Page 4

Eleven Years Before

Missy knew that Auntie Pauline was getting Amber a bike for her thirteenth birthday before Amber knew.

Before her parents even knew.

She knew this because Missy paid attention.

She had always paid attention.

Even before she’d decided she wanted to be a spy when she grew up, she’d been watching, learning. It was the paying attention that made Missy want to be a spy, not the other way around.

The thing was there were signs and hints and clues everywhere, like fruit dangling from a tree. If you paid attention, it was all there for the picking.

Missy paid attention to her aunt’s internet searches, so she knew that she’d found a secondhand bike that was a terrific deal because her aunt had searched for the bike new and the used one cost way less. She also knew the bike was “like new,”

and this would be important to Amber, who’d be embarrassed to tell her friend Casey she’d gotten something used because Casey’s family was the kind that donated almost-new bikes and Amber and Missy’s family was the kind that bought almost-new bikes that other people had cast off.

She knew from the argument her mom and Auntie Pauline had that her mother thought that even used and a terrific deal, this was too much money and too much bike. “She’s still growing,”

her mom told Pauline. “Let’s just wait.”

She knew her aunt had enlisted her father’s help when she’d seen an email printed out in the tray, with a note from her aunt to her dad: “Brian, look at the color! It’s orange. Amber, you might say. Meant to be. Talk to Glo?”

She knew from the story of how her parents met how much her dad believed in meant-to-bes, particularly where bikes were concerned.

She knew that her father had agreed to help Auntie Pauline when she heard him say to her mother, “I know it’s big but she’ll grow into it, and it’s important for Pauline to be able to do this for her.”

She knew that her father had won over her mother when she’d heard her aunt special-ordering the license plate over the phone. “It should read A-M-B-E-R,”

she said. “Same color as the bike.”

“I know what you’re getting for your birthday,”

Missy bragged to Amber. She wasn’t going to tell. A spy never told. But she wanted Amber to know that she knew.

“Is it a phone?”

Amber asked. She desperately wanted the latest phone that Casey had, even though it was obvious their mother would never get her one for her thirteenth birthday, maybe not even for her eighteenth birthday.

“It’s not a phone,”

Missy said.

This made her the bearer of bad news and the earner of her sister’s ire.

“What do you know?”

Amber sneered. “Get out of my room, you little creep!”

If their parents were home, Amber would have gotten a scolding for talking to Missy that way, but they weren’t, so the remark went unnoticed. And anyway, as mean as Amber could be, Missy didn’t really mind.

People were often what her ELA teacher, Ms. Gibbons, called “unreliable narrators,”

meaning they spoke one way but acted another.

Her parents were reliable narrators.

They said what they meant and meant what they said.

But Amber was more the unreliable type.

Sometimes her sister could be cruel, calling Missy a weirdo, a freak, or a creeper, slamming the door in her face, mocking her to her friends.

But on the other hand, Amber would do nice things for her, like leaving a copy of Harriet the Spy on Missy’s bed, even though she made fun of Missy for thinking herself a spy.

Missy had loved the book and its sequel, which had materialized on her bed a few weeks after the original, even if she and Harriet were completely different kinds of spies.

Harriet wanted the goods on other people.

Missy was looking for something else.

And her sister seemed to hold the key to it. She was one way and also another. This was why she fascinated Missy. She seemed to dance in two worlds.

The night of Amber’s thirteenth birthday, they were going out to dinner—Amber, Missy, Mom, Dad, and Auntie Pauline, who had swapped trips with another flight attendant to be there.

They were waiting outside their house for their aunt to arrive.

She was often late because planes were often late. Her father stared at his watch. “The reservation is at seven,”

he said. “We might have to do this after.”

“Do what after?”

Amber asked.

Just then Missy saw her aunt, riding up their cul-de-sac, her scarf billowing behind her. “There she is!”

Missy cried happily.

“Why’s Pauline on a bike?”

Amber asked. “Is her car busted again?”

So many secrets lived inside Missy, bursting to come out. Some of the secrets she didn’t even understand. But if she kept paying attention, she knew one day she would.

Missy could contain it no longer. “It’s your present!”

“Ohmygod!”

Amber cried, turning to Mom and Dad. “Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank us,”

Mom replied. “This was Pauline’s doing.”

Amber was gathering Pauline in a hug before she had stopped the bike. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“You’re welcome, welcome, welcome,”

Pauline said, laughing as she hopped off and transferred the handlebars to Amber, pointing out the little license plate affixed to the back. “I couldn’t resist because the bike is amber, too! But you don’t have to keep the nameplate if it’s too babyish.”

“It’s perfect!”

Amber swung her legs over the seat; even on tippy-toes she could barely touch the ground.

Her mom winced.

“She’ll be fine,”

Pauline said.

“It’s beautiful,”

Missy said.

“Wanna ride it?”

Pauline asked. “After Amber gets a go?”

“In your dreams,”

Amber snarked. “This baby’s mine.”

“Amber!”

her parents admonished, looking worriedly at Missy for signs of envy or hurt. She understood why they thought she was jealous of Amber—who had friends and now a shiny bicycle and who Missy watched constantly—but they were wrong.

If she wanted to ride Amber’s bike, it was for the same reason she sometimes tried on her clothes or sneaked peeks in her backpack to read the notes she and her friends passed during school. She wanted to understand how Amber moved through the world. This was key to something that Missy was trying so very hard to figure out.

Auntie Pauline winked at Missy just as Amber pushed off the curb. Her sister’s smile was as bright as the evening sun that was starting to tilt west, its slanting beams reflecting off the bike, making it glow. She pedaled halfway up the block, stumbling a bit before righting herself.

Mom grabbed Pauline’s arm. “The bike really is too big for her. She’s barely five feet.”

“She’ll grow into it. She just needs more time,”

Pauline said, pulling Mom into her chest with one hand and grabbing Missy with the other. Dad went around to Mom’s other side and took her hand and they all watched Amber ride into the sunset.