Charlotte Bennardo: Blonde Ops A Novel

The driver slid into his seat and tilted his head, his face reflected in the rearview mirror. “What airline, ma’am?”

“United,” said Mom and turned to me. “You have really bad timing, Rebecca. Your father is about to close on a property in the Hills and I have to travel. I tried to change my plans—” A ringing cell phone cut the admonishment short. She plucked it out of her bag, tapped a key.“Tam!”

Tamora Smith was Mom’s personal assistant, responsible for making her travel arrangements, fetching her coffee, and remembering birthdays—mine included. Tam was amazing and paid close attention to details. She really impressed me with the original, factory-sealed Cap’n Crunch Bo’sun whistle—a trinket highly prized by the hacking set and hard to find—that landed in my mailbox at the dorm. On my actual birthday. The card was a nice touch too, even if she forged my parents’ sigs; I’d done it enough, I knew .

I tugged at the neon-yellow nylon cord around my neck and pulled out the whistle; I wore it everywhere. Mom caught me doing it and shook her head. What would she say if she knew Tam paid $250 for it? What would she do if she knew what it was for? Probably something worse than complaining about my bad timing.

“You weren’t able to change the flight?” Mom went on, clearly annoyed. “That’ll mean getting into Belize at eight in the morning.”

Belize?

I fought to suppress the instant giddy feeling that came over me. I’d be going along with Mom for once, to stay in one of her sweet beachfront hotel rooms with twenty-four-hour room service and bronzed lifeguards …

I gazed out the window. Rain pelted the glass as the car snaked slowly around the airport. The sun-drenched shores of Belize would be a nice change from Cali—and way better than this chilly East Coast drizzle.

Mom hung up and tilted her head at the window. “I don’t have a lot of time.” She dropped her phone back into the pit of her purse. “I convinced Dean Harding, when I talked to him last week, to allow you to complete your junior year off-campus in an independent study.”

Last week? Mom had been in cahoots with Dean Harding for days and I had no idea? Wow. She was better than I thought. I tried to look contrite, really, I did, but inside I was screaming, Belize, here I come!

“He’ll be sending the coursework requirements”—she peered at me over the top of thin, sleek glasses—“and all your assignments have to be printed out and mailed in—no technology. Not after what you did to his e-mail.”

“Seriously? Oh my God, Mom, that is—”

“—very generous of Dean Harding,” she interrupted, and narrowed her eyes at me. “Let’s forget about the hacking for five seconds. You’re a bright girl. Why are you giving your teachers a hard time? And getting a D in World Civilizations?”

I twisted in my seat. That wasn’t on the list of violations—okay, it’s why I had to adjust my grade, but I deserved at least a B+ for that last paper. It was a work of political genius.

“Mr. Benning doesn’t teach. In fact, he doesn’t have a clue about anything—especially current events. You’re just supposed to agree with him. Whatever happened to independent thinking?” I slumped back into the leather seat. “What does he want, a robot?”

Mom sighed, not impressed. “You’re not always going to like who you have to work with.”

Here we go …

She eyed me sharply. “Or for.”

I got it. It wasn’t the time to argue. “Okay.”

“That’s better,” she said, but tapped my knee with a French-tipped nail. “And don’t you dare miss a single assignment. There won’t be any second chances this time, understood?”

“I promise,” I said, figuring I’d gotten off easy. She could have confiscated all my devices or sent me to a tech-free “retreat” for wayward teens. One of my off-grid pals, R2Deterent,was sent to one of those when his parents caught him tapping into his neighbor’s wi-fi to cover his illicit activities. When he didn’t show up in our weekly chat room, DR#4, haxorgrrrl and I—Cap’nCrunch—knew something was up. When we finally heard from him again—three months later—he told us what happened. He’d been caught, all of his technology was confiscated, and then he was carted off to somewhere in Lancaster, PA. He’d been lucky to find a power socket out there, let alone a cell phone signal.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the Al Italia departure area. Didn’t Mom say United? From her purse, she dragged out two tickets and handed one, along with my passport, to me. “You land in Rome at—”

WTF?

My heart sank. If Mom was going to Belize, who was going to Rome with me?

“Rome? I’m not going with you?”

She looked at me like I was insane. “No. What would you do in Belize?”

I shrugged. “Homework?”

She laughed. “I’m going to be in meetings for the next three weeks. Daddy may join me at some point, but with his schedule…” She put a hand to her temple, then stared at me with a very serious expression. “I don’t have time to keep an eye on you.”

“Come on, Mom! I don’t need watching.”

Up went that cutting eyebrow. “Really?”

“You know what I mean.”

“The decision’s been made. You aren’t in any position to bargain, Rebecca. My friend Parker from college owes me a favor and agreed to watch you until Daddy and I are back in the States.”

I ran down a mental list of Mom’s friends. “Parker?”

“Parker Phillips. She’s the editor-in-chief of Edge magazine. I really think you’ll like her. She’s a good role model. Successful, respected—”

Basically, everything I’m not. I shrank down in my seat, smarting inwardly at the unintentional barb, and looked away from her.

“I think you’re making out quite well, all things considered .” She fished her wallet out of her bag and pulled out a few bills and a credit card. “Do not go crazy with this,” she warned.

The driver opened the door, letting in the roar of the airport.

“You’ll be fine,” she said. Not a reassurance but an order. “Be good, and I’ll call you once I’ve landed.” She kissed me, giving me a little nudge out the door. “Love you!” Then her phone rang and she was back in full executive mode again. I should’ve known better than to get my hopes up. Numb, I slid out and retrieved my carry-on waiting for me on the curb. The driver shut the door behind me, got back in his seat, and sped away to the next terminal.

Ciao, Mama .

TRICKS AND TIPS FOR THE EDGE-Y GIRL

Had a rough night? Be prepared with travel-sized premoistened wipes for a fresh face, anywhere, anytime!

2

It had been a full twenty-four hours since I’d taken a shower.

And forget about sleep.

I didn’t even bother looking at myself in the bathroom mirror when I landed in the Fiumicino Airport in Rome; I was just relieved to be in a stall that was larger than a broom closet. I considered hiding out in the sleek marble and chrome sanctuary forever. What would happen if I just … disappeared? No. Trouble on one continent was enough. I didn’t need my face to go on a viral milk carton.

I checked my cell—no service. Damn. Bad, bad, bad decision not to make some adjustments to my cell phone plan before I got on the plane. Now I had no school, no phone, and no human connection. Making my way through customs and out to arrivals, I hoped that Parker knew I was coming, or had her own version of Tam to come and get me. I was in no mood to hunt down my probation officer, and in a foreign country no less.