the door. “I think.”

  “He can’t hurt him. He’s a minor.”

  Christie turned to me and smiled. “You’re right. He really can’t.” She shook her head. “That man is a nightmare.”

  “I think you like him.”

  She ignored me and gestured to the pizza. “Let’s dig in. This stuff is delicious.”

  The pizza tasted even better than it smelled.

  “Do you want to skip the scrimmage tonight?” Christie asked when I started on my second piece.

  I considered it. I could probably eat a couple more pieces if I didn’t have to go run around. “No. It was fun last night. And I don’t want to get out of shape. We’ve got a big game next week when I get back.”

  “Okay, let’s get a box for this, and we’ll go home so you can change.”

  “How long have you lived here?” I asked Christie when we got back to her snowy white spy villa.

  “A month.” She tossed her keys on the table and went into the kitchen. “Pretty cool apartment though, huh? The last place was a rundown walk-up in Philly.”

  “That’s almost an oxymoron.” Mom loved oxymorons. “How long were you there?” I called.

  “Six months.” She returned from the kitchen carrying the phone.

  “So you move around all the time?”

  “Pretty much. I’m pushing for an assignment in the Mediterranean, but we’ll see.” She grinned and held the phone out. “Call your mom before you change. She’s probably dying to talk to you.”

  “Right.” I sighed. “Okay.”

  I took the phone and dialed the number I’d memorized for the first day of kindergarten.

  “Hey, Mom,” I said when she answered.

  “Amanda, I’m so glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you. How was your trip?”

  “Fine.” I really hoped she wouldn’t get all “mental health professional” on me. Usually, she was pretty cool. She wasn’t a touchy-feely psychologist but a medical doctor who prescribed medications. And I didn’t need any. Yet.

  “I’m so glad you were able to get away for a while. It will do you some good. How’s Christie?”

  “Great. You know, just the same old Christie.” I smiled so wide at my joke I thought my lips would crack.

  Christie gave me a menacing glare, then grinned, and left the room.

  “I really don’t understand her obsession with education,” Mom said.

  “Mom, you have a medical degree, and Dad’s a law professor. What’s not to understand about Christie staying in school?” She wasn’t in school at all, but whatever.

  “It’s different with her,” Mom said. “Oh, anyway. I want you to think about talking to someone. You know, about the divorce.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “I know, but you really didn’t have the warning signs most children have. I just don’t think you were prepared for it.”

  She had that part right. They’d never fought or anything. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  “Just think about it, okay?”

  “I will. I have to go, though. I’m playing soccer with some people Christie knows.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Have fun, Sweetie. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” I hung up, relieved that I hadn’t had to lie to her.

  Chapter Six

  Will didn’t show at the soccer field, but his friend Colin did. I had an awesome time until Colin kicked the crap out of the back of my shin. My shinguards only protected the front of my shins, and it hurt like freakin’ crazy. I kept playing until the pain went away. I’m not about to be accused of crying like a girl, and not because I’m not one, but because real women don’t cry on the soccer field. Unless they break a bone.

  When
Christie picked me up, she suggested I ice it for a while. Normally, I wouldn’t bother, but my current school wardrobe consisted entirely of skirts. I figured I’d rather sit on the couch with an ice pack than sport a giant purple knot tomorrow.

  Three hours of freezing ice and I still had a nasty bruise that could be seen from a mile away. Good thing I wasn’t interested in Will as a boyfriend, because soccer player or not, this disgusting thing on my leg would have to be a real turn off.

  Too bad they didn’t require knee socks as part of the uniform.

  I walked into the school, telling myself I was being silly when I tensed for the screams of horror.

  Then, the shrieks started. “Ooh!”

  Not so silly after all.

  “Mandy,” a sing-song voice called.

  I turned to find Jenny and Meg.

  “It’s Amanda. Not Mandy.”

  “What happened?” They kept moving around to the see the back of my leg.

  I hadn’t been overly impressed with them the previous day and talking to them now rated very low on my list of priorities.

  “You poor thing. That’s so . . . horrible.” Jenny couldn’t seem to take her eyes off it.

  I finally gave up on talking to their faces and stood still for them to fully view the horror. “Really? I thought it was sexy.”

  Meg deigned to return to the front of me. She wrinkled her nose.

  I decided they just didn’t get my humor.

  “It’s no big deal. I got kicked in the soccer scrimmage.”

  Meg finally got her fill of the horror and joined the conversation. “It’s so ugly.”

  Thanks. “Yeah, it hurt too.”

  “I would just die if I had to walk around like that,” Jenny said, with enough feeling to put any drama queen to shame.

  I started hoping that she’d sprout a bad case of acne tonight.

  “I can’t believe you actually like to play soccer,” Jenny wrinkled her nose again. She must do that a lot.

  “I can’t be the only girl in the school who plays sports.”

  Meg answered. “No, but you’re the only one who plays them with Will.”

  So, that’s how it stood.

  “Meg!”

  “Sorry.” Meg didn’t look sorry.

  So Jenny had a crush on Will.

  “You know,” Jenny said, pausing as if she was about to impart some great wisdom, “Will doesn’t date.”

  “I’m not planning to date him.” I stood up a little straighter to use my height to its best advantage. Maybe I could combat their intimidation tactics.

  “Then why would you go play soccer with a bunch of guys?”

  “For fun. I didn’t know he’d be there.” I tried to avoid starting an all-out war with these idiots while letting them know that they weren’t going to run me off. If I wanted to date Will, they sure wouldn’t stop me. Luckily, I didn’t. Or couldn’t, or just plain didn’t have time to date him anyway.

  Jenny’s accusing glare begged for a slap across the cheek.

  My hand twitched with anticipation. But starting a girl fight wasn’t consistent with the low profile I was keeping. Plus, it just wasn’t my style.

  Darn.

  “Look,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t betray my irritation, “if you want to come out and play tonight. I’m sure the guys wouldn’t mind. Otherwise, I have to get to class.”

  “Oh. So you’re not going to Will’s soccer game tonight?” Meg asked.

  Jenny punched her in the arm.

  “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten.”

  Meg waited to see if Jenny would allow her to speak.

  “They’re playing at six,” Jenny said grudgingly.

  “Great!” I smiled my biggest, brightest smile. “I’ll see you there!”

  I turned and walked away, letting my ugly bruise be the last they saw of me. Take that!

  In Art, Alana, the girl at my table who could actually draw, decided to talk to me. She was apparently just being friendly. Go figure.

  “I could show you some of the basics about drawing sometime if you want.”

  “Are you saying I need help?” I joked.

  “Well . . .” She looked uncomfortable.

  “I’m kidding. I definitely would . . . will never pass this class. It’s nice of you to offer.” Of course, I didn’t have time for it, and I didn’t have to worry about it, because I was going home soon. Note to self—never, ever, take an art class. You suck. Underline. Underline. Underline.

  She put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’d offer to help Will, too, but he probably doesn’t need it.”

  Now I was offended. “Why not? He’s at least as bad as I am.”

  Her chin-length brown curls bobbed as she nodded. “Definitely, but he’s the golden child of PA. He can do no wrong.”

  “Really?” I should probably ask her more. I was supposed to be checking out what others thought of Will.

  “Well, he’s a good student, popular, and a leader on the soccer team. Plus, he works really hard and all the teachers know it.” Like a co-conspirator, she whispered, “You can’t help but like him.”

  “Everybody does seem to like him.”

  “Yep. He could probably get away with murder around here.”

  Yikes. Maybe, he was planning something bad for Monday. But being likeable wasn’t a crime. Could being popular really show bad character? Jenny and Meg came to mind.

  Will came in and sat down with us just as I said, “I’d like some help, Alana. Thanks.”

  Will looked at me and then at her. “You’re gonna help Amanda with art?”

  “I offered to give her a few pointers. Something to get her started.”

  “Can I get in on this?” Will asked.

  Alana blushed. Those 200-watt blue eyes boring into her had an impact. “Sure.”

  I didn’t realize she was shy around Will. I said, “You draw so well. Anything you can show us would have to help.”

  “Thanks.” A big smile broke out across her face. “I love drawing. Math on the other hand is a nightmare.”

  “I’ll help you, or er, Will can help you in math. He’s good at it.” What am I doing? Blowing my cover by knowing he tutors and setting up Will to spend hours with someone else. A pretty girl. I couldn’t screw up more at one time if I tried.

  “Sure,” Will said, eyeing me. “Just let me know.” He looked at Alana. “I’ve got to do better in this class or my grade point average is shot.”

  “Thanks for taking pity on us.” I winced thinking Will might not want to be included in the “pitiable” category.

  The teacher walked in carrying a big bowl of fruit. “Today,” she said, gesturing with her chin, “we will concentrate more on shading.”

  My stomach growled. I’d much rather eat that apple than draw it. I hoped Will hadn’t heard it. How embarrassing. Body noises were not meant for sharing.

  “We’ll wrap up a little early today, so I can tell you about your choices for your first term project.”

  I opened my sketchpad and braced myself for more failure. I really, really liked to do things well. I hoped this week in Art wouldn’t permanently cripple my self-esteem.

  Looking over at Alana, I whispered, “How do you know where to put the shading?”

  Alana gave me a friendly smile. “You look at the light and shading.”

  I guess my face conveyed my response of “duh.”

  “I’ll give you an example. Look at Will.”

  Okay. I turned to look at Will, who squirmed.

  Alana got up and came to stand behind me. “Let’s say you were drawing him. You’d study his features.”

  “Right.” Not a bad way to spend an Art class.

  “See how—” she started.

  Will raised his eyebrows and crossed his eyes.

  “Cut it out, Will,” Alana scolded.

  He really didn’t like us staring at him. I said, “All you have to do is sit there. I have to actually figure out what she’s talk
ing about.”

  “True,” Alana said, “but he’ll be next. I’ll use you to show him the same thing.”

  Oh no! My eyes widened.

  Will smiled wickedly as if to say, “You’ll see how fun it is to have people staring at you.”

  I knew I should have used more concealer on that zit this morning.

  The idea of Will studying my face robbed me of the enjoyment of looking at his. Well, almost. His perfect skin. And I really liked his lips. And his dark, wavy hair. He had this energy about him, confidence maybe, that made him even more attractive. Did I mention his gorgeous blue eyes?

  Alana walked over to me. “Okay, Will. See how the light leaves shadows, but her nose and cheekbones—”

  I turned ever so slightly to show more of the zitless side.

  “Okay, I think he gets it.” I waved her off.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

  I tried to concentrate on what Alana said, but all I could do was try to fight a panicky feeling. He was concentrating all his attention on looking at me.

  Oh my God! Please don’t let there be anything hanging out of my nose. My nose which probably appeared gigantic next to Alana’s pert little nose anyway. Crap.

  And the thin little lips that I hated. I had to line the outside of them if I wore lipstick, otherwise they looked ridiculous. They hadn’t bothered me so much until now. He was probably trying to figure out why he couldn’t see my lips. He probably thought I was some kind of lipless freak.

  At least my eyes were okay. Unless, did I . . . Please let me have checked my eyes for goop this morning. I was starting to have trouble breathing.

  “Okay, class,” the teacher interrupted.

  Thank goodness. Alana sat down, and Will turned his attention to the teacher. I’d survived.

  “Pick up a project list on your way out. I’ve tried to give you a good variety, in order to focus on your strengths.”

  Since I had no strengths, I didn’t pay much attention until I heard the words “computer graphics.”

  I tuned in. “We have limited resources for the computer projects, so only a few of you can choose it. You’ll need to work with a partner, and you’ll present an initial project on Monday to show you are serious about it.”

  Music to my ears. A computer project with a Monday deadline. Finally, a break in my case.