impress you because I like you too. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but it wasnât.â
There. I did it. I told the truth. I donât dare look at her now.
âThatâs so sweet,â Ella says.
I gape at her. âIt is?â
âYeah. Not the lying, of course.â She shrugs and smiles bigger. âBut⦠you like me too?â
I nod.
And then her smile fades. âBut thereâs something I donât understand.â
Uh-oh. I swallow and ask, âWhat?â
âYou identified the stink bomber. I mean, that was totally impressive, the way you picked him out of the crowd.â
I suddenly feel short of breath. I grab at the collar of my T-shirt and tug, but it doesnât help. âOh,â I choke. âThat. Ha ha. Funny thing, you see. I seeâI mean, I sawâhim do it.â
Behind her glasses, Ellaâs brown eyes narrow. âReeaaally?â The way she draws the word out must indicate something. The question is, what?
I simply nod again.
And she keeps watching me, as if sheâs waiting for more.
There isnât any more. At least, not any more lies. Should I tell her that? I think I should. âThatâs it,â I say.
âThatâs it?â she echoes. And her eyebrows go up.
I tug at my collar again. Something about this isnât going well. What am I missing here? âI wish Iâd never done that,â I mutter aloud. âIâm really sorry.â
Her smile breaks out again, the one that reminds me of the gaseous outer layers of star glow. âOh, Angus,â says Ella. âMe too. Do you think we can just forget all these silly glitches and start over?â
I blink at her. âYou mean like a hominid version of a reboot?â
She blinks back. âYeah. I guess I do mean that.â
Shahidâs mouth hangs slightly open. Weâre in our lab, and heâs looking over the sketches Ella drew of Gordon. Not Gordon as he is, but the Gordon we always dreamed he could be.
âAmazing,â Shahid says. âWhoâd have thought a frivolous thing like art could be so useful?â
âNot me,â I reply. âBut, Shahid? Donât say that in front of Ella, okay?â
Shahid squints at me. âWhat do you mean?â
âDonât you remember what happened the time I said art was a great hobby?â
His eyes widen. âOh yeah. Didnât that set off her speech about art being essential for the soul?â
âI think so,â I say. âOr was that when she told us life imitates art?â
âMaybe. Did you understand that Ella-ism?â Shahid asks.
I shake my head. âElla-isms are challenging. Some of them remind me of the mentalists.â
âIn what way?â he asks.
âYou know,â I shrug. âAll that stuff about reality being what we think it is.â
Weâre silent for a moment, considering this. Finally, Shahid sighs and says, âThinking about that makes me dizzy.â
âYeah. Me too.â Luckily, talking about mentalists has reminded me of a more entertaining time from the past. âHey, do you remember when you muscled in between me and Rolf? When we were fighting?â
The stories of our spy days have been retold between us many times. Shahid no longer corrects me when I describe my activity with Rolf as fighting. Already the details are shifting. Some part of my brain knows this, but it doesnât seem to mind.
âI remember,â Shahid says. He flexes one of his skinny arms, and sure enough, thereâs a hint of the bicep heâs been building. Then he places the drawing of Gordon in front of me. âAnd Iâm glad you havenât forgotten Gordon.â
Maybe Shahid is one person I can read. I know he was worried about me ignoring more than Gordon. Life isnât quite the same with Ella around. My friendship with Shahid was put through another strainer. But once again, it
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