Making the Grade (The Model Spy #2)

Chapter 1 - Dining Disaster

When Zach and I ate at the Moulin Rouge… No. I wasn’t going to think of the Moulin Rouge. That was in Paris. Paris no longer existed on my mental map.

“Where do you want to go after dinner?” Will asked me as he closed the menu. “I know a nice little park. Not many people go there.’

I shrugged. After dinner? It would be nearly ten. I didn’t stay out much past ten. Being out in the deserted night streets reminded me too much of following murderers down the empty alleyways of Paris. I preferred being at home when it got late, safe in my bed reading Sarah Dessen or Anthony Horowitz. That Alex Rider character sure would make a good sidekick.

“Don’t you think it will be too late?” I asked him as I squeezed the lemon in my water.

“Too late? Laura, you’re eighteen.” There was slight amusement in Will’s voice. “But if you don’t want to be out, we can go back to my place. My parents aren’t home-“

I spilled my glass of water across the table before he had time to finish. The cold water splashed onto Will’s pants and he leapt up, knocking his silverware to the floor. My chair toppled over as I jumped to help.

“I’m so sorry!” I said. I could feel the eyes of all of the other diners staring at us. Their gazes pierced my skin. I felt the blood rush to my face and wished I was anywhere else but in the middle of this fancy restaurant where Johnny Depp was probably sitting a few tables away laughing over wine with Tim Burton.

“Don’t worry about it,” Will said, his bright smile lighting up the room. “I spill stuff all of the time.” He was the only one laughing in the whole restaurant. “I’ll be right back.” He made his way towards the men’s room, walking awkwardly in his wet pants.

I slumped down into my chair and tried to hide my face behind the large menu. I couldn’t even look at the waiter as he set our salads down on the table and removed Will’s dirty silverware.

“I’ll get you more water, Miss,” he said formally before whispering, “Don’t worry about it.” I could sense the pity in his voice. He was trying to make me feel better. I shot him a small smile of thanks.

The chatter in the room started again, filling the silence. I could just tell they were talking about me, though. I knew I would even talk about me. I was that pathetic.

I tried to concentrate on the list of expensive appetizers, but my curiosity got the best of me as the voices around me buzzed and blended together. I lifted my thumb and index finger to my ear and twisted the back of my pearl earring. Suddenly, the sound in the room became clearer and every spoken syllable could be heard.

I listened to the conversation at the nearest table. Four girls sat together. They looked perhaps a little bit older than me, but definitely a lot richer. Their flashy and shiny outfits screamed “reality show paycheck” while their perky features could probably thank three different plastic surgeons. Automatically, I felt totally out of place.

They were all laughing as they sipped their sparkling water and picked at their meager salads without putting even the smallest bite in their mouths. Sure enough, they were laughing at me.

“Look at her face!” one said. “She is as red as a lobster!”

“Honestly,” said another, “what does he see in her? Sure, she’s pretty but she’s not that pretty!”

“Well didn’t you hear?” The third lowered her voice and became serious, as if she was informing her friends of a death. “He works for that charity which grants hopeless girls the night with someone they wouldn’t even get in their dreams.”