Spy School Goes South Read online

  The only two things all the Farkles seemed to have in common were exuberant personalities and massive family pride. Everyone greeted one another simply by yelling “Farkles!” followed by elaborate handshakes and bear hugs. We didn’t get too far into the lounge before this happened to us. A hefty middle-aged woman in a billowing T-shirt opened her arms wide and screamed “Farkles!” at us.

  To our astonishment, Erica opened her arms and screamed “Farkles!” right back.

  Although I was well aware of Erica’s talent for changing her personality to blend in, it still always caught me by surprise. Within seconds, Erica could become her complete opposite—and often, everything she hated about people in general. For example, she wasn’t a fan of physical contact, even from friends, and yet, she now allowed the big woman to give her a hug that seemed to swallow her whole.

  “All you kids are growing so fast, I can’t keep track of who’s who anymore,” the woman told her. She had a Southern accent as thick as molasses. “Remind me who you all are again?”

  “Why, I’m Ginny Farkle!” Erica exclaimed like this was common knowledge. “Lisa’s daughter!”

  The woman obviously didn’t know who Lisa Farkle was, but she seemed embarrassed about it and did her best to pretend she did. “Ohhhh! Lisa! Of course! How is your mother?”

  “Well, she’s sad she couldn’t make it this year,” Erica replied. “But you know how her work can be sometimes.”

  “I sure do,” the woman said supportively, even though she couldn’t have possibly known this. “Well now, I’m your cousin Edna, in case you’ve forgotten. . . .”

  “Cousin Edna, how could anyone ever forget you?” Erica asked, then pointed to Zoe, Mike, and Murray. “This here’s my sister Sally, my brother Tim, and our cousin Ruprecht.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me over. “And this guy here is George. He’s not really family, but as far as we Farkles are concerned, he might as well be. So his folks said he could come on down here and spend spring break with us.”

  “Ohhh,” Edna said, looking me over. “Now, Ginny, is this a boy who’s a friend—or a boyfriend?”

  “Edna!” Erica gasped. Somehow, she even made her face flush in embarrassment. “George is just a friend, that’s all.”

  It was a completely dumbfounding performance. Partly because I was still in awe of Erica’s chameleon-like personality, but also because Erica had established me as a potential boyfriend for her character. I had no idea why she’d done this when she could have simply passed me off as a random cousin, and the association made me blush too—only I was doing it for real, not as part of an act.

  My friends were all surprised by this as well, but they barely had a chance to react before Edna declared, “Well don’t just sit there, Farkles, give your cousin Edna a hug!” and grabbed us in her fleshy arms. For a moment, I was concerned we might all be suffocated in her grasp, but then a waiter passed with a tray full of drinks and Edna quickly released us to go after him. “See you later, kids,” she announced. “I need to wet my whistle.” Edna turned out to be the type of American who mistakenly believed the way to make herself understood to the hotel staff was to speak English very loud and slow, as if that would magically turn it into Spanish. “EXCUSE ME!” she shouted at the waiter. “CAN I HAVE A DRINK?”

  The waiter proffered the tray and replied in perfect English. “Of course, Mrs. Farkle.”

  “MOOCH-ASS GRASSY-ASS, AMIGO!” Edna yelled.

  Erica, Zoe, Mike, Murray, and I made a beeline for the buffet before any other Farkles accosted us.

  I was so hungry, I probably would have eaten raw iguana entrails, but even so, the spread of food we found was a fantasy come true. Tables were piled high with the most delicious foods any teenager could ever ask for: hot dogs, burgers, tacos, pizza, french fries, nachos, chicken fingers, baby back ribs, and every fixing, condiment, and dip imaginable. There were tubs full of ice-cold sodas, a full bar for the adults, and a make-your-own-ice-cream-sundae station.

  “Oh my God,” Murray gasped. “There’s bacon!”

  Indeed there was. A pyramid of pig parts towered on a chafing dish. So much bacon was piled up, it was hard to believe there was a pig left alive in the Yucatán. Murray shoved two young Farkles aside, grabbed a handful of bacon, and crammed it into his mouth. His eyes rolled upward in ecstasy as he savored it. “This is soooo good,” he moaned. “Oh, bacon, I’ve missed you.”

  “I thought you weren’t eating like that anymore,” Zoe said. “What happened to being the healthiest guy on earth?”

  “That was before I knew SPYDER wanted me dead,” Murray said sullenly. “What’s the point of treating your body like a temple when it’s about to get demolished by a wrecking ball? I’m not going to squander what might be the last meal of my life eating vegetables.” He said this last word the way most people would have said “rat droppings.”

  I hated to admit it, but he had a point. I grabbed a plate and loaded it with everything I could, then started shoving food into my mouth.

  Mike and Zoe were doing the same thing.

  Erica wasn’t. Even though she must have been famished, she still found a platter of crudités that had been completely ignored by all the Farkles and grabbed a handful of veggies.

  “That’s all you’re eating?” Mike asked her. “We all nearly died today. Celebrate a little!”

  “I am,” Erica replied earnestly. “I’m having six ounces of baked potato with this. I haven’t eaten a starch in six months.”

  “You’re crazy,” Murray informed her. “The only way I’m eating vegetables from now on is if they’re deep-fried and then dipped in chocolate.” His eyes suddenly lit up with inspiration. “What am I talking about? I could be dipping bacon in chocolate right now!” He hurried to the sundae bar and ladled hot fudge over his plate.

  “Nice work getting us food,” Zoe told Erica, between bites of cheeseburger. “Now what’s the plan for finding us a place to sleep?”

  Erica tossed her a credit card. “Go find a courtesy phone, call the front desk, and book five rooms with that.”

  Zoe flipped the card over. I caught a glimpse of the name on it: Edna P. Farkle.

  I now understood why Erica had allowed herself to be bear-hugged by Edna. She’d been picking the woman’s pocket.

  Zoe frowned, having the same reaction to Erica’s orders that I did. “I can’t use this card! It’s a crime!”

  Erica lowered her voice so none of the Farkles would hear her. “No, a crime is whatever SPYDER is plotting. I’m merely asking you to do what is necessary for us to stop them. Booking a room with that card won’t hurt Cousin Edna at all. When the charge shows up in a month, she’ll contest it as fraudulent and won’t have to pay it. Not that it’d matter to her anyway. Judging from the size of that rock on her ring, she has plenty of cash to spare. I’ll bet she’s bankrolling this whole Farkle Fiesta.”

  Zoe and I glanced toward Edna, who was now peppering a small Farkle child with kisses. Sure enough, she had a diamond on her finger big enough to choke a horse. Yet another thing Erica had noticed that I hadn’t.

  Even so, what she was asking for still didn’t seem right. And Zoe was in agreement. “If Edna disputes the charge,” she argued, “the hotel still will have to eat it. . . .”

  “Serves them right for harboring a fugitive organization like SPYDER,” Erica said coldly.

  Zoe frowned, then handed the credit card back. “I’m sorry. It still seems wrong.”

  Erica took it and gave Zoe a stare full of disappointment in return.

  “I’ll do it!” Murray volunteered. “I don’t have any morals at all!”

  “That’s why I don’t trust you to do this,” Erica said. “The moment I let you out of my sight with a credit card, you’ll try to book a private jet to Rio.”

  Astonishment flooded Murray’s bacon-grease-and-chocolate-sauce smeared face. Apparently, this exact thought had crossed his mind.

  “I guess if you want something done, you have to do it
yourself,” Erica grumbled. She started out of the lounge, then turned back to Zoe and me. “Keep an eye on Murray, will you? If he tries to run, you have my permission to beat him senseless. You don’t have a moral issue with that, do you?”

  “No,” Zoe said meekly.

  “Good. Wait here until I get back.” Erica stormed off to find a phone.

  Murray happily returned to dipping bacon into melted chocolate.

  Zoe sighed morosely. “She hates me.”

  “No she doesn’t,” I said.

  “Well she certainly doesn’t like me.”

  “You shouldn’t take that personally. Erica doesn’t like anyone.”

  “She likes you,” Zoe said. “And she likes Mike, too.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” I said, and then wondered where Mike was. He was no longer beside us.

  Instead, he was a few feet away, chatting up a young female Farkle. She looked about our age, she was pretty, and she seemed to be very attracted to Mike, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling coyly at him. “I did this zip-line today,” she was telling him. “It must have been thirty feet above the ground. Super scary. But I did it anyhow, and it was incredible! How about you? Did you do anything exciting?”

  “I was in a plane crash,” Mike told her. “Also, I got attacked by crocodiles, fell into a cenote, and discovered a lost Mayan city.”

  The girl stared at him, stunned—and then burst into a fit of giggles. “Aw, you’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe,” Mike said.

  “Are you really a Farkle?” the girl asked. “Cause I haven’t seen you at any of these reunions before.”

  “I haven’t made it to any,” Mike said. “But I’m one hundred percent Farkle. I’m Tim.”

  “I’m Emma,” the girl said.

  “Let me guess,” Mike teased. “Your last name’s Farkle.”

  “Actually, it’s Mathes. I’m only related by marriage. My stepdad’s a Farkle.” Emma took a step closer to Mike. “Which means we’re not really related,” she said meaningfully.

  “How does he do that?” Murray asked, approaching us with a fully loaded plate from the dessert bar.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “Attract women like that. I’ve got the hot new bod. And yet that girl’s not coming after me.”

  Zoe eyed his plate warily. “Maybe it’s because you’re eating s’mores with bacon in them.”

  Murray had, in fact, combined bacon with chocolate, marshmallow, and graham crackers. And then he’d sprinkled gummy bears on top. “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” he said. He attempted to take a bite, but the entire concoction collapsed in his hand, leaving him with a huge brown smear down the front of his Farkle Fiesta T-shirt.

  “Yeah, it’s hard to see why the girls aren’t beating your door down,” Zoe said sarcastically. “It looks like you wiped your butt with your shirt.”

  Murray didn’t bother to argue—or to clean his shirt off. Instead, he returned to the dessert bar to rebuild his sandwich.

  Emma Mathes was now flirting even more heavily with Mike, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “Know who you kind of look like?” she asked. “That guy who’s dating the president’s daughter. Mike something or other.”

  “Yeah,” Mike said. “I get that a lot.”

  I looked at Zoe and caught her looking at me. There was an awkward moment between us as we both realized we hadn’t really been alone together since I’d learned that she liked me a month before.

  It seemed that a mature person ought to address the situation and talk about it. But I wasn’t a mature person. I was a thirteen-year-old boy. So I did my best to come up with something to avoid any serious conversation about our feelings. “Maybe we should get Mike away from Emma,” I said. “Before he says something too glib and tanks the mission.”

  “Good idea,” Zoe agreed. Though I got a sense she was as relieved to avoid a serious conversation as I was.

  I walked over to Mike, grabbed his arm, and told Emma, “Sorry, but I need to talk to Tim. Family business.” Then I yanked Mike back over to the nacho stand and told him, “Go easy on the flirting, okay?”

  “I wasn’t flirting,” he said defensively. “I was just trying to blend in.”

  “It sure looked like flirting,” Zoe said. “If you’re not careful, you’ll tank this mission. What if she realizes that you really are Jemma Stern’s boyfriend?”

  “I’m not her boyfriend,” Mike said quickly.

  “Probably not anymore,” Zoe agreed, “now that you left the country and didn’t even have the decency to tell her. You’d better call her and straighten things out.”

  “That’s a guaranteed way to tank the mission,” Mike argued. “The Secret Service traces all her calls. How am I supposed to explain that I’m in Mexico all of a sudden?”

  By the burger fixings bar, Emma Mathes crooked a finger at Mike, beckoning him to come back to her.

  Mike held up a finger, signaling he’d be a little longer.

  Zoe smacked him in the arm hard enough to make him wince. “No flirting!”

  “All I did was signal her that I’d be back in a bit.”

  “You’re not going to be back in a bit,” Zoe told him. “You’re not going to talk to her ever again. You need to keep your distance from that girl.”

  “But if I just ignore her, she’ll think I’m a jerk,” Mike protested.

  “Great,” Zoe said.

  “Let me get this straight,” Mike said. “You’re angry at me because I blew off Jemma, but now you’re going to be angry at me if I don’t blow off Emma?”

  “Exactly,” Zoe said. “The less Emma wants to do with you, the better.”

  “I can’t even make an excuse?” Mike asked. “Man, this is a real dilemma.”

  “Yes,” I said. “An Emma dilemma.”

  “In addition to my Jemma dilemma.” Mike suddenly noticed something behind Zoe and gasped with surprise. “Ashley Sparks!” he exclaimed.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Zoe told him.

  Mike pointed through the crowd. “She’s here!”

  Zoe and I both looked the way he was pointing. Outside the Coco Loco Lounge, beyond the sea of neon Farkle T-shirts, I saw a short, ponytailed girl wearing an extremely glittery spandex outfit. There were thousands of sequins on it, glittering in the moonlight. I only knew of one person who wore that many sequins.

  “Mike’s right,” I said. “It’s her.”

  Before enrolling at SPYDER’s evil spy school, Ashley had been one of the most promising gymnasts in the United States. Unfortunately, she had barely missed the cut for the Olympic team (she still harbored a serious grudge against the judges) and had been so enraged about the injustice that she had turned to crime. At first glance, she didn’t seem evil at all. In fact, she still looked a great deal like a professional gymnast. She was short and muscular, with a penchant for tight-fitting, sparkly athletic wear and glittery eyeshadow. She also had a chirpy, high-pitched voice that made her sound like an adorable cartoon character, even when she was threatening you with grievous bodily harm.

  At the moment, Ashley didn’t seem to be on any sort of important SPYDER mission. Instead, she was ambling along happily in the direction of the beach. Between her attractive looks and her glittery clothing, I didn’t notice that there was someone else walking alongside her until Zoe gasped in surprise.

  “She’s with Warren!” Zoe exclaimed.

  I shifted my attention to the person beside Ashley and realized that it was, in fact, Warren Reeves, our fellow classmate who had defected to SPYDER. It was hard to tell it was Warren, though. Not because Warren had changed a lot in the month since we’d seen him—but because Warren was incredibly easy to overlook. Warren’s great (and frankly, only) talent at spy school had been his gift for camouflage. While this was partly due to his great skill with body paint, Warren naturally tended to blend into the background anyhow. There was a blandness about him that made him easy to overl
ook. Quite often, back at school, people had failed to notice Warren even when he was trying to be seen. The only things I had ever really observed about him were that he’d always had a grudge against me—and a crush on Zoe. Meanwhile, Zoe had failed to notice that crush herself, which had made Warren sullenly resentful and eventually led him to join SPYDER.

  The last time we’d seen Warren, he’d been fleeing through the underground tunnels at the academy after betraying us. Ashley hadn’t been too happy with him at the moment, as he’d botched her escape plan—but it appeared they had made up. The two of them seemed perfectly happy to be in each other’s company. And . . .

  “Oh, ick!” Zoe said. “They’re holding hands!”

  “No way!” exclaimed Murray, appearing beside us, holding a chocolate sundae with crumbled bacon on top. “That’s not possible.”

  “Look at them!” Zoe exclaimed. “Glitter Girl and Chameleon are a couple.”

  That definitely seemed to be the case. Not only were the two of them holding hands, they were looking into each other’s eyes as they walked with dopey, lovey-dovey expressions.

  This was almost as astonishing as the discovery that Warren had betrayed us in the first place. Ashley might have been evil, but she had at least been fun to hang out with. When I’d first met her, I had found her friendly, cheerful, and extremely interesting. Meanwhile, Warren was . . . Warren. The human equivalent of soggy bread.

  “Wow,” Murray said, digging into his bacon sundae. “I never would have called that. It’s like a swan going out with a rock.”

  “Should we tail them?” Zoe asked. “Maybe they’re up to something evil.”

  “Looks like they’re heading down to the beach to make out,” Murray observed. “That’s not evil. It’s disgusting. I think I lost my appetite.” He set his sundae down, then changed his mind. “Wait. It’s back.” He dug out a heaping spoonful and crammed it into his mouth.

  “You’re disgusting,” Zoe said in a way that made any concerns I ever had about her liking Murray seem ridiculous.