The Model Spy

Chapter 2 - An Almost Vacation

I made my way down the long hallway lined with lockers, listening to my footsteps echo to the imaginary beat of a death march.

I made my way past a janitor on his walkie-talkie. "There are frogs on the loose in room G109," said a monotone voice. "Over," said the janitor as he routinely grabbed a mop and made his way to Ms. Flammish's 12th grade biology class.

Despite the uninterested manner in which the janitor went about his business, I knew that setting a dozen frogs free in a classroom was not a normal, everyday occurrence. This was something no one in the class would ever forget.

I cringed when I thought of Will Antalio pulling a frog from his gorgeous head of hair.

I cringed even harder when I heard the loud voices seeping through the thin walls of the main office. Through the glass of the office door, I could see a tall and lanky man, talking down to the petite secretary, Ms. Knauff, sitting behind a long desk. Her legs were crossed and a well-manicured hand swept loose strands of bleached-blonde hair away from her face.

Though I couldn't see the man's face, I recognized him simply by the way his shoulders slumped forward and his brown hair stuck up like ruffled bird feathers. Everyone else working in the office was braving the warm weather with shorts and tank tops and sandals, any object of clothing that would keep them cool as well as show off their bronzed skin. Fred, however, was wearing his usual black, long-sleeved designer suit.

I stood outside the door for several seconds and just watched the two of them, the tall awkward man and the young woman, bicker back and forth. When I pushed the glass door open and slid into the office unnoticed, my ears were greeted with the sound of multinational arguing: the valley girl voice of the secretary and the British voice of Fred.

"It's just not done, okay?" As she spoke, Ms. Knauff was looking at her nails. "Like," she continued, "I'm sorry, but you need to be a legal guardian," the secretary said as she popped a piece of gum.

Fred flinched and looked thoroughly appalled at the woman's lack of manners. "I'm Laura's uncle for the last time." The story may have been fake, but the exasperation in his voice was completely real. Fred had a stringent schedule and Ms. Knauff was mutilating it.

Another day at work. I decided to step in.

"He's telling the truth, Ms. Knauff," I sighed. Ms. Knauff barely batted a fake eyelash. Fred, however, turned around and watched me. As my boss, it was part of his job to see just how well I lied. I could sense him taking in every flinch of my body and every hesitant moment between my words. "My mother and father are on a second honeymoon in the Bahamas. My Uncle Fred is watching me while he's in America to see the Manchester United play," I lied. "He's driving me to an appointment with my plastic surgeon."

Fred raised an eyebrow, but I ignored him. People in Los Angeles would probably believe a lie about a nose job appointment more than they would believe a lie about a dentist's cleaning.

Ms. Knauff began shuffling papers around on her desk. Her eyes were barely passing over their contents. She was simply moving them from one end of the desk to the other so that she could, I imagined, stall time and formulate a response. A sparkly, pink pencil rolled off of her desk and towards Fred's feet.