Free Austensibly Ordinary by Alyssa Goodnight Page B

inexplicable element of the journal, I was in awe. Nervous awe. The world was full of weird and unexplainable phenomena—who was I to question it? I’d never understood the city’s annual Spam festival either, but I wasn’t out there investigating SPAMARAMA. For all I knew, the end pages could be concealing a computer chip with a transmitter—but that was kind of creepy, and right now I was full up on creepy.
    Clearly, someone was sending me messages. The trouble was that now I wasn’t sure what to write. This could be important stuff. What if . . . what if I didn’t use the right words? What if the journal couldn’t work its magic because it couldn’t parse my stream-of-consciousness jots into something useful? Crap. Well, I was just going to have to wing it and hope for the best. I was too tired for much more than that anyway.
    Rolling my shoulders and then stretching my neck, I feinted once and then let her rip.
    So . . . I did it. I played the part. Tonight I was a flirting femme fatale, and I rocked it. But I’m not sure I accomplished anything other than giving my phone number to an eligible entrepreneur. I’m not sure how this is supposed to work. The message in the journal, I gotta admit, was unexpected, and I’m not sure I totally clued in on its underlying meaning. Unless it was hyping the book’s “bonus features.” I’m new at this. . . . I figured I’d be on my own with the dress, just having a sexy little adventure, but a chance at secret agent status is a little bit of perfection.
    Obviously, I have some questions, namely, who’s calling the shots, and what’s at stake? Am I like a spy? Some sort of operative testing out developmental spy gadgetry? How did you find me? The Trailer Park was an interesting choice, but you took a risk—Ethan was there (and Courtney too, earlier). So can I tell anyone, or is this strictly need-to-know?? Adding an element of mystery to my open-book lifestyle might be nice for a change. While I might eventually like to confide in Ethan, as far as I’m concerned, he hasn’t earned it yet. He’s being very close-mouthed about something. . . . I just haven’t figured out what it is yet. So secret is fine with me.
    What’s next? I’m up for anything and everything, just so long as it’s legal (that’s slightly negotiable) and I can do it after school. I assume all communications will go through the journal. I’ll check in tomorrow. Bye, Charlie! (I promise I won’t do that again.)
    Â 
    I tipped the journal closed again, freshly irritable over Ethan’s surprise news. An entire week?? I’d need to have this secret identity thing down by the end of it . . . at least the secret part.
    With a sudden flash of curiosity, I whipped the book back open again, wondering if my message had been read and answered.
    It hadn’t. But in fairness, I had asked a lot of questions. And probably my success as a virgin operative needed to be vetted somehow. I could wait.

Chapter 6

    U tterly dependable, Ethan had worked his IT magic, getting my e-mail back online. I had to admit, dependability was an attractive quality in a man; overprotectiveness, not so much. I sat at my desk on my lunch break, reading through the e-mails that had just popped up in my in-box. There were three from concerned parents, one wishing to confirm that her child would not be reading any books that might have even brushed up against the possibility of getting banned.
    I paused with a forkful of salad halfway to my lips and inhaled slowly, tipping my eyelids down, channeling inner calm. I did not want to get sucked into an e-mail smackdown. I could not educate these parents on my own, and neither the school officials nor the school board would thank me for trying. I typed back a brief response that I hoped would set her closed mind at ease that her child’s mind would, at least on my watch, remain