I watch her realization dawn. “Wait…your fam doesn’t get it?”
I shake my head.
“SNAP, either?”
“SNAP?”
She pulls a credit-looking card with a leafy background and a giant peach on the front from her purse. “To help cover food?”
Ah. “Nope,” I say.
“Wow, you must be way better off than we are.”
I open my mouth to tell her Mama won’t apply, but the door chimes again just as Mr. Z steps out of the office. “Rico, there is a call for you.”
“Umm…” Uh-oh…I’ve never gotten a call at work before. “Do you know who it is?”
He shakes his head. “They didn’t say. I’ll cover the floor while you take it, but make it quick.”
My vision blurs.
“Whoa, Rico. You okay?” I feel a hand on my arm, and Jess comes back into focus.
“Sorry, I, uhh…” I look at the gaping door that feels like a step toward my doom. “I need to take this call.”
“Sure thing. I’ll grab a Gatorade or something so it doesn’t look like I’m loitering.” As she walks off, I slip into the office, trying not to hyperventilate.
Pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Agent Danger, this is Command.”
Zan.
“I hate you,” I say.
“Well, that’s overly harsh. What’d I ever do to you?”
“I never get calls at work! I thought somebody died or something!”
He laughs. “Sorry. You won’t give me your cell number, so this is the only place I knew I could catch you.”
“Oh.” Why am I light-headed? And sweating?
“I have news!” he says.
“You mean you’re not calling to hear my voice? For shame.”
Omg, I did NOT just say that….
“Are you flirting with me, Danger?”
“Pfffft. No.” Yes.
I can almost hear the mischief in his smile. “Liar.”
“You gotta work on that egomania, Macklin.”
“Oh hush, you.”
I roll my eyes and smile. “So what’s the news? I’m on the clock.”
“I found Ms. Maybelle!”
“Ms. who?”
“Good God, what am I gonna do with you?”
“How ’bout tell me what you’re talking about so I can get back to work?”
“Ms. Maybelle. The visitor coordinator from Victorious Faith?”
Oh! “Ah, yes. Her.”
“I swear I care more about this quest than you do.”
Mmmmm…“I’ve got a lot on my mind, all right?” Mostly you.
“When are you off?”
“Ten.”
“Not today, goof. I mean what day this week.”
Oh. “Thursday.”
“Field triiiiiiip!”
“Nerd.”
“You love it.”
I roll my eyes again even though A) he can’t see me, and B) fine, I kinda do. “You should really get over yourself.”
He laughs.
Mr. Z sticks his head in and holds up two fingers. Guess I have two minutes?
“You know, you really could’ve told me this at school tomorrow,” I say.
“Ah, I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Roller-coaster drop. “You flirting with me, Macklin?”
“You bet your beautiful ass I am.”
“Don’t look at my ass.”
“Oh, it’s much too late for that, Danger. I’ll be there to take you home at ten tonight. That okay?”
“Was that your way of asking?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
Hmph. “Try again.”
“Rico, may I pick you up from work tonight, please?”
“Yes. You may.”
“Excellent. Later, gator.”
I hang up.
And stare at the phone.
Bite my lip and shake my head.
It’s official: I’m distracted.
This is going to be a disaster.
“So here’s the deal,” Zan says as we pull into the driveway of a mint-green Victorian house the following Thursday. The sign on the mailbox reads THE REVEREND’S ROOST: CIRCA 1907. “Ms. Maybelle’s grandfather-in-law built this house. It’s part of the annual Historic Homes tour, and she agreed to let us visit because she thinks we’re doing a school project on the history of Norcross.”
“Got it.”
“You ask her a few questions about her life and the house, then I’ll bring up Victorious Faith and our mystery woman. If she remembers her, great! Hopefully we can get a name. If not—”
“We’re shit out of luck and our quest is over.” You’ll stop talking to me, and I’ll go back to my miserable, meaningless life.
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even look in my direction.
Which is…whatever. “All right, let’s do this.” I remove my seat belt and reach for the door handle.
“Wait.” A set of fingertips grabs my elbow.
Whew, tingles. “What?”
“For one: let me get the door for you, please.” He smiles.
It gives me a shiver. “And for two?”
“For two: in case this is the end, know it’s been my highest pleasure questing with you, Danger.”
Great. Confirmation that this could be the end. “Whatever.” I go to open the door again.
“Wait, there’s a for three!”
“Macklin!”
“Sorry, it’s important.”
Stab, stab, stab with my eyes.
“Just so you know,” he goes on, “she thinks our names are Gustavo and Reneé.”
* * *
—
Maybelle Carver is the second-cutest old lady I’ve ever seen. She answers the door in a nylon jogging suit (bright pink) with purple dumbbells in hand, and her shoulder-length silver hair is held off her face with a matching sweatband.