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  “And then flattened again by a steamroller,” I said, then added “flattened a lot” for good measure.

  Roux was starting to sink down against the wall, and she pulled a plaster head of some ancient Greek god down with her. “I’m just going to stay here and sulk with my new Roman friend,” she said.

  “I think he’s Greek.”

  “God, Maggie, really? You want to play ‘Guess the Ancestry’ right now?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, I’m a jerk. But not as big a jerk as Jake.”

  “Yeah.” Roux sniffled. “You can’t spell ‘jerk’ without ‘Jake,’ righ—? Oh, wait. Yes, you can. Never mind.”

  She was quite a sight, red horns slipping closer to her forehead as she cuddled the Greek (no way was that thing Roman) head close to her. I sat down next to her, unsure of what to do or say. I had never been in love before, and I had never, ever seen a fight over a guy before. What were the rules here? Were we supposed to eat chocolate now? Maybe Jesse’s mom had some contraband Hershey bars stashed in her nightstand. I couldn’t find a safe, but I could damn well track down some Halloween candy.

  “He used to be really nice.” Roux sighed. “He said a lot of things….” She trailed off, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Oh, no! Please don’t cry!” I told her. “Roux, c’mon, you said it yourself. He’s an asshole.”

  “I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life!”

  “You’re not even seventeen!”

  “That just makes it worse!” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffled again. “The only guy who will ever love me is Caesar here.”

  “Well …” I tried to find something to say. “At least he died nobly.”

  Roux looked at me and for a minute I thought she was going to start yelling again, but then she giggled. “You are so weird!”

  “Says the demon girl who’s snuggling with Caesar’s head!” I protested, but I was giggling, too. “This party sucks.”

  “It so sucks,” Roux said, agreeing. “They always do, though. Getting ready for the party is the best part of the party. It’s all downhill after.” Her gaze drifted from Caesar toward the bookshelves. “That picture sucks, too. It’s ugly.”

  “Totally,” I said. It was a framed picture in the middle of two bookcases, a sailboat on choppy seas, an obvious Winslow Homer knockoff. Even the frame looked cheap, and I was pretty sure that Armand Oliver didn’t do anything cheap.

  “I need more wine,” Roux announced next to me, wiping the leftover tears from her face. “Right now. Garçon!”

  “Um, are you sure?”

  She just waved away my concerns as she struggled to her feet, Caesar bouncing to the ground when she dropped him. “I’m fine,” she said. “Don’t be a worrywart PTA mom, okay? It’s not cool. Be cool. Where’s that happy wine land from last year?”

  Wait a minute.

  Why did Caesar’s head just bounce? That thing was made of plaster, right? Plaster should shatter or at least just fall, not bounce.

  “Found it!” Roux cried, and apparently Jesse hadn’t locked the wine storage yet because Roux disappeared down the hall, followed by several other people. I didn’t have time to chase her, though, because I realized that I had found the safe.

  I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the bust off the ground. It was surprisingly light in my hands, plastic instead of plaster, and I found the nearly invisible hinge at the back of his head. When I opened it up, I saw the key sitting inside.

  I had to hand it to Armand, he knew how to make a job challenging.

  I fished it out and put Caesar back on his pedestal, then hurried over to that ugly sailboat painting. I was right, Armand didn’t do anything cheap. And this wasn’t a cheap picture, it was a secret safe.

  There was no one in the library, but I moved fast and quick, just like I had been trained. I lifted the picture off the wall and sure enough, it was one of those safes hidden behind a painting. They’re notoriously easy to open, even without the key. All it needs is a four-digit code, and most people don’t get creative enough.

  But it didn’t matter. I had the key.

  The back of the painting came shooting out when I turned the key in the lock, revealing shelves that looked like they belonged in a medicine cabinet. There was a flash drive on the bottom shelf and I grabbed it.

  “Where’s that Bordeaux?” I heard Roux yelling, but she sounded far away. She’s fine, I told myself as I hid the flash drive in the front pocket of my jeans. The party was still raging just outside the library, and I knew that anyone could come walking in at any minute, see me standing there with a painting and a broken plastic head, and ask what I was doing.

  Ten seconds later, the safe was back on the wall and Caesar was back on his pedestal. I had done it. I had the files. I could leave.

  “There you are,” Jesse said when he saw me come out of the library. “What are you, a bookworm?”

  “That was last year’s costume,” I said. I was feeling magnanimous toward him, now that I had incriminating evidence that would probably ruin his dad’s big story and possibly his dad’s big magazine, too. I wondered if they would lose their apartment, or if Jesse would have to leave school. Would he end up homeless?

  My elation at finding the safe was starting to ebb. I wasn’t used to seeing the people involved in the case. Usually it was just me, some combination locks, and maybe a few fancy keys if the safe was doubly secured. But now I was looking at Jesse and he seemed kind of drunk and pretty happy and all I could think was, I am so, so sorry.

  “I like books,” I told him now, glancing at the safe to make sure that it was hung straight on the wall. “Are some of these yours?”

  “Nah, my dad’s. Some are my mom’s, though.” He pointed to an old-looking title up on the top shelf. “First edition of The Great Gatsby. That was … That’s her favorite.”

  “Why is that everyone’s favorite?” I said. “Has nobody read Tender Is the Night? It’s so annoying.”

  And then I realized that I had just insulted Jesse’s mother’s taste.

  “Not that Gatsby is bad.” I backtracked. “I mean, it’s fine. I mean …”

  Jesse was watching me with a little half smile that was becoming less annoying by the minute. “Do you want something to drink?”

  Believe it or not, I’ve had wine before. I may have been raised in the insular world of international spies, but in Europe, they’re cool with kids having wine. Still, there’s a huge difference between your mother giving you the eagle eye while you sip half a glass of champagne, and a cute boy—I mean, a guy I was assigned to—offering you something in a red plastic cup at a Halloween party.

  And I mean, c’mon, I’m supposed to blend in, right?

  Right.

  “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You want apple juice?”

  “That’s not scotch?”

  He tipped his glass toward me so I could see into it. “Can you keep the secret?”

  I just smiled. “I’ll do my best,” I said.

  Chapter 10

  Half an hour later, I knew a lot about Jesse.

  He hated Gatsby, too, but not as much as he hated The Catcher in the Rye. He hadn’t had a drink since his dad got sober last year. His favorite color was blue, and his dog, Max, the same one that had tried to lick me to death, was sleeping upstairs in his bedroom, blissfully oblivious to the racket that was happening around us.

  “Then why did you throw this party?” I said. We were sitting on the massive steel staircase, shifting every time people walked around us. “I mean, if you don’t drink and your dog doesn’t like crowds.”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. People expect it. And when people expect you to do something …”

  “You do it,” I finished, understanding all too well what he meant. “Does anyone else know that you’re totally sober right now?”

  “Just you,” he said, then clinked his glass against my plastic cup. “And besides,
I thought if I threw a party, you might show up.”

  I immediately choked on my water and Jesse whacked me on the back. “You okay?”

  “Ow. That’s not very helpful,” I sputtered.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” I wiped my mouth with my sleeve. (Somewhere, Angelo was clutching his heart and wincing.) “Okay, help me understand this. You threw a party?”

  “Obviously.”

  I made a face at him. “You threw a party that you wanted me to attend?”

  “Another secret out of the bag.”

  “And you didn’t even bother to invite me? Are guys always like this?”

  “Um. Kind of?”

  I threw my hands into the air. “This is why the world’s a mess!” I yelled. “Because no one can just say what they want to say!”

  “I think that’s a John Mayer song,” Jesse pointed out.

  “It is not. And don’t change the subject. Why didn’t you just invite me?”

  Jesse looked around the room, probably praying that Roux would storm through it, doing her best whirling dervish impression, and get him off the hook. “Well, I mean, it’s not like anyone was invited. People just sort of show up.”

  “But what if I didn’t show up? What if I stayed home and handed out candy or played Angry Birds instead?”

  “You like Angry Birds? What’s your score?”

  “Stop changing the subject!”

  Jesse just started to laugh, though. “Were you an interrogator in a past life? Calm down, everything worked out. You’re here, I’m here, it’s all good.”

  I took a deep breath and leaned against the (really uncomfortable, oh my God, who designed this place?) stair railing. “It’s not going to be all good for Roux tomorrow,” I pointed out, “but wait. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  Jesse shrugged and ran his hand through his hair in a way that was not adorable or charming. At all. “Well, um, you’re kind of intimidating?”

  I was definitely intimidating, but not for any reason that Jesse Oliver would or should know about. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, in class you’re always taking notes … and frowning?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?”

  “See?” Jesse protested. “You’re really argumentative, too.”

  (Is it weird that hearing him use a polysyllabic word gave me butterflies? Yes, that’s weird. Forget I said anything.) “But it’s kind of cute,” he continued. “You always get this little wrinkle when you’re taking notes.” He scrunched up his forehead in what was apparently an imitation of my notetaking face.

  The butterflies had quickly turned into a teeming mass of electric eels, and I felt the heat creep into my cheeks. This was the first job I had ever had that made me blush. I didn’t even know I could blush! “Oh, um, okay. Thank you?”

  “Are you asking me or telling me?” Jesse cracked up even as I swatted at his hair. “Hey, watch the ‘do!”

  “Don’t make fun of me!” I cried. “No one’s ever called me cute before! I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.”

  He kept smirking in his smirky way. “Do you always know what to say?”

  I did.

  And that was the problem.

  But before I could say anything, right or wrong, I heard a commotion coming from the media room. Roux had gotten her hands on a red Rhone blend and had retreated there to watch a movie by herself.

  And judging from the noise, apparently the movie had ended.

  “Does Roux always drink like this?” I asked Jesse. “Or is it just a holiday thing?”

  “It’s a party thing. Ever since we were twelve.”

  “Twelve? Does she still have a liver?”

  “Well, to be fair, she hasn’t really been at any parties lately. You know, the whole …” He waved his hand toward the library where the huge confrontation had taken place between Roux and Julia.

  “Yeah, she told me all about that. I think she feels really bad about it.”

  Jesse glanced at me. “I think she’s glad to have a friend again.”

  I nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Bang.”

  “You are such a dork.”

  “Am not. But it’s about Roux and Julia and that dude.”

  Jesse snorted. “You mean Loser Jake?”

  “Thank you!” I said. “The whole time they were arguing over him, I was just, like, ‘Really?’”

  “He’s a tool. He cheats on Julia practically every week. But Roux used to be her best friend, so I guess that got everyone all upset.”

  “So why does Julia stay with him?”

  “Who knows?”

  “Ridiculous,” I said. “So damn ridiculous.”

  The commotion in the media room was getting louder, and I was pretty sure I could hear someone singing “Tomorrow” from the musical Annie, someone who sounded a lot like a drunk Roux.

  I looked over at Jesse. “Please don’t tell me …”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Who doesn’t love karaoke?” he asked.

  “I’ll give you twenty bucks if you go shoot her with a tranquilizer dart.”

  “I’ll do it for ten,” he said. “Holiday sale.”

  By the time we got the media room, there was a circle of people around Roux, who was clearly having a grand old time with the family karaoke machine. (And nowhere in the research did it say that Armand Oliver enjoyed a nice round of karaoke, by the way. That would have been good to know.) “Maggie!” Roux cried when she saw me. “This song is such a metaphor for life!”

  Jesse nudged me. “Don’t you wanna go do orphan backup?” He grinned.

  “After you, Daddy Warbucks.” Then I turned to Roux. “Roux, honey, this isn’t pretty.”

  “I knoooow,” she said. She had the microphone in one hand and the empty wine bottle in the other. “But the sun, Maggie? The sun is going to come out! Tomorrow!” She pointed the wine bottle at me. “And do you know what kind of life it is?”

  “A hard-knock one,” I answered. “Too easy.”

  “Does she take requests?” Jesse asked, then ducked out of my reach.

  “That’s exactly it!” Roux said. “Oh my God, where has this song been all my life?” She pressed a button and started the song again.

  To be fair, even though she was drunk and barely able to stand, Roux didn’t have a bad voice. Her singing voice was actually beautiful, and she managed to hit every note even while slurring the lyrics. “This song is annoying,” Jesse muttered. “We get it, the sun is going to come out. Jesus.”

  Once again, the spy had to save the day. I walked over to the machine, found the plug, and yanked it out of the socket. Roux got some scattered applause, and she gave them a wobbly curtsy. “I’m here all week!” she announced. “Residency!”

  “Roux?” I said. “Let’s go home.”

  She looked like one of those geckos you see on Animal Planet, the ones whose eyes go in completely different directions. “Is there more wine?” she asked.

  “Not for you,” I said, then let her put her arm around my neck. “You’re done for tonight.”

  “Okay. It’s important to pace yourself. Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  “My home or your home?”

  “Your home.”

  “But you don’t even know where that is!” She giggled.

  I looked over at Jesse. If he thought my wrinkled-notetaking face was cute, then he was going to love my puppy-eyes face.

  “Oh, no,” he said. “Nuh-uh. No way. You’re on your own.”

  “I can’t carry her by myself!” I protested. “Please? You said yourself that it’s good she has a friend.”

  “There are, like, a hundred people here! In my house! How am I going to get them out?”

  “Easy,” I told him, then poked my head around the corner. “Oh, shit, the cops are here!” I yelled.

  And voilà, it was a teenag
e stampede out the door.

  Jesse looked at me. “You are very lucky,” he said, “that you’re so cute.”

  I helped him carry Roux down the stairs and to the front door, even as the electric eels continued to thrash around in my stomach.

  The cab driver who pulled to the curb took one look at Roux and shook his head. “Got change for a hundred?” Jesse asked him, flashing the bill before herding me and Roux into the cab.

  “I charge a fifty-dollar, cash-only cleaning fee if anyone pukes in the back,” the driver said, pocketing the cash even before Jesse had shut the door behind him.

  “A bargain at twice the price,” I told him, but he didn’t seem amused. Jesse laughed, though, then shoved Roux toward me when she started to loll toward him.

  “Maggie?” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  She opened her eyes and smiled at me. “I think Jesse Oliver likes you.”

  Jesse groaned and Roux turned to look at him. “Oh my God!” she cried. “You’re here, too?”

  Chapter 11

  The cab driver let us out across the street from Roux’s building, and it took both Jesse and me to get Roux back to the house, mostly because she couldn’t make up her mind about whether she wanted to walk next to Jesse or me. First it was me, then she decided I was too short, so she walked next to Jesse. Then she decided that he was too tall (“You’re crowding me!”), so she made us stand next to each other so she could walk between us. “I can’t be on the end!” she said, giggling. Then she waved the wine bottle as if it were a baton and sent Jesse and me scrambling for safety. An empty wine bottle is still really heavy, after all, and I wasn’t born into a family of international espionage experts just so I could get clocked by a drunk high school girl with bad coordination.

  Roux’s apartment was across the street from Central Park. It took us thirteen minutes (Jesse timed it on his phone) to get her across the street to her building. That should give you an idea of what that experience was like.

  The doorman eyed the three of us suspiciously as Jesse and I dragged Roux through the ornate lobby. “Harold!” she crowed when she saw him. “It’s me! Wait, wait, wait!”