26
Chantel has a bottle of pepper spray aimed at the hostage, and by the looks of how red his eyes are and the tears tracking down his face, she must have used it already. The tape on his mouth is preventing him from saying anything, but Agent Sharp’s eyes are wide and uncertain, probably because he’s not used to teenage girls holding him hostage.
Well, welcome to my world.
“Fuuuck,” Dominic mutters from behind me.
I glance at Justice and then Chantel. “What is this?”
“This guy”—Justice snaps, pointing a finger at Sharp—“has been following you.”
“Stalker.” Chantel shakes her head. “Bet he’s got nude pics, too.”
Justice lifts an eyebrow. “Should we check his phone?”
Okay, Ellie, think. Need a cover story. One that doesn’t involve the FBI. I cross my arms and throw a glare at Sharp. “I know he has nude pics. I also know he wasn’t supposed to follow me to New York, because I told him not to. We broke up months ago.”
For a moment, while I’m watching both girls’ faces change as they process this made-up backstory, I freak out, realizing that Sharp might be too old to pass as an angry ex. Twenty-five, I tell myself. He can pass for twenty-five. Seventeen and twenty-five? It’s doable. In a bind.
Chantel gives him a knowing look. “A stalker ex. I knew it.”
“Untape him,” Dominic demands, playing along. “Let’s hear what the asshole has to say for himself.”
Justice rips the duct tape off like a Band-Aid on a skinned knee, earning a yell of pain from Agent Sharp.
“Why are you following our friend? Explain yourself,” Justice demands.
Despite the complicated situation, I feel a pang of warmth spread over me, hearing Justice call me her friend, seeing both these girls glaring at a man they thought had been trying to hurt me. Would I do the same for them? I will now that I know they’ve got my back. After I free the federal agent from my two very fierce friends.
Agent Sharp looks at me, his face a bit red. I mean seriously, how did this even happen? A federal agent versus two teen girls who have barely had to lift a finger to do anything physical their entire lives.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” he says, spitting out the words and almost sounding like he means it. He stares harder at me, as if hoping I’ll telepathically offer him the right words to say. Come on, Sharp, you’ve been trained in creating covers, right? “I just wanted to talk to you and…”
I give him the slightest nod of encouragement. Keep going. You got this.
“And you wouldn’t return my calls,” he finishes. “Then I freaked out about teachers—”
“Because you’re so old?” Chantel interrupts. “Thought we didn’t notice that, huh?”
“Old and a stalker.” Justice shoots another glare at him. “Maybe we should search him. Any evidence we gather could come in handy later on.”
Before she can get a hand in his pockets and likely remove an FBI badge, I stop her. “No, we can’t do that. If the roles were reversed and we were guys feeling around in a girl’s pockets…” I pause while Justice offers a disappointed nod of agreement. “Come on, Benji, let’s have a little chat out in the hall. Alone.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but I add, “It’s fine, I swear.”
After the girls get Sharp untied, Chantel thrusts the bottle of pepper spray at me. “Keep this aimed at him just in case.”
I cradle it carefully, like an egg I’m trying hard not to crack. “Uh, yeah, will do.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out,” Dominic tells them, and then he follows us out the door. “I’ll keep an eye out.”
By the time we’re alone in the hallway, my heart has calmed down from its fight to get out of my chest. No teachers have caught me skipping out on field-trip activities. Justice and Chantel bought the bogus ex-boyfriend story. Everything is okay. At least for now. And suddenly the FBI agent standing in front of me, teary-eyed and looking both violated and humiliated, is about the funniest thing I’ve seen in a while.
I’m laughing so hard I hand the pepper spray over to Dominic and rest my hands on my knees to catch my breath.
Sharp lifts the bottom of his T-shirt to his face and rubs his eyes with it. “Glad you’re having a good laugh at my expense.”
“Sorry.” I pull myself together and look him over again. “How did that even happen?”
“Well, for starters I was trying to remain undercover,” he says, clearly annoyed. “And that usually involves not looking like an FBI agent or anything similar. Plus, the blonde is way faster and stronger than she looks.”
This time I do a better job being sympathetic and keep my laughs inside. “You could have used backup to protect you from those bad girls. Where was your partner?”
He rolls his eyes. “She was tailing you.”
The laughter dies in the back of my throat. “Why?”
“You aren’t a trained agent, you’re an informant,” he says, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper.
“Oh.” My face heats up. “She doesn’t trust me.”
All the covers I’ve been wearing lately, all the arguments with Miles and my dad, the constant fear of getting caught, it finally gets to me, and I turn my back on both of them and stride down the hall.
“Ellie!” Sharp calls after me.
I hear the door to our room open and assume Justice has told him to get lost, because when I glance over my shoulder, he’s heading the other way.
Dominic jogs to catch up with me. “Forget Sheldon. She’s got a stick up her ass.”
“It’s fine, forget it.” I don’t want or need Dominic, of all people, attempting to reassure me that I’m a trustworthy person. “If I were Sheldon, I wouldn’t trust me, either.”
This is true. Unfortunately. And I don’t know if it will ever be not true. Starting over is bullshit. It’s something people much dumber than me tell themselves to alleviate guilt. Good for them if they can buy that lie, but I can’t. Sheldon feeling the need to tail me everywhere is more proof of that.
“Hey—” Dominic starts.
I lift a hand to stop him. “I said it’s fine.”
He nods, glances down at his shoes. “Are we still on for tonight?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” I snap, and then take a deep, calming breath before speaking again. “I mean yes, we’re still on. Offer to trade seats at intermission and then—”
“I know the plan.”
“Good.” I push open the stairwell door at the end of the hall and give him one last look. “Don’t follow me. Go do something else besides…this. You need a break.”
And so do I. Actually, I need to talk to the person who probably understands how I’m feeling better than anyone. I head down the steps without a destination in mind and pull my phone out to make a call.
Harper answers on the first ring, and I immediately take a seat on the stairs and start telling her everything.