“Second thoughts? About the Squad?”
She nodded.
“I’m starting to think the CIA is seriously deranged for letting us do this,” I told her, “but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to do it.” I paused. “Actually, the fact that we probablyshouldn’tbe doing this kind of makes me want to do it more.”
Zee snorted. “Adrenaline junkie,” she accused.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Or maybe,” Zee filled in, “the fact that the danger is real is making you realize that the good we do is real, too.”
I didn’t reply. Zee was the PhD, not me, and I wasn’t all that curious as to why nearly having my head taken off by flying debris was more of a turn-on to the spy gig than a turn-off.
“You’ll call if you need to talk?” Zee asked.
I nodded. “Sure.”
“Cool.”
“That it?”
Zee grinned. “Unless you want to talk about your feelings for Jack?”
I glared at her.
“Didn’t think so.”
CHAPTER 11
Code Word: The Fam
For the first time since I’d joined the Squad, I walked through my front door before eight o’clock at night. The first couple of weeks, I kept thinking that my mother would at least ask why we were having such long practices, but apparently, unbeknownst to me, she’d caught a documentary on competitive cheerleading, and she didn’t seem to think that the hours I was keeping were all that unusual.
Then again, there was very little that did strike my mom as unusual. She was the kind of person who could walk into a room and discover that it was filled with penguins, and she would just shrug it off like it was nothing. She wasn’t at all oblivious; she noticed everything, took note, and filed it away for future reference, but nothing fazed her. Nothing. My dad was the exact opposite. Most days, he was so caught up in equations and theorems that the mere existence of nonnumeric entities in the world took him by surprise.
“You’re home for dinner,” my mom commented the second she set eyes on me. “Help me set the table.”
See? No questions as to why I was home for dinner, or, for that matter, how I’d gotten the cut on the side of my head. She definitely noticed it, and the look in her eyes told me that she wanted me to know she’d noticed it, but she didn’t spare it so much as an additional comment.
I set the table for four, and at the last minute, my mom had me add a place setting, which could only mean one of two things. The first option was that my dad had brought someone home with him from work. The second was that one of Noah’s friends had tagged along after school. I spent a single moment devoutly praying that it was the first option. I would rather listen to multiple socially awkward physicists wax poetic about string theory than suffer the company of the freshman goof squad.
“Mom?”
“Yes, dear?”
“Who’s the fifth setting for?”
“Noah’s friend Chuck.”
Today was just really not my day. Chuck had an unhealthy Toby obsession. He’d had the aforementioned obsession since the pre-Squad days, and needless to say, my becoming the stereotypical teen boy’s dream overnight hadn’t done much to dissuade him.
Long story short, I wasn’t looking forward to dinner.
By the time Chuck and Noah slid into their seats at the table, I had a very simple plan. I was going to eat quickly. I was going to glare at anyone who tried to talk to me, and Iwas going to thoroughly pretend that there wasn’t still blue body glitter on my chest. It wasn’t a foolproof plan, but it was functional, and after the day I’d had, I wasn’t sure I could hope for much more than that.
“Hey, Tobe.” Noah greeted me cheerfully. In fact, he sounded just happy enough to sketch me out. If he was happy, he was up to something.
“Mmvvmmmesh,” Chuck mumbled. I was about ninety percent sure that he was trying to say hello, but decided to ignore his mumbling altogether. It was kinder that way. Really.
