Spies, Lies, and Allies by Lisa Brown Roberts

Author:Lisa Brown Roberts [Roberts, Lisa Brown]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young adult;interns;high school;office romance;mystery;Survivor;college intern
Publisher: Entangled TEEN
Published: 2018-03-17T04:00:00+00:00

Fifteen

The weekend passes like I’m trapped in a jar of molasses, or caught in a dream where I’m trying to outrun someone, but can’t find my footing. The person I’m trying to outrun is myself.

This morning at church we listened to the story of Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus, how he fell to the ground as a blinding light surrounded him and he heard the voice of God. As corny as it sounds, I feel like something similar happened during my time in the basement with the interns. I didn’t hear the voice of God, but the experience changed how I perceive everyone, including myself.

Now, standing at the sink washing the breakfast dishes, I’m weighed down with the responsibility of casting not one but two votes for the scholarship. I’ve no idea how to choose since I want everyone to win. Also, I’m certain that my ridiculous “true confession” made me sound whiny and privileged, both of which are true. I doubt anyone will even talk to me tomorrow.

On top of all that, last night I checked Carlos’s Facebook page—because I’m an idiot, obviously—and struck gold. He was tagged in a new photo by Rose Rubio, his sister, I realized by checking her page. It’s a fantastic shot taken at a park. Carlos holds a soccer ball in the crook of his arm, wearing a soccer uniform like the other guys in the photo. But on him, the uniform makes him look like the real deal, like one of those unbelievably fast and athletic guys on the European teams my dad watches every summer during the World Cup.

“Carlos does it again,” his sister Rose said in the post. “Goooallll!!”

As perfect as the photo was, it also packed a sucker punch because although he held a soccer ball in one arm, his other arm was draped over the shoulders of a pretty girl who smiled up at him like she knew him very, very well.

I’d closed my browser and vowed to never check his page again.

“Want me to dry?” Dad asks, sidling up to the counter.

Surprised by his offer, I give him a grateful smile and hand over a towel. Usually he holes up in his home office on Sunday afternoons. He’s been solicitous this weekend, asking me how I’m doing at least half a dozen times. He apologized profusely for the basement incident and promised to talk to the interns about it tomorrow.

“Why are you washing dishes instead of just loading the dishwasher?” he asks as he dries the omelet pan.

“It’s a Zen thing. Helps me process stuff.” All of my friends hate dish duty, but I love it. Weird, I know.

“Wax on, wax off,” he jokes, and I flick soapy water at him. His old movie references are never-ending.

Mom enters the kitchen, laden with a stack of handmade clothes. She’s participating in a fashion show in Fort Collins this afternoon, focused on trendy and organic items, made from hemp and other organic fibers. Wealthy granola women love my mom’s line of clothes.

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