Free The Mockingbirds by Daisy Whitney Page B

But now it’s real and
I’m
going there.And there’ll be students with names and faces and there’ll be Martin too, someone I do know.”
    “It might make it easier, right?”
    “I guess. We’ll see….”
    Then T.S. returns, opens the door with a flourish, and taps her watch. She’s been gone most of the day, soccer practice after class (they still practice in the off-season, which delights T.S. to no end), then dinner, then visiting with Sandeep.
    “We can’t be late,” she says.
    “I wasn’t going to be late,” I say.
    “Never said you were. All I’m saying is let’s be on time.”
    “No, girls. Let’s be early!” Maia declares joyously, hopping up from her desk.
    “What is this, a party?” I ask.
    Maia looks momentarily dejected. “I’m not invited?”
    “I just didn’t think about it.”
    Maia rolls her eyes. “Typical.”
    “Don’t go there now,” T.S. says sharply to Maia. “This is about Alex, not you.”
    Maia holds up her hands. “I believe I’m allowed to have an opinion and my opinion is I’m just as invested in this as you are, T.S. And I am equally committed to Alex.”
    “Guys,” I say. “I want you both there.”
    “Besides,” Maia says, giving us both a sly look, “I did do my fair share of recon. It’s no surprise, really. You know, James Bond is my countryman.”
    With that, the tension seeps out of the room and T.S.says, “Maybe you can go sniff out some laundry for us then, Ms. Bond.”
    “What do we need laundry for?” Maia asks.
    “If you were really a top secret spy, you would know. Since you’re not, grab your laundry. Both of you.”
    We do as we’re told, snagging our laundry bags from the closet. T.S. extracts a roll of quarters from the pocket of her shorts. “I have mine.”
    I pat my back pocket, where I stuffed three dollars in quarters after Martin’s tip. “Me too.”
    Maia dashes to her desk and grabs a handful of quarters, then we follow T.S. down the hall, laundry bags in tow, like a couple of hobos.
    “This is really glam. Mind telling us what laundry has to do with the you-know-whats?” I ask.
    T.S. shakes her head. “You guys are the worst secret agents ever. You cannot put clues together.”
    “You know, Maia, you should do your spring project on James Bond,” I say in a faux British accent and even force a smile, because I don’t want to be the dark and silent “date rape girl.” I can still laugh, like I did at Martin’s birdbrain joke. I can still be funny—or at least try to be.
    “That’s a fantastic idea,” Maia says. She skips once, then turns around and walks backward so she can face us and talk. “You know, I could actually do something on the symbolism of the Bond Girl.”
    “Okay, I’ll take the bait,” T.S. says as she pushesopen the door to the stairwell. “What does the Bond Girl symbolize?”
    “Independence. Because she’s usually smart, rich, and self-employed, meaning she doesn’t work for the government.”
    I open the front door of the dorm as I ask, “So it’s better to be a Bond Girl than to be James Bond?” I like that we’re not talking about me or the Mockingbirds or the four-letter word, so I’m happy to keep steering the conversation to the trivial.
    T.S. shakes her head, points down the stairs. “Do you do laundry outside, dork?”
    “Are we really doing laundry?” I ask.
    T.S. nods.
    “I thought it was just a cover.”
    Maia returns to my question. “It’s totally better to be the Bond Girl. You should never work for the government.”
    “So, if you think about it, the Bond Girl really defies the idea of the Bond Girl
stereotype,
” I say, catching T.S.’s attention with the last word.
    “As the reigning expert on stereotypes I’d have to say the Bond Girl both embraces them and defies them,” T.S. says.
    “You’re both wrong. She
rises
above them,” Maia counters as T.S. opens the door to the basement level of the dorm. Someone’s cleaned up the mess I made of the