"Juniors." The coarse voice of the stranger in front of them spoke. His one operating eye roamed the junior class as we stood in one of the large spaces of Sublevel Two.
It was a surprise to all of us, when Mr. Goode called for his junior class to meet at the tall double doors of room 204 and yet, instead of meeting with our Covert Op teacher, we were greeted by a ragged old man in a maintenance uniform.
The man limped to the front of the doors with a cane then turned to face us. His one brown eye, that wasn't hidden behind an eyepatch, glared at the front row while his jutted jaw growled as if the sight of us was a nuisance. He scratched at the bald top of his head, where the grey hairs were thinning.
"Sir?" A voice from the back spoke. The ragged man grunted a response. There was a brief pause before they spoke again. "Where's Mr. Goode?"
"Not here." The man answered.
"What did you do to him?" Andrew asked, stepping forward bravely to confront the man.
I reached out and touched him by his wrist when the man stepped closer to Andrew. Andrew clenched his jaw but didn't back down.
"You boy," the ragged man began, his coarse voice low. "You need to be less skeptic."
The man tapped the side of his temple with his left hand then jabbed a shaky finger at Andrew's heart.
"Trust." The man said. For a second, his eye flickered to me. "Trust will save you."
I felt Andrew's wrist tense beneath my fingers as he clenched his fist.
"And who did you trust to give you that eyepatch?" Andrew replied coldly.
The ragged man didn't flinch but he didn't laugh either. The man looked at Andrew as if he understood.
"In this life, the wrong trust can get you killed." Andrew continued, there was a soft crack in his voice but his face, firm and determined, never wavered.
"But the right trust can give you a lifetime." The ragged man countered. "Son, you just need to learn to trust yourself again."
He then turned his attention from Andrew to me, and took a step closer.
Maybe it was out of habit, or he didn't know he was doing it but Andrew moved in to block the ragged man, and that may have made the man chuckle drily but it certainly startled me. I glanced up at the side of Andrew's face, expecting to see his eyes widen and his cheek reddening but his expression was resolute.
"I won't hurt your little girlfriend." He said mockingly, then pushed Andrew aside. Pointing at me, he said. "You, what do you notice about me."
At first, it had struck me odd that he would ask me such a question. Until I caught sight of his left hand resting on the cane in front of him. The sleeve pulled slightly up that revealed a black watch.
I raised a brow.
"Nice watch." I replied, nodding to his exposed skin.
The ragged man chuckled a terrible cackling laugh that made me wonder if maybe I had guessed wrong, until I glanced to the side at Andrew, whose brows knitted together as he looked at the watch then his gaze flicked up to the man with recognition.
"Dad?"
The ragged man tossed his cane up, and catching it he used the handle to push up his eyepatch to reveal his forest green eye in contrast to the brown eye contact he wore on the other. He then slipped off his right shoe and shook out a stone that he later dropped in his pocket as he began to peel off the cap of grey hair, and took out the contraption that made his jaw jut out.
"Disguise and deception." Mr. Goode said with the voice of the ragged man, until he peeled off a skin-toned device taped to his neck. "Disguises are great for when you don't want to be recognized." A thin smile crossed his lips as he raised his brows and lightly shook the cap of grey hair, raising it slightly for the class to see. Mr. Goode began stripping away the layers of the ragged man and slowly became our Covert Ops teacher again.
He placed a hand on the door handle.
"But, you must commit to it." He said as he lifted his left wrist, and shaking it he showed the class his black watch. His eyes caught mine as he smirked. "Rookie mistake."
Mr. Goode turned the handle and pushed open the doors to reveal the largest walk-in closet I've ever seen. The floor was padded with soft beige carpet that matched delicately with the white walls. We followed Mr. Goode in and walked past the first row of racks of clothes and accessories, and into a larger opening that on the other two sides opened to more halls. Behind Mr. Goode was a curving staircase with a light brown banister, he stepped one step up the stairs then turned to face the class.
"Juniors," Mr. Goode said again as his eyes roamed over us. "Today's class will test your ability of being a tailer. Pun intended."
Each of us were given a large, thin envelope. Initially, we thought inside the documents told us our new identities but instead they were headshots of actual people.
Let me rephrase, they were headshots of actual spies, agents that we were supposed to be spying on. Or as Mr. Goode puts it:
"You will be tailing experts for this covert class. The objective: don't get caught."
Easy.
"These people are you in twenty, thirty years." Mr. Goode said. The class was eerily quiet that I could hear a pin drop in the intense silence of the junior class. Their full attention on Mr. Goode as he continued.
"They have more experience and sharper senses. They have been where you are now, and they know they're going to be tailed by you today."
Okay, less-easier. It's easy to pick-pocket someone when they're not expecting it, especially a stranger but as Mr. Goode said, they will be expecting it and even though they're strangers to me¸ I'm definitely no stranger to them.
"Which is why," Mr. Goode continued and swept an arm around to the room. "You're all encouraged to pick and use a disguise that might help you succeed in this task."
I could feel the buzz of excitement as everyone took in the ball-room closet filled with clothes.
"Before you begin, though." Mr. Goode addressed to our attention. "Let me remind you, notice your surroundings when you're out there. Take your time to get to know your subject."
I opened my envelope to a photo of a man and the first thing I noticed was the pale, lightning blue of his eyes, framed by long brown lashes that softened his steely gaze. His brown wavy hair was swept to the side that made him appear like a model rather than an agent. At the bottom-right corner of the picture, in small but bold blocks of font read: M. TOWNSEND.
"This is what your goal is." Mr. Goode said. I looked up from the photo to see him holding a white card. He turned it side to side as he showed the class. "It's up to you to figure out where this card is on your subject, and how you will obtain it to succeed in this task."
Just as everyone was about to scatter, Mr. Goode called for our attention again.
"But there is a catch. If you turn to the back of the headshots, you will see your subject's destination." Mr. Goode began.
There was a wave of flutters as everyone turned over their photos. On the back of mine, scrawled in black ink was a name of an ice-cream shop in town. Cherry on Top.
"Once your subject gets to their destination and you still haven't obtained your goal, then you've failed the task. In the real world, you would've failed your mission." Mr. Goode finished.
I sat on one of the benches in the town square park. Across from me was my subject's destination: Cherry on Top, and sitting inside at one of the seats in front of the window was Mr. Goode. I sat back and glanced around the park, searching for my subject.
"Persephone," Mr. Goode began, his voice rang in my ear. I adjusted the comm unit. "I'm going to need you to be a little more discreet."
I turned my gaze back to the window he sat and crossed my arms.
"That is not being discreet." He said.
"And neither is taking to myself." I replied under my breath.
"Do what the others are doing," Mr. Goode advised, "walk around. Talk to others but keep a look out. Spies are meant to multitask."
And as if on cue, a girl's voice came through my comm unit.
"Oh, wow!" She said with a high-pitched voice. I glanced over to the two girls standing near a shop window. "You like Av's too?"
Even though she was now a brunette and wearing shoes that made her appear taller than she actually was, her voice was still that of Stephanie Johns.
"Which line of hers do you like?" Stephanie asked the stranger.
"Oh, definitely her spring line." The little blonde answered.
"Me too!" Stephanie squealed along with the blonde. She flung her hands out and knocked the papers out of a man's hand.
"Oh, my god!" Stephanie gasped. "I am so sorry!"
She and the other girl bent down to help the man gather his papers. The man angrily swatted their hands away and reached for the stack in the blonde's hands, and as he reached Stephanie plucked the white card sticking out his coat and slipped it into the pockets of her jacket.
"Well done, Ms. Johns." Mr. Goode praised as Stephanie stood and walked away.
"Tris." Trena said. "12 o'clock in 7…"
I watched as Tristan turned around and began walking toward Trena.
"4… 3…" Trena counted down under her breath. The two were close to meeting in the middle. "2…"
Tristan was still a couple steps behind and I wondered what they were up to, when Trena tripped and fell in front of a woman who rushed to her aid. As the woman bent down, Tristan slipped the white card out from her pocket.
"Ms. Vale, Mr. Newman. Nice teamwork." Mr. Goode said.
All around I watched the junior class complete their task in one clever way or another. My eyes roamed the crowd of people, looking for the man in the headshot. I caught sight of a couple walking an overly excited, young golden retriever, they sat at a table outside of Beans Café. That was when I spotted my target.
He sat at the table next to the couple, and was reading from his phone. He crossed one leg over the other, the black fabric of his pants at his ankle raised slightly and I saw it. He then reached over for his cup and brought it to his lips but paused. He turned his head, our gaze met and he raised his cup. A bitter smile crossed his lips before disappearing behind the cup.
So, that was how he wanted to play the game.
I got up from my bench, and walking through the park I headed towards the café, where the man in the black trench coat waited for me.
"Persephone." Mr. Goode warned. "What are you doing?"
I heard the excited whimper of the golden retriever as it sat obediently waiting for its treat. The owner patted its head.
"Dude, dude!" Tristan said.
I glanced over to see him elbowing Andrew and shaking Lindy's arm. They looked over in my direction. I heard the owners baby talk their dog.
"Oh, my god." Lindy said as she gasped, her gaze following my path to the man. "Is… is that?"
My heart pounded against my chest and in my ears, knowing Andrew and the entire junior class was watching me now. Well, needless to say, of course I was nervous.
"Oh, shit–" Another voice filled my comm unit. "That can't be–"
"Persephone got–"
"Junior Townsend." Andrew finished. His voice echoed through the comms as I walked past him.
Junior Townsend watched as I made my way over to his table, and pulling out the chair across from him, I sat down and called to the waiter for a cup of coffee before facing my target. Junior Townsend swirled the spoon in his tea.
"I thought your teacher would have taught you better than this." He said.
"I did." Mr. Goode said, though I doubt Junior Townsend heard.
Mimicking his posture, I crossed one leg over the other and slipped out a card from my pocket, covering it with my hand. I leaned back casually, trying to hide the fact that my heart was thumping in my ears and there was a sea of anxiety washing up tides against my stomach.
"The objective was to not get caught while I took the card from you." I managed to respond. "I haven't been caught."
"Yet." Junior Townsend said. "You're not playing by the rules, sweetheart."
"And neither are you." I countered. "Do you see any other agents raising a glass to their tailers?" I asked, and when he didn't respond my lip curved into a thin smile. "You broke the rule first, sweetheart."
"Being a smartass can get you killed, kid."
I heard Mr. Goode scoff. From the corner of my eyes, I saw the barista brewing a cup for me behind the counter while a few café workers gaped at the pretty boy in front of me.
"Great, I placed two smartasses head to head." Mr. Goode said. I smiled humorlessly.
"I heard you're a smartass too." I replied, raising a brow to challenge him. Junior Townsend leaned forward.
"That smug attitude of yours," Junior Townsend began, "it won't last you in the real world."
"Good thing this isn't the real world, then."
"We're training you for it."
I held his icy, steely gaze for a moment. The wave of anxiety no longer washed up my lungs and my heart returned to its normal routine. He was just a pretty face with no filter for his mouth. Through the comm unit, I could hear everyone holding their breath. I could feel their eyes on us. So, I leaned forward, too and lowered my voice.
"Do you really think they're going to tell me what I'll be looking for when I'm in there?" I said slowly.
It was a rhetorical question, and when Junior Townsend didn't respond, I knew that he knew about my mission. I'd be lying if I said I was proud for stumping an expert, because in truth his silence only reassured my unease. I would be going into this mission– my mission, blind.
Suddenly, my heart was in my throat and I couldn't swallow. I inhaled through my nose and felt the weight of my heart. There was a flicker in his eye, a slight dip of his brows that shook me out of my panic. Out of my vulnerability. I straightened and pulled away, from the corner of my eyes I saw the waiter approaching. Leaning back, I made myself comfortable again and stretched a smile across my lips.
Then, I did something that both embarrassed but benefited me in the next few moments.
I brushed my foot against his and pressed my ankle against his. Junior Townsend jumped out of his seat, his thigh knocked the table and sent his drink spilling over the lower half of his black trench coat, his threw his hand in the air and caught the waiter's tray that brought my coffee down on the rest of him.
I failed to suppress my smile as he glared at me then down at his drenched coat. Another waiter came hustling over and reached to dab at the spot Junior Townsend had spilled his tea with a towel, but Junior Townsend yanked the towel away and smacked the waiter's hand. I heard the jingle of the dog's collar.
"Really?" Agent Townsend said, gesturing to his clothes then aggressively wiping his coat down with the towel. "You're not even going to pretend to help me?"
I shrugged.
"You know my goal." I replied. Junior Townsend sent another glare at me then bent down and plucked the white card out of his sock. He held up the card.
"You just failed this task." He said through gritted teeth and slipped the card into the left pocket of his coat.
"Technically, I haven't." I pointed out. "Not until you reach your destination."
Junior Townsend threw a couple of bills down at the table then angrily stalked past me, only to be stopped by the overly excited golden retriever, who pounced at Junior Townsend as it sniffed and licked him. In that moment of distraction, I slipped in the card I had in my hand and slipped out the one in his pocket.
"I think he likes you." I said as I smiled up at Junior Townsend, who scowled down at me.
The bones in my body locked when he reached in his pocket, but relaxed when his hand came out empty and he walked on. It was when Junior Townsend turned left at the corner of the café that I noticed we were still being watched by the junior class. I got up and strolled along the cobble sidewalk as I walked back to the bench. Avoiding their stares, I looked over my shoulder at Junior Townsend, who walked in strides to Cherry on Top, as if he had important matters to attend to. Though, I suppose he did, and that matter was probably about me and probably the many things he wanted to complain about me.
Sitting back down on the bench and watching as Junior Townsend entered Cherry on Top, I was in a bubble of confidence until it was popped.
"What's she looking all smug for?" someone said on the comm units.
Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, I kept my gaze at the window of the ice-cream shop where Junior Townsend approached Mr. Goode at the bar table. A couple of students walked passed the window, in front of my view and their eyes judging me. My fingers dug into my palms, and taking a hand out of my pocket, I reached up for the comm unit in my ear.
'I'm not what you think.' My thoughts screamed at everyone around me.
"She's not what you think." A voice said from a distance in the comm unit. My hand froze and my eyes shifted to the dark-haired boy standing with two students from the junior class. In one hand, he held an ice-cream cone and lifted the other to point at the window, where Junior Townsend was standing before Mr. Goode.
"Zach, she failed." Junior Townsend said, his voice caught in Mr. Goode's comm unit.
I watched as he pulled out the card in his pocket, and did a double take when the card he saw was not a white one, but a black one with a simple, white A in the center. From the distance, I could see Mr. Goode grin.
"Actually, Michael, I think she passed." Mr. Goode replied.
With no interest in hearing the rest, I yanked out the comm unit and rolled it around at the palm of my hand. Running a hand through my hair, I looked up just as Julian sat down next to me and offered his ice-cream.
"Don't give me that look." He said then grinned. "It's vanilla. Basic, I know but it's a flavour that never fails."
"What game are we playing now?" I asked, giving Julian a tired look as I sat back.
"What game?" He said with a chuckle.
"What do you want from me?"
"Nothing, I just–"
"Because I can't tell you anything about myself, if that's what you're after."
"Whoa, Ace. I wasn't trying to–"
"You know what? Everyone–"
"Has their own secrets." Julian said, his steady voice and unfaltering gaze stymied me. "And you're allowed to have yours." His blue eyes, as soft as his voice, eased the lump in my throat and gently tugged the knot free in my stomach.
In a strange way, Julian's words lifted an emotional weight off my chest and lowered the volume of white noise buzzing at the sides of my skull. I was allowed to have secrets and it was okay. It made the difference hearing it out loud.
"Ace, I'm really just trying to be your friend." Julian touched me by the forearm, and I realized it always came down to that. To that one word that I always find myself caring too much about. That one word that drew a line between security and uncertainty.
Friend.
When did that become so important to me? What did it even mean to me?
"Friend. Noun. A person whom one knows and with whom one has a bond of mutual affection." Thomas recited from his dictionary. "Oh, and typically exclusive of sexual or family relations." He nodded with satisfaction as he closed his book.
"Thomas, I didn't…" I began but started to laugh. "I didn't mean the literal definition of a friend."
"Well, you asked me what it meant, so…" Thomas shrugged, the tips of his ears blushed pink. Julian grinned as he ruffled Thomas' hair.
"A friend," Julian began as he handed me the violin and sat in the velvet seat next to mine, "is someone who you can trust." I leaned to the side and caught both their attentions.
"And do you?" I asked. "Do you guys trust me?"
Thomas squinted his eyes, his brows slightly furrowed and his lips parted as he stared at the space in front of him.
"Persephone," Thomas said, "I consulted you about my relationship problems and was motivated to join this class because of you," Thomas started nodding then pushed his glasses up and met my eyes. "So, yeah I trust you." He held a fist out. Smiling, I bumped it with mine.
"And you should already know my answer." Julian replied. His eyes glistened as he smiled at me. I felt… secured, like a tiny part of me belonged. And maybe it did, in the music room of the East wing.
"Do you mind if I joined?" His voice spoke from behind me. I turned around, the butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach.
"Go ahead," I managed to say as I made a quick and small gesture to the seat next to me. In a quick glance, I saw the corner of Andrew's lip twitch up as he sat down. My eyes drifted down to the small gap between our thighs, one shift and our knees would touch.
I pushed the thought out of my head and sat very still. I distracted myself by glancing around the large room. It was, much like the rest of the mansion, a very pristine room with its white walls and dark wooden laminate flooring. The velvet chairs, that we were sitting on, were arranged in a crescent arch, all facing the grand piano that sat in front of the large windows, with their red curtains pulled shut, and pillars in between. I watched as Madam Dabney gracefully made her way up to the front of the room, standing next to the grand piano.
"Before we begin our lesson," Madam Dabney began. She clasped her hands together and smiled sweetly as she gestured to Julian. "Will you play a piece for us, dear?"
A bashful smile spread across Julian's face as he bowed his head and stood up.
"I would love to," he responded as he walked to the front, and when he turned around he grinned a devilish smile at me. "But only, if Persephone will play a duet with me."
"Wonderful!" Madam Dabney said excitedly as she urged me forward. I gripped my seat to keep myself from falling.
"I can't." I said, shaking my head. "Julian, I haven't played in years."
"Ace," Julian said in a honeyed voice. "Come on."
Subconsciously, I looked to Andrew, his lip twitched into a small smile. He closed the small gap between our thighs and nudged my knee with his, and that was all the encouragement I needed as I stood up with the violin in one hand and the bow in the other, and walked to the front. Julian gave me a wink.
"Don't worry," he said, "I'm confident you'll know this one."
As Julian gently settled his violin in the space between his neck, I took in a breath and slowly let it out when Julian began playing the beginning of Canon in D. I caught his eyes as he looked at me from under his lashes and smiled, and I joined.
As everyone began packing away their violins and heading out, ready to call it a night, I spotted Andrew slipping into one of the rooms at the side of the music room. I walked along the side of the music room, and once Madam Dabney's back was to me I quickly slipped into the room Andrew disappeared in. The light in the music room behind me turned off and I was left in the dark. My hand groped the wall for a switch, when I found it I switched on the lights.
At one of the pianos that lined the room in rows, in the back corner of the room, was Andrew. He sat with his head down and his hand gently brushing the surface of the piano keys. I walked over to him.
"Hey, you." I said softly, standing at the side of the piano. Andrew glanced up and gave me a soft smile.
"I didn't think anyone noticed." He said.
"I noticed." I replied. "May I?"
Andrew nodded and I took a seat next to him, intentionally leaving a small gap between us but to my surprise, he closed it. His knee against mine. His thigh next to mine, and his arm touched mine. I found myself looking at his sharp jawline to the curve of his neck, and down to the slope of his shoulders, and I realized Andrew was still taller than me even when he slouched. My eyes flickered down to our hands when Andrew's thumb tickled the back of my hand. His eyes were watching our hands too.
"Can you play the piano, too?" He asked, his eyes still watching his thumb brush against my hand.
"I used to." I answered meekly, not daring to move. Afraid that if I did, he would stop.
But he didn't when his eyes caught mine.
"Can you play a song for me?" he asked with bashful smile. My breath caught in my throat.
"It's been so long," I replied, breathing out. Andrew shrugged.
Lifting my hand away from his touch, I placed them on the smooth surface of the piano.
"This was a song my dad always played for my mom." I told him as I relearnt the hands of an old friend. I laughed. "But um… fair warning, I didn't inherit my parents' vocals for singing."
From the corner of my eyes I saw Andrew grin, and for the first time I understood the lyrics of the song my dad sang for my mom. It felt almost perfect.
Taking a deep breath in, I began to play.
I like your smile
but even introductions need to last awhile
sometimes I don't know if I'm right or wrong
and in the end it seems like everything is worse when
you're gone
I was painfully aware of how offkey I was but as I glanced at Andrew, he didn't seem to mind a bit. Instead, his grin grew and when his eyes met mine, I was surprised. He began to sing too.
There is no upper hand
I'm giving you mine
it doesn't have to end up wasting your time
there's things that I could say
but hear it my way
I want to let you know that it's all okay
"You knew the song?" I asked. Andrew leaned back on his hands and bit the bottom of his lip, suppressing a smile.
"I was listening to it on your iPod that night I followed you back to your room." He admitted.
I laughed then glanced down at my hands, my palms facing upward. I felt Andrew lean forward then his hand slipped into mine. His slender fingers filled the spaces between mine, his thumb brushed against the side of my finger, lightly kissing the skin.
"I'm sorry," Andrew began. I met his eyes and cocked my head slightly to the side. "For not being there for you. For having doubts."
"Andrew, it's okay."
"No," Andrew shook his head, "it wasn't okay. It was an ass move, distancing myself because you had secrets." Andrew took a breath. "Everyone has secrets," he glanced down. "and you're allowed to have yours."
I furrowed my brow. How could he have known? Then, I remembered I had the comm unit in my hand. He heard everything between me and Julian.
"I couldn't trust you because I didn't trust myself," Andrew continued. "I didn't want to make the same mistake again."
"What do you mean?" I asked, and when he didn't look up, I gently touched his cheek with my hand. My heart pinched when my eyes met with his, soft with sorrow.
"I trusted someone before," Andrew began, "and it almost costed Morgan's life."
