Going Rogue (3 page)

He may have been trying to be funny (emphasis on
trying
), but the wrinkles were still creased between his eyes
and my mom was gripping the dishwasher handle even as she smiled at me.

“How was Roux?” she asked me. “Still Roux-like?”

“She’s insane,” I replied. “You know that. What’s going on?”

Everyone looked in a different direction, desperately trying to avoid eye contact: at the floor, the clock, the window, and I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. “Nope,” I said. “Nope, nope, and nope. We
talked
about this, remember? We said we were going to work on communicating as a family so that you’re not surprised the next time my best friend, my boyfriend, and I are chased down by a ruthless thug. I thought that was our new rule.”

“Sweetheart, it’s not that big—”

“Seriously?” I said. “You’ve been training me since I was two to spot a liar and now you want to lie to me? That is
terrible
parenting on your part. For you, not for me. It’s working out pretty well for me.”

My parents glanced at each other, then at Angelo. Angelo stayed serene throughout the wordless conversation, but then he picked up the remote and cranked the music back up into cringe-inducing decibels. “Come here,” he said, beckoning me over, and I steeled myself and crossed the room into our makeshift cone of silence.

I knew that the loud music was there to screw up any potential bugs. After the Colton Hooper incident, my mom had scoured our loft and made sure it was free of all monitoring devices, but you can never be too careful. Ever. And I knew that this aria, in particular, screwed up bugs because
of the pitch changes. Anyone trying to hear voices, or even inflections, would be completely out of luck.

I knew all of this in theory, of course, but not in practice.

My parents, Angelo, and I huddled together in the kitchen, looking like the most ragtag, mismatched football team in history, talking about plays while the clock counted down. My mom put her arm around my shoulders, and I let her because I think she was comforting herself more than me.

“There’s been a, um, development,” my dad began as the soprano’s voice hit a particularly high note. I would probably vomit if I ever heard this song again.

“A development in what?” I asked. “Do we have to move again?”

“No,” my mom said.

“Not yet,” my dad added.

“Do they
ever
agree?” Angelo asked me with a knowing wink.

“What developed?” I asked again. “Someone tell me before I throw those speakers out the window.”

My parents glanced at each other, and I saw my dad reach down to take my mom’s hand. “The Collective was here today,” my dad said.

“Here?” I gasped. “Here? Like, New York here, or in-our-house here?”

“Our house,” my dad replied.

“Our
home
,” my mom corrected him, then squeezed my shoulder. “Our home is wherever we are, Mags. You know that.”

I did know that. Home is where your family is, blah blah blah. My parents had been saying it since the day I was born.

“Did they find out about the fingerprint scanner?” I asked. “I mean, why else would they be here? And why are we blasting music if they were here?” My stomach was starting to flip and I looked at Angelo.

“They did see the scanner,” he said, “but no, love, that’s not why they were here.”

I thought about Roux, blissfully karate chopping fake enemies in a dojo somewhere uptown, and Jesse sitting outside in Connecticut with his mom, talking about something. Maybe even talking about me. I could feel the change coming, and in that moment I wished I could grab Jesse and Roux and not let go.

“The Collective discovered several discrepancies”—my dad said the word in a way that made me think he didn’t believe it—“in some cases that your mother and I did a long time ago. Way back before you were born.”

“The Dark Ages,” my mother clarified with a smile. “The prehistoric era.”

“What discrepancies?” I asked, in no mood to be humored and teased. “And stop treating me like a little kid. You can’t bring me into this and then pretend like it’s nothing.”

My parents looked at each other again and when they looked back at me, it was clear that all the soft-pedaling was over. “They’re saying that your mother and I stole some evidence from a case,” my dad said. “They’re accusing us of lying and they’re opening up an investigation.”

I stood there trying to process what everyone was
saying. “But it’s not true!” I said. “Right? You would never do that! Mom?”

“Of course not,” she reassured me. “It’s false, it’s just a mistake. It’s a small mix-up that can be fixed.”

“Then why do you look so worried?”

And then it hit me. I knew why they were so worried, why we were blasting opera music on a Thursday afternoon, why my mom hadn’t stopped gripping my shoulder.

“It’s because of me,” I muttered. “It’s because of Colton Hooper.”

“No, it’s not—” my dad started to say, but I shook my head.

“You
know
it’s because of me!” I protested. “They’re mad because I proved that the Collective screwed up, that they were flawed, and now they’re pissed.”

Angelo hadn’t said a word yet.

“They want us out, don’t they?” I continued. “Is that it? They prove that you and Dad lied or whatever, and then they can exile us and no one’s the wiser.”

No one said anything for a long time, and then finally Angelo spoke up. “Not quite.”

I looked at him while my parents looked at me.

“You were not the only one whose life was threatened last year,” Angelo said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I’ve been hearing rumors about a few people that have been … disbarred, so to speak, from the Collective.”

“For doing a bad job?”

“No. For
refusing
to do a bad job.”

I glanced over at my parents. My mom was biting her lower lip. “I—I don’t understand,” I said. “Why would … ? What do … ?”

“They’re only rumors,” Angelo said as my mom put her hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been contacted by a few people whom the Collective has recently accused of stealing evidence or forging the wrong documents. I thought it was best to investigate.”

“That’s why you’ve been gone for so long,” I said. “How many people?”

“A few,” he said.

“A few?” I repeated. “Like, two or three? Or more? Were they
right
?”

“We don’t know,” my dad said.

“You knew about this?” I asked, turning around to look at my parents. “You’ve known about this the whole time and didn’t tell me?”

“We didn’t want to worry you—” my dad started to say, but Angelo interrupted him.

“You know now,” he told me. “You’ll always get information when you need it. And they could just be disgruntled employees who were rightfully removed. We don’t know yet.”

“But it’s weird that the Collective is suddenly accusing Mom and Dad of stealing evidence, right?”

“It could be a coincidence or a filing error.”

“It’s not like they were threatening us,” my dad pointed out.

“So that’s why you were blasting opera music?” I countered. “Because you just really dig arias?”

“We wanted to talk privately,” my mom told me. “Just in case.”

“It’s a precaution,” my dad said. “That’s all.”

“And what if they’re right and the Collective’s wrong?” I asked. “Then what?”

No one said anything this time. They didn’t have to.

I whirled around and picked up a juice glass sitting on the counter, then threw it as hard as I could. The glass shattered against the brick wall and everyone, me included, jumped at the noise.

“Maggie!” My mom gasped, and she actually looked a little bit scared of me, which only made me more frightened.

“This is bullshit,” I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “And we can’t do anything about it, can we?”

“That is patently untrue,” Angelo said. He had barely flinched at the breaking glass or my teenage temper tantrum. “We can always do something.”

I looked at him, then my parents. “Like what?”

“Like prove that they’re wrong,” my dad said. “We can find the missing evidence and prove we didn’t steal it.”

The glass was glittering on the floor as the sun moved through our windows, and for some reason, it frightened me to even look at it. “It’s not really that easy, is it.”

“It isn’t,” my mom admitted. “It was a long time ago and it was a dangerous case. We barely escaped out of it. And that was
with
the Collective’s support.”

My eyes widened as I realized what they weren’t saying. “Are we going rogue?” I whispered. I had heard rumors about spies going rogue, but they had always seemed unbelievable, unstable, completely stupid.

Not anymore.

“Are we going rogue?” I repeated. “Because if so, I’m in.”

“No, you’re not,” my dad immediately said. “This is our problem, not yours.”

“Hey,” I told him. “This is our home, and home is where your family is. And you’re my family and now we’re in trouble. I. Am.
In
.”

My mom wiped at her eyes before I could see the tears. “We don’t want to put you in any danger.”

That’s when I knew we were in serious, serious trouble. I love my parents, but they had spent my entire life putting me in danger. It comes with the job. I mean, I was almost kidnapped when I was four! A deranged madman chased my friends and me through lower Manhattan! And
now
they were worried about danger?

“Okay, look, I’m just going to say it,” I announced. “I am
really
good at danger. I sort of excel at escaping it. I don’t like to brag, but I think it’s important to state the facts here.”

“You cannot protect her forever,” Angelo murmured to my parents. “She’s nearly an adult. This is her life, too.”

“Yeah, what he said.”

“Maggie, we’re not trying to prove the Collective wrong,” my dad said.

“
Wrong
!” I cried. “I already proved them wrong when Colton Hooper turned out to be a double agent.
Me
. And now they’re after you because they want to stop
me
.” Pieces were clicking together even as I spoke, and I wished I had another juice glass to hurl at the wall. “And they want to stop everyone like me.”

“We don’t know that.” Angelo stepped in, a
well-dressed barrier between my parents and me. “All we have are the facts. Those are our best tools. Supposition and worry has never solved anything before and they won’t help us now.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said, even though I really didn’t. “Are we going to be separated, though? Like, if I have to research this? Because I’m ready.” I wished I felt as confident as I sounded, and I tried not to think of Jesse’s and Roux’s faces. “Some kids go to college when they’re seventeen. Some kids become
doctors
when they’re seventeen!”

“I don’t think you’re going to be a doctor,” my dad said. “Sorry.”

“It was just an example. I’m trying to tell you that I can live on my own so you don’t have to worry about me.”

My mom made a sort of strangled noise in the back of her throat.

“You’ll never be on your own,” Angelo reassured me. “We have friends all over the world. Maybe you’ll get to meet them.”

“Yay, new friends.” I tried to smile at my parents so they wouldn’t look so concerned. Their lack of poker faces was making me edgy, like there was something I didn’t know, something they weren’t telling me. “Let’s do this. I’m in. What’s the deal? What’s the evidence?”

“Why don’t we meet tomorrow and you and I can discuss?” Angelo suggested, straightening his suit sleeves. “It’s been quite some time since we’ve had a tête-à-tête, you and I.”

“But—”

“And isn’t that lovely boy of yours coming home this evening?” Angelo tapped his very expensive and definitely not a knockoff Rolex. “Might be late.”

I glanced down at my phone (producing a sigh from Angelo, who’s always trying to get me to wear a watch, that Luddite). “Yeah, Jesse’s train’s supposed to arrive in, like, thirty minutes. But he can wait. This is important.”

“Go,” my dad said, gesturing toward the door. “We know you missed him.”

I glanced at the door, wanting to stay and wanting to go. “Okay,” I finally acquiesced. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously. I’m in. Let’s do this.”

“Maggie,” my mom started to say, but I leveled my gaze at my parents and leaned across the counter, as sure as I had ever been.

“I’m in,” I said again, and this time, no one argued with me.

Grand Central Station was packed as I rode the subway escalator up to the main concourse. It was rush hour, which meant lots of commuters, and I suspected that more than a few tourists were taking refuge in the air-conditioned hall. I couldn’t blame them. I only had to wait on the subway platform for a few minutes before the 6 train showed up, and I still felt grimy from the experience.

Jesse’s train was supposed to be in by now, and I stood on my tiptoes and tried to see if he was off the train yet. He had insisted he would just meet me later, that I didn’t have come all the way to the station, but it had been two weeks and I missed him. A lot. More than I thought I could ever miss someone. My parents and I had moved dozens of times all around the world, but I had never really made friends and I had definitely never had a boyfriend before.

Leaving doesn’t matter when there’s no one to leave behind.

I thought of my mom’s words as I jumped up again to see over the crowd. “Home is where your family is,” she had said. I had thought she was just talking about
our
family, but now I knew what she meant. My family had grown over the past year with Roux and Jesse, and now I knew why spies never made friends.

“Hey!” said a voice behind me, and I turned around to see Jesse standing there, his bag slung over his shoulder, his curly hair in his eyes just like it always was, and his face lit up with the smile that shined only for me. I had looked at him so many times over the past year and yet it never got old. When he smiled, I smiled back. That’s how we were.

So it was probably a little weird for him when I flung my arms around him and hung on like a starving python.