Going Roux

Going Roux

Robin Benway

Walker Books An Imprint of Bloomsbury New York

London

New Delhi

Sydney

I woke up early on the third day of summer vacation, which, believe you me, was NOT how I normally do things. And by “do things,” I mean, “hang out in bed and watch Real Housewives and order take-out and then worry about sodium bloat.”

But now that I was friends with Maggie, a lot of things weren’t normal anymore.

Like the fact that I haven’t watched Real Housewives in a month. A MONTH. They’re probably not even housewives anymore! And instead of going shopping, now I go to tae kwon do classes four times a week. I, Roux Green, am actually participating in organized sports. And the world hasn’t ended.

I don’t think anyone saw this coming. Which has sort of been the theme of my life ever since I became friends with Maggie.

Being best friends with a spy requires a LOT of maintenance. Like tae kwon do classes, for example. Last year, we were chased by this crazy madman who wanted to kill us (long story, short version: I punched him in the face, we won, he was killed, yay!) and after that I decided if I was going to stay friends with Maggie (which, hello, of course I was going to stay friends with her, she’s like the coolest person I’ve ever met in my life), I would need to brush up on my skills.

Or, you know, get some actual skills. Maggie’s this expert safecracker, her mom hacks computer systems, her dad speaks like a bajillion languages and is a mathematician. How being good at math is a spy thing, I don’t know, but Maggie insists that he’s important. I was like, “I don’t remember seeing anyone with a graphing calculator in a James Bond movie,” but okay, fine.

There’s also their friend Angelo, this super-cool, snazzy British guy whose umbrella is probably a gun. Maggie swears that he’s just a forger, but she can’t convince

me that Angelo isn’t an assassin. I’ve seen movies. Assassins always dress really well and Angelo has some nice suits that probably cost more than our penthouse apartment.

(Which is a lot, but it’s rude to talk about money, so I’ll change the subject.)

Anyway, yes. Skills. Angelo’s not always around and Maggie and her parents are super smart, but who punched the criminal psychopath in the face? That’s right, ME. They need a little muscle so I got a Groupon deal and joined a dojo on the Upper West Side. I am literally kicking ass. I could even go to competitions, but that would require riding a bus to New Jersey, so I told them, “Thank you, but no. This warrior stays in Manhattan.”

Another skill I’ve developed? Reading. I even have a . . . wait for it . . .

LIBRARY CARD. I know. I KNOW. I told one of the librarians, “I need to read all the spy books you have, and please don’t ask me why because I can’t tell you.” She looked unamused but so did I, and now I’m making my way through a bunch of John LeCarre books. One thing I’ve learned: spies always seem to be in cold climates. “Why are spies always in Russia and Poland and snowy places?” I asked Maggie once, but she said, “We just follow the bad guys. You should ask them why they don’t go to Maui.”

If I’m ever the evil person (and let’s be honest, I sort of used to be), I’m definitely going to Barbados or Turks and Caicos.

One of the drawbacks of having so many spy books around is that I keep tripping over them. “Ow!” I cried as I stumbled out of bed that morning. I didn’t have to worry about waking anyone up, though. My parents travel all the time. My dad says that he has one of those jobs that make it necessary to go around the world a few times a year, and my mom has one of those marriages that makes her think that she has to go with him. But

they’ve always been like that. It would freak me out if they spent more than a week at home. I guess I would miss them if I knew what it was like to have them here with me.

Maybe it’s better when you don’t know what you could have had.

Maggie and her parents are the complete opposite. They’re together all the time.

All. The. Time. I would be climbing the walls, but every time I go over to their loft downtown, it seems pretty normal. Maggie and her mom keep trying to get into yoga, even though they both hate it, and Maggie’s dad is always cooking and asking Maggie how things taste, if it needs more cumin or salt. Now that I hang out there a lot, he started asking me what I thought, too. “You’re opinionated, Roux,” he once said. “I know you’ll tell me the truth.”

He’s right. (And it needed more cumin and coriander.)

I love going over there, even if it always makes coming home that much lonelier.

But it’s worth it.

In fact, Maggie and her family were my mission that day. Hopefully all those spy books would pay off because I needed to make this happen. If my plan didn’t work, I would have to go to Plan B, which required begging and crying and that is just not very becoming and makes my eyes puff up.

My parents had sent me an email the night before. (We don’t Skype, they don’t have the time and apparently Internet connectivity in Europe is spotty. Or so they say.

I’ve never been. For all I know, it’s a glorious Wi-Fi wonderland.) That in itself was weird, but I was even more horrified when I saw the message: they had enrolled me in an SAT prep course. For the summer. For THIS summer.

Here’s the thing: school and I? we don’t get along. Before Maggie arrived last fall (and oh, did she look pathetic), I didn’t have any friends. Well, I used to have friends, but then in a spectacular feat of bad decision-making, I slept with one of my friend’s boyfriends. We were drunk, he said he was going to break up with her, and the worst part wasn’t that I believed him. It was that I thought he would actually want to be with me. I believed that there was someone who thought I was worth sticking around for, even if he chewed gum with his mouth open. I thought that, for once, I was enough.

I was wrong.

That’s when things got bad. Everyone found out, of course, and I was basically thrown to the wolves. It can really screw you up when you go from owning the school to having no one to sit next to in class. Students would move their chairs to avoid sitting next to me. I was an island of shame.

Not that it’s wasn’t my fault. It was, I admit it. I was a terrible friend to everyone.

That’s why I try so hard with Maggie. That’s why I’m constantly stubbing my toe on spy books and getting sore arms in tae kwon do class. I don’t want that to ever happen again.

ANYWAY, my parents obviously don’t know about any of this. They think that because they send me to a private school that things are fine. They didn’t realize that sending me to an SAT prep class through the summer was like putting someone back in the ring after she already fought ten rounds and got her nose punched straight through to the back of her head.

I needed reinforcements. I needed an expert.

Luckily, I knew just where to find one. *

*

*

“Harold!” I cried as soon as the elevator doors opened into our lobby. “Harold, it’s been, what? Eighteen hours since we last saw each other? I think I have withdrawal symptoms.”

Harold’s been our doorman ever since I can remember, and I’ve lived in this building my whole life. I think he has some grandkids that are my age. I say “think” because I barely know anything about Harold. He rarely talks to anyone, even me, and let’s be honest, I can be pretty fun to converse with at times. In the time between the fight at school and Maggie showing up, he was kinda sorta my best friend by default. I told him everything. He didn’t say anything, not even something cheesy like “Chin up!” or “Tomorrow’s a new day!” It was better that way. Harold considers silence to be very golden.

“Harold,” I said again, heaving as deep a sigh as I could muster and reaching into my person. “I need the Jar.” So yeah, I have a swear jar with my doorman. There was a small kerfuffle last year (actually right in the middle of the Friend Disaster) where I got super mad at one of the neighbors for something, I don’t even remember what, and used all the colorful language I could summon to let the neighbor know how annoying he was. That, as you can imagine, didn’t make me very popular in the building and they almost kicked me and my parents out. I don’t know what happened to sway the jury, but they didn’t make us move. The next morning, however, there was an empty glass mason jar on the desk with my initials written on it. It took some time for me to get the hang of it. Let me put it this way: it’s a good thing my parents leave me so much petty cash. I burned through almost all of it in the first few months, but I’m better now.

Still, old habits die hard.

“The cable went out last night during the storm.” I sighed as Harold wordlessly set the jar on top of the desk. He hadn’t stopped reading the New York Post yet. “It was pretty bad, Harold.” I tucked a five dollar bill into the top.

Harold looked up at me over the top of his glasses.

“Fine!” I said, then added two more fives. “The cable went OUT, Harold! I’m only human! You know I love Bravo.”

He just tucked the jar back under the desk.

“Anyway, Harold,” I said. “I have to go find my friend, Maggie. I need to make her join this SAT prep class with me. I can be pretty convincing, right? Would you say I’m charming?”

There was no response, which was probably for the best.

“My parents signed me up for it” —Harold hesitated only slightly as he turned the newspaper page—“and it’s already pre-paid and ugh, it’s going to be the worst. The worst! I hope they have air conditioning. Did you ever take the SATs, Harold?” I knew better than to wait for a response. “Well, I’m off. Lots to do and—” Harold handed me an umbrella without looking at me.

“For me? You’re too sweet, Harold. I’ll cherish it forever. Have a good day! I’ll be back to fund the jar later. That’s my gift to you.”

And wouldn’t you know it? The minute the cab dropped me off at Maggie’s and pulled away from the curb, the skies opened up.

That’s Harold for you. He doesn’t say much. For him, actions speak louder than words.

I loaded myself onto the building’s elevator, also known as The Death Trap. I don’t know why Maggie and her parents don’t move somewhere else where the elevator doesn’t always look like it’s threatening to send you straight to your death, but I crossed myself and pulled the door down as the elevator made its creaky climb to the second floor. There used to be more people in the building, but they all moved out. (Maggie swore she had no idea where they went, but I could see a payoff from a mile away.)

The first thing I saw when the elevator arrived was blue sparks and someone wearing a welder’s mask.

“I’m unarmed,” I said, holding up my hands, then realizing that I was still carrying the umbrella. “I mean, except for this umbrella. It’s raining out, it’s not just a clever ruse. I’m not that smart.”

“Oh, my love, I don’t know about that. I think you can be quite brilliant at times.”

Even though I’ve known him for less than a year, I’d recognize Angelo’s accent anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, after he slipped the mask off and set the welding tool down long enough to give me a hug. “Is Maggie home? She didn’t go off on a mission, did she?”

I’ve never told anyone, not even Maggie or Harold, but that’s my biggest fear: that Maggie and her family suddenly disappear into the spy world once more and I never see them again. Even thinking about it now, my stomach feels like a bunch of spiders are crawling in it. (That’s really gross, but you know what I mean.) Imagine if you had a best friend and then one day, she was gone and you couldn’t even go to the police or you’d be endangering her life. It’s terrible.

“Roux?” Angelo asked. “Are you all right, darling? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine,” I said, shaking it off. “Maggie is here, though . . . right?”

“Someone said my name,” Maggie answered, coming to the door and opening it up. “Oh, hey! What are you doing here? Did you text me?”

“Can’t I just visit my best friend in person?” I asked. “Technology, Maggie. It seems like it brings us closer together, but really, it tears us apart.”

Angelo and Maggie just looked at me.

“You are so weird,” Maggie finally laughed, dragging me inside. “Come on. My dad’s trying to make pulled pork in the slow cooker and my mom just bought a fire extinguisher. We can see who triumphs.”

“What’s Angelo doing outside?” I asked, setting my umbrella and bag on the table by the door. “Or does he just weld as a form of stress relief?” If anyone would need stress relief, I imagine it would be an assassin.

“Installing a fingerprint scanner thingy,” Maggie replied. “He says we need it. I don’t even know if the Collective knows about it.”

I didn’t even have to look in a mirror to know that my eyes were lighting up. “A fingerprint scanner!” I cried. “I want one!”

“No, you don’t,” Maggie’s mom said, coming out from the back bedroom. She looks just like you would imagine a mom to look like, someone who would tell you to eat your peas and hug you when you cried and not get too mad when you got glue in your hair or a D on a test. “And Angelo,” she yelled out the door in his direction, “why are you welding a fingerprint scanner?”

“Not very beige,” Maggie muttered. She says things like that every so often and I have no idea what she’s talking about.

“Roux!” her dad yelled when he saw me. “Just the person I wanted to see! Come here, I need you to taste this.”

“Okay, wait, before I do, I have a great offer for you,” I said. Behind her dad, I saw Maggie’s face become suspicious. I smiled at her, trying to apologize with my eyes, which made me squint and caused everything to go blurry, so I stopped.

Besides, I wasn’t that sorry.

“There is this fabulous opportunity,” I began as Maggie’s face got more serious, “for Maggie to join me in an elite, unparalleled situation.”

“Like being chased down the Manhattan streets while someone tries to kill you?”

Maggie’s mom asked.

“Or being rescued by a helicopter flown by Angelo?” her dad added.

“Or—” Maggie started to say.

“Okay, fine, fine,” I said. “An opportunity for Maggie to join me in yet another elite, unparalleled situation.” I took a deep breath, just to make it sound more exciting and dramatic. “There’s this SAT prep class this summer—” “No,” Maggie said.

“—and my parents, in their infinite love and absence, have enrolled me and I thought it would be perfect—” “Nope.”

“—for Maggie—” “Not in a million years.”

“—tojoinme.” I rushed out the last part before Maggie could interrupt again. Her eyes looked like she wanted to use seventeen years’ worth of spy experience to her advantage and dismantle my skeletal system, which I thought was a bit rude. I was trying to help her academically, like any good friend would.

And more importantly, I did NOT want to be alone in that class.

“SAT prep?” her dad asked, throwing some spice into the slow cooker. “How much will this cost?”

“Is cost really important when you compare it to Maggie’s future?” I asked.

“Scale it back, Roux.” Maggie glared at me. “And I’m not going, so you can save your breath. I just got out of my first year of high school and I need a vacation, okay?”

It was time to use the big guns.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Oh, okay. I just thought that maybe you would want to spend time with your best friend—” “You are shameless!” Maggie cried. She was starting to laugh, though, which was a good sign. “We should sign you up with the Collective as a master manipulator.”

“Show me the dotted line,” I told her. “And come ON! Just take the class with me!”

Maggie looked at her parents. They looked at her. “It would be a good opportunity to prepare for college,” her mom said. “If that’s something you’d like to do.”

“I honestly haven’t thought beyond next week,” Maggie said. “Unlike Little Miss Planner here.”

“Look, this isn’t my fault,” I told her. “My parents read about it in New York magazine’s ‘What’s Hot Right Now’ issue and got it in their heads that I need to go to this thing.”

At the mention of my parents, Maggie’s mom said something under her breath and Maggie’s dad stirred the pork with a little more force than necessary. “And I don’t want to go alone,” I added before Maggie could build up more resolve.

“You do need to get out of the house more,” Maggie’s dad said to her. “You’ve been sleeping until noon every day.”

“I’m being a normal teenager,” she argued, then rubbed her forehead. She does that when she’s stressed. It’s her tell. (I learned about tells from reading all those spy novels. And also from a small poker ring I ran during eighth grade, but that’s a story for another time.) “Oh my God, Roux,” Maggie said. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Well, you won’t be the first person who’s tried,” I replied. “And your dad’s right. Are you feeling depressed? Is that why you’re sleeping so much and staying home?”

Maggie leveled her gaze at me as her mom said, “Maggie, you have been home a lot.”

“I’m going to murder you,” Maggie mouthed behind her parents’ backs.

“Maggie?” her mom said again and both parents turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry!” I mouthed back.

“No, I am not depressed,” Maggie said with a huge sigh. “I’m sleeping late because I’m tired. Angelo’s making me try to open this stupid lock—”

“By stupid, you mean timeless and exquisite, yes?” Angelo said, coming into the room and carrying his welding mask. “And the fingerprint scanner is installed, my dears.”

“Roux wants me to join her in this SAT prep class,” Maggie said.

“Because I’m her friend and friends do things together,” I added.

Angelo set his mask down on the island countertop. Maggie’s mom immediately lifted it up and placed a dish towel underneath it. “Well, it sounds like it could be an opportunity for adventure.”

Maggie just looked at him. “Seriously?” she finally said. “That’s your best answer?”

Angelo shrugged. “I just think that sometimes opportunity knocks in the most unexpected of places. And I also think that perhaps Roux would like to share an activity with her friend, as she said.”

Maggie looked thoughtful at that.

“How come when I say it, you roll your eyes, but when Angelo says it, you think it sounds reasonable?” I cried. “That’s unfair! You’re biased because I don’t have a British accent. Or a pocket square!”

Maggie glared at me. “You have no room to talk about fair,” she said, then buried her hands in her head and rested her elbows on the counter. “Ugh, I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” she groaned.

“Yay!” I cried, then ran to throw my arms around her. “You and your vocabulary and math skills won’t regret it!”

Maggie didn’t look up. “I’d rather go back to Luxembourg,” she moaned.

“What does Luxembourg have to do with anything?” I asked, but Angelo was already interrupting us.

“Roux,” he said as I continued to hug Maggie. “Seeing you reminded me that we need another chess lesson, and soon.”

“Ugh, I’m terrible at chess. It’s a silly game and I can’t remember the rules and all the pieces confuse me.”

“All the more reason to practice,” he said. “Besides, you would be surprised at what you can learn from such a silly game. Perhaps it might be useful someday.”

“You’re hurting me,” Maggie told me, trying to worm out of my grip. “I said I’d go, you don’t have to crush me.”

“I will totally make it up to you,” I whispered. “I’ll bring you coffee first thing tomorrow morning.”

“What time does this class start, anyway?”

“Gotta go!” I said, letting go of Maggie and grabbing my bag. “Tae kwon do calls! Bright and early, Mags!”

“Roux! What time do I have to be there?”

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty with a double espresso, love you, byeeee!”

“ROUX!” I’m sure she said more, but I was already in the elevator, a smile on my face.

Mission accomplished.