“Well, shall we?” Jesse said, interrupting my racing thoughts. “Ready for the subway ride of your life? I didn’t want to say anything, but I think you’re really going to be impressed with the 6 train.” He wiggled his eyebrows at me.
I pretended to kick him in the shins and he jumped away. “You’re so mean!” he yelped, even though he was laughing. “You have a violent streak and it kind of turns me on.”
“Save it for the next date,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure there would be a next one.
We crept through the gate, shutting it without making a sound, and left the park just as we had found it. Nothing looked different outside the park, either, the city the same as it ever was.
The only thing that had changed, I realized, was me.
Chapter 26
My parents were waiting up for me, of course, along with Angelo. I had never gone out this much in my life, so I wasn’t used to these little nighttime powwow sessions. And I certainly wasn’t ready for this one.
“So did you have a lovely time?” Angelo asked.
“Did you get the files?” my dad asked.
“Was he nice to you? Did he open doors?” That was my mom, of course. I was pretty sure that if Jesse had been anything less than chivalrous, she would have hacked into his computer and deleted his entire hard drive, mission be damned.
“Jesse was nice. And yes, many doors were opened.” I left out the part where I was the one who had opened the Gramercy Park gate for him. “Can we just talk tomorrow? I’m tired.” I had never been less tired in my life, but I needed time to sort things out in my head.
“Of course,” Angelo said, even though both my parents were already opening their mouths to speak. “I think we all know how exhausting it can be to go undercover for long periods of time, yes? Maggie needs her rest.”
“I’m a growing teenager,” I added. “You don’t want to stunt me.”
“Okay,” my mom said. “I want a sitrep bright and early tomorrow morning, though!”
I barely slept that night, tossing and turning and trying to figure out what Jesse had meant about his dad and the article. Was he not going to run it? What had changed his mind? If he still planned to run it, would it be delayed? I was so anxious that I spent the early-morning hours googling “Armand Oliver,” looking for any clues or signs. There were a few news stories, but otherwise it was the same stuff I had read earlier. The only weak link in Armand’s team, it turned out, was his son. I fell asleep in bed with my laptop open in front of me, which explained why I woke up at nearly noon with my face mashed into the left-hand side of the keyboard.
“What happened to you?” my dad asked when I stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and rubbing my cheek. “Did your computer slap you?”
“I was working late,” I mumbled. “The computer won.”
“Okay, we’re ready for you to report in. How was your date?” my mom asked. “Did you manage to get back into the Olivers’ house again? Did you find out if—”
“Mom, please,” I said, and I must have sounded crankier than usual because both of my parents looked at me. “Why does it always have to be an interrogation first thing in the morning?”
“Margaret,” my dad said.
Great. Margaret. That boded well.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m just tired and I need to think.”
“So you did find out something,” my mom said. “What was it?”
I sat down at the counter and fiddled with the edge of a manila envelope. “I asked Jesse about his dad, and he said that he wasn’t sure if his dad was going to run the article.”
“You told him about the article?” both of my parents exploded.
“Of course not!” I exploded right back. (If you learn nothing else from me, learn this: falling asleep on your computer’s keyboard can make you really, really cranky.) “How dumb do you think I am? I was just asking him about his family, and he said his dad’s been really upset about this one article getting away.”
My parents deflated a little. “Oh, so he didn’t say that it was the article,” my dad said.
“No, but I think it might be. Jesse said it was some big secret about spies, but that a deal had fallen through and his dad was really pissed off.”
My mom still looked suspicious. “You like him,” she finally said.
“Armand?”
“Jesse.”
Busted.
“Well, it’s kind of hard not to,” I admitted. “He’s really nice, he’s kind, he holds doors open, and he helps little kids who fall down ice skating.”
My mom took a deep breath. “Sweetheart,” she said. “Do you have any proof that Armand might not run the article?”
“Just what Jesse said,” I admitted. “But I believe him. He’s told me lots of things before, personal things about his family.”
“Did you tell him anything?”
“What? No! Of course not! We were just sitting at the park last night and—”
“Which park?” Now my dad had joined the discussion, and both of my parents were leaning in, like they were about to ensnare me.
“Gramercy. Why, what—?”
“You went to Gramercy Park by yourself at night?” my mom cried. “Are you serious right now? Where was your driver? I knew we should have talked last night!”