The next day started badly. Taylor got a text from Jill. She had woken up with a fever and a stomachache—probably the flu. She wouldn’t be going to school today. Taylor would have to walk to school without her. That wasn’t usually a problem except that, apart from lunch, the walk to and from school was the only time Taylor and Jill could properly make fun of their teachers and classmates. Some of them desperately needed making fun of.

Which led to Taylor’s second problem. At breakfast her dad practically begged her not to get into any more trouble with Mrs. Markowitz, her English teacher. The old biddy had it in for Taylor ever since last September, when she complained, often and audibly, about the novels they were reading. It only got worse when they started a unit on “Technical Writing” last month. Although it fulfilled all the requirements of the assignment, Taylor’s sample complaint letter to the Board of Education about the quality of teachers they were hiring might have hit a little too close to home. Now they had begun a unit on myths and fables—something Taylor actually enjoyed—but Mrs. Markowitz seemed determined to do her best to suck every last drop of wonder from the subject.

“Sometimes you’ve just got to let things go,” her dad said. “Seventh grade won’t last forever.”

“Are you sure about that?” she scoffed.

“Positive. Come here.” He opened his arms and invited Taylor to sit in his lap. Taylor didn’t move. Sometime before Christmas, she had decided she was too grown up for such things. Her dad gave her a sad expression. He wasn’t mad at her, she knew, he just didn’t know quite what to do with her now that she was officially a teenager.

Mom came to his rescue. “All we’re trying to say, honey, is that part of this is up to you. All of your teachers think very highly of you. They just wish you’d—”

“Apply myself? Take school more seriously?”

“Well, yes,” Dad said, dropping his arms. “Taylor, right now, school is your job, and you need to start thinking of it that way.”

“It would help if my ‘job’ weren’t so boring!”

Dad sighed. “Every job in the world is boring some of the time. Do you think doing people’s taxes is a nonstop thrill ride? Do you think Mom has a party every day as Mr. Caulfield’s office manager?”

“No.”

“I understand you haven’t had the greatest year in school, but you still have to go. So, if there’s no way around your problem, and no way over it or under it, you know what you have to do, right? You’re just going to have to put your head down and go straight through the middle of it.”

And with that pep talk, Taylor trudged off to another fun-filled day at Archibald Bulloch Middle School.

Uncle Waldo, the crazy old man in the black suit, was sitting on the park bench again, scaring away the pigeons. There was definitely something odd about that guy. Taylor had noticed him hanging out in the park for a couple of weeks now. All alone, never speaking to anyone except himself.

She picked up her pace the slightest bit. Not because she was scared of Uncle Waldo, of course, but because she really didn’t want to walk to school with Jill’s twin brother William, who was only a hundred yards behind her.

The real fun began when she got to school. Reggie Banks dropped a whole handful of sheet music in Chorus, so when Taylor finally got her copy, it had somebody’s dirty shoe print all over it. As she and her classmates sang “‘Tis the gift to be simple,” she tickled herself with the thought some people were apparently more gifted than others.

Everybody was late for first period because a couple of eighth-graders got in a fight in the hallway.

The pizza in the cafeteria was greasier than usual—but still a better option than the overcooked-and-always-too-salty barbeque sandwiches.

And Jill wasn’t around to help Taylor complain about any of it.

As might have been expected, third period was the worst. Mrs. Markowitz was in rare form. When the bell rang, she called Taylor up to her desk to discuss the homework assignment she had just returned.

“I give up,” she began. She didn’t even rise from her chair. “I’ve tried befriending you. I’ve tried encouraging you. I’ve tried having conferences with your parents. I’ve even tried threats. Nothing seems to get through to you.”

It was all Taylor could do not to grin at the ridiculous shade of red of her English teacher’s hair. The poor woman apparently didn’t want anyone to know she was gray—probably had been for the last fifty years—but she never managed to buy the same brand of hair dye twice. Today, her hair was more violently red than usual. Actually, it was bordering on purple. That was appropriate, Taylor thought, as it pretty much matched the color the veins on her face were turning.

“This should have been a simple assignment for a bright girl like you. All you had to do was write a three-page summary of the major gods of Greek mythology.”

“But that’s what I did,” Taylor protested. She held up her paper with the “C-” written across the top in very large, very angry red pen strokes. She resisted the urge to shove it in her teacher’s face.

Mrs. Markowitz scoffed. “Two pages and only three lines onto the third page!”

“It’s still three pages,” Taylor said.

“In sixteen-point type?”

“Fourteen, and I don’t remember you saying anything about font size when you gave the assignment.”

“It is assumed that papers are to be printed in twelve-point type.”

“Well, you know what they say about what happens when people assume.”

Mrs. Markowitz seethed. Taylor’s lips began to curl into a subtle grin. She absolutely hated her English teacher. Knowing she was getting under Mrs. Markowitz’s skin was like a shark smelling blood in the water.

“Taylor, why must you always behave as if you’re smarter than everyone else at this school—your teachers included?”

Taylor shrugged. An honest answer would not have been terribly diplomatic at that point. She congratulated herself on being able to hold her peace. Instead, she pushed on at her strongest angle of attack.

“Did I leave out any Greek gods that you consider to be ‘major,’ Mrs. Markowitz?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You got all the Olympians and several others beside. But—”

“And I notice you haven’t highlighted any spelling or grammar mistakes. So I take it you have no complaints in that area?”

“Miss Smart—”

“And you have to admit I gave you the three-page summary you asked for. The page numbers are all right there at the bottom. You never said we had to write three whole pages.”

“Don’t try to twist my words, Miss Smart. You know precisely what this assignment entailed. You could have done it properly in your sleep, yet—once again—it seems you’ve put more effort into intentionally misunderstanding my instructions than you have into completing your work. You’ll be off to high school in another couple of years, and I can assure you that coasting along on your natural intelligence and hoping for a passing grade with the least amount of effort won’t get you very far.”

“With all due respect, Mrs. Markowitz, why shouldn’t it? You only teach what’s going to be on the state assessment tests anyway.”

“That is not true!”

Then why couldn’t we ever do anything different? I’ve already read just about everything there is about Greek mythology in the public library. But every time I brought up any of the really cool stuff in class, you shut me down.”

“The ‘cool stuff’ as you call it is not suitable for a class full of impressionable twelve- and thirteen-year-olds.”

“That’s why I offered to write a summary of some other mythology. If the rest of the class needed the basics, then why not let me learn about the gods of the Egyptians or the Vikings? Anything but the same boring stuff I’ve already heard about since I first read The Children’s Homer!

“Miss Smart, we are not going to rehash that conversation—”

“Of course we’re not. Because the truth is, you only teach what the big shots in Atlanta tell you to. That’s why everybody in the seventh grade is doing the exact same lessons in the exact same way at the exact same time. Oh, you may say you want your students to be creative and love learning. Heck, you might even think you mean it. But let’s face it, Mrs. Markowitz, you just want us to score well on the test so you’ll look like you’ve done your job.”

“That is enough of that, Miss Smart!”

“I’m only following your exact words,” Taylor mumbled.

“And I’m only giving you the grade your pitiful efforts deserve.”

The two glared at each other for several tense seconds until students began to file into the classroom. “You’ll be late for your next class,” Mrs. Markowitz said. The conversation, it seemed, was over.

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“Somebody’s out there,” Jill Matthews said. She peered over Taylor’s shoulders.

“You’re seeing things,” Taylor said as she drew the blinds of her bedroom. “There’s nothing back there but woods. You must have seen a bird or maybe a deer.”

“Right, ‘cause the brilliant Taylor Smart has never been wrong about anything in her life.”

Taylor just glared at her.

“Okay, that was cold. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Taylor said. She sat on her bed. Jill pulled up the desk chair and used the bed as a footstool.

“How long till you have to go home?”

Jill checked the time on her cell phone. “About an hour. Do you think we could do some geometry now? It was why I came over, you know.”

“I thought it was for my mom’s spaghetti,” Taylor said. She leaned over to grab her backpack from the edge of the bed. She reached in for her math workbook.

“Well, that too.”

“Okay. Geometry,” Taylor said. “But admit it, you’d rather sit here and talk about Uncle Waldo.”

“Taylor!” Jill threatened to throw her own workbook at her friend.

Uncle Waldo was Taylor and Jill’s pet name for the creepy guy who had been hanging out in the park lately, a pasty-white old man who always dressed in black.

“I’m telling you,” Jill said, “that guy is definitely up to something. He looks like a serial killer or something.”

“Oh? And how many serial killers have you met lately?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Jill, he’s just a reject from a mental hospital somewhere. Sure, he’s creepy, but he’s perfectly harmless.”

“Whatever,” Jill said.

“Unless, of course, he’s a foreign spy trying to steal Mom’s spaghetti recipe.”

Jill gave Taylor a sour look.

“Oooh! Or maybe he’s an alien shapeshifter who’s lost contact with the mother ship… Or a vicious monster on his way to a Cannibals Anonymous meeting!”

“That’s enough, Taylor. I get your point.”

“He could be the ghost of an evil mortician…or a zombie…or a Justin Bieber fan! But I shouldn’t repeat myself…”

“Give it up, okay?” Jill said. She fumbled through her math worksheets. Taylor pulled back. She knew her friend could only take so much of her teasing.

“You’ve got to admit, though,” Jill said. “He’s a little strange.”

“Yeah,” Taylor said. “But not ‘vicious criminal’ strange. More like ‘drools and talks to himself’ strange. Or maybe ‘dorky brother’ strange.” Taylor winked.

Jill grinned. “I’ll be sure and tell William you’re thinking of him.”

Taylor stuck out her tongue.

“Which reminds me. You never said if you’re going to Jared’s party this Saturday.”

Taylor sighed. “Probably not.”

“Oh, come on! Do you know how long it took to convince my parents to let me go? ‘Who are this Jared boy’s parents?’” she imitated her mother. “’Where do they go to church? He doesn’t get into any trouble at school, does he?’ I swear, I’m surprised they didn’t get the police to run a background check on him.”

Taylor realized this was one of those times she probably ought to keep her mouth shut. Amazingly, she found it in her to do so. It didn’t help.

“I don’t suppose your parents gave you the third degree?” Jill said.

“My dad is his folks’ accountant,” Taylor said. “I think he’s pretty sure they’re not drug dealers or anything.” She made a point of burying her face in her math book. “Look, if you want to go, just go. You already said your parents are okay with it.”

“Barely. They’d feel better if they knew my best friend was going, too.”

“I just haven’t decided yet, okay?”

“But I don’t want to go by myself!”

“Isn’t William invited?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jill said. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, well.” Taylor studied the floor. Then the walls. Anything to keep from making eye contact.

“Okay, so you’re not the most sociable person in the world,” Jill said. “It’s really not that bad. Would it kill you to go eat some cake and ice cream?” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I notice the way you look at Jared at school, you know.”

“Don’t even start,” Taylor said, her cheeks reddening. Jill started to giggle, but Taylor pressed on. “Besides, you know I…I don’t like parties. I never know what to say. Nobody else is into the same things I am. I’m afraid people are talking about me. Laughing at me.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Jill said, shaking her head. “This is Jared McCaughey we’re talking about. You know the kids he hangs out with. He’s not going to invite any of those glamour school rejects who are always cracking on you. Just say you’re going, okay? I really want you to be there. Dad can drive us.”

“We’ll see.”

There didn’t seem any point to arguing, so Taylor held her piece, and she and Jill dove into their homework.

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Danny slipped through the brush as silently as a gentle breeze, nearly invisible in the twilight. He breathed deep the crisp springtime air as he skipped over the tiny stream behind the house and crept up the slope of the hill to the chain-link fence at the edge of the property. His partner was already waiting for him. Danny pulled his Atlanta Braves ball cap down over his black, curly hair.

“Where’ve you been?” Bryn asked. She had that look again—the one that said, “What did I ever do to draw Danny Underhill as a partner?”

“There was a…Actually, I kind of…”

“Got distracted? What was it this time?”

“Squirrel,” Danny said, shuffling his feet.

Bryn looked at him with both exasperation and endearment. “Well, at least you’re here now.”

“Anything to report?”

Bryn shook her head. “Pretty quiet. I thought I heard something in the woods a half-hour ago. It was just a bird.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mostly sure,” Bryn confessed. She turned back toward the back yard. “I swear,” she sighed, “we should have switched her out a month ago.”

“Mrs. Redmane said we had to be sure,” Danny protested. “Given the circumstances…”

“I know, Danny,” Bryn said. She smiled, and Danny’s heart jumped just a little. Then again, Brynhilde Delling seemed to have that effect on everything with an Adam’s apple. She tossed back her head in a way that made her golden hair seem to dance in the moonlight.

Crickets chirped. Somewhere, someone was grilling steaks. Danny realized he was hungry. The cafeteria food he had been eating for lunch the past few weeks never seemed to fill him up. Hopefully, all that would change tomorrow afternoon. He tried not to dwell on how much was riding on this assignment. He certainly couldn’t afford to think about the news he had just received.

No, best not to dwell on how this entire mission might be the death of him. Let Bryn think he was late because he got distracted by a squirrel. He kept telling himself—and Bryn—that it was just another switch-out. He’d done this plenty of times. No biggie. He was even starting to believe it himself.

“Are you listening?” Bryn asked. Apparently, Danny wasn’t.

“Uh,” he said.

“I said I’ll keep my distance till you call me. She knows you, after all.”

“Sounds good,” Danny said. “We don’t want to spook her. Well, any more than is necessary, anyway.” He gazed across the back yard toward the modest house. He pulled back as he got a little too close to the fence. Cold shivers spread in a wave up his arms and down his spine.

A light flicked on in the back bedroom. A young girl entered the room. Thin. Pale-skinned. A little on the tall side for her age—in fact, she was exactly the same height as Danny. Her long, straight hair that was not quite blonde and not quite brown hung loosely over her shoulders.

Behind her came another girl with caramel-colored skin and her hair in beaded braids. This second girl smiled at the first as they both plopped their backpacks on the bed.

“I just hope I don’t have to get between her and her friend,” Danny said. “That girl makes me nervous.”

“What do you mean? She can’t know anything.”

“She doesn’t like me,” Danny said. “I’m not sure why.” He wondered if she did know the truth about him. She didn’t show up in any of the background checks, but background checks could be wrong. Things can get lost in the shuffle—otherwise they wouldn’t be in this mess!

“You’re imagining things,” Bryn said. “It’s not worth getting all worked up over some Jack kid.”

“Yeah.” Danny was not so sure. The truth was, he couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong. Not now. He glanced at Bryn. She couldn’t possibly know how much was on the line—what Danny was planning, and how much might be riding on the skinny girl in the back bedroom.

Focus! he told himself. Only one more to go. You’ve got to get this right.

“I’ll talk to her in the park. It’s usually pretty empty right after school. Then I’ll take her to meet you at the ring.”

“What about the other one?”

Danny sighed. “I’ll play that by ear. If I have to, I’ll arrange for her to go home early.”

“Just don’t give her anything too serious,” Bryn said. “We need a clean ledger on this one. Nobody owes anything to anybody.”

“I’ve done this before, you know,” Danny said with a huff.

“I know you have,” Bryn said. “You’re in charge. I’m your backup.”

“Right,” Danny said. “But that means if anything goes wrong, it ain’t your tail on the line, it’s mine.”

“And a fine, waggly tail it is,” Bryn said, smiling. “You’ll do fine. Like you say, this is just another switch-out. You’re the expert. I’m just the placeholder until she makes her decision.”

“About that: do you need anything else to pull it off?”

“Give me a heads-up tomorrow when you see what she’s wearing. I can handle it from there.”

“Are you sure? Honestly, Bryn. I’m asking a lot of you here. You’ve got to be perfect. What if somebody doesn’t buy it? It could be a disaster! They’d call in the police, maybe even the FBI.” That would be a total disaster: guns, handcuffs…maybe even riding in a car! Danny shuddered at the thought. He found he had been drained of whatever optimism he had managed to gin up.

Then again, if Danny had to choose between the FBI and an angry Mrs. Redmane, he’d take the FBI any day of the week! One last switch-out and I’ve fulfilled my contract, he told himself. One last switch-out and I’m free. Unless, of course, the whole thing blows up in my face.

“Piece of cake,” Bryn smiled, oblivious to Danny’s concerns. “It could be fun. It’s been a long time since I was a teenager.”

“You’ve never been a teenager like her!” Danny scoffed.

“How different could it be?” Bryn pouted.

“Trust me, I’ve been living around them practically since Imbolc. They’re not like us, Bryn.”

“Then Taylor Smart’s life is about to get very interesting,” Bryn said with a twinkle in her eye.

“You can say that again!”

“Well, then, it looks like we’re all set,” Bryn said. “What do you say we stop by the drugstore and see if they’ve got any new teen music magazines. I’m still a little shaky on a couple of those boy bands you’ve told me about.”

“All right,” Danny said. “But just for a few minutes. I gotta study for a history test.” He glanced at the light in the back bedroom window one last time.

He nodded to his partner. Then they both vanished silently into the gathering darkness.

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