‘So if Curtis is a mole,’ I say as we’re walking from the bus stop towards home, ‘then that’s why he’s been following us around. He’s trying to see if the undercover girl will make a slip.’
‘Yeah,’ Sam says. ‘But he can’t be sure which one of us it is because he’s been bothering all the girls. Though I noticed today that he wasn’t paying much attention to Melissa any more.’
‘And he did come along to football practice,’ I say. ‘That might mean he’s suspicious of us. Or worse, suspicious of just me.’
‘I don’t think he’s figured anything out yet,’ Sam says. ‘But we’re going to have to make sure it stays that way by being extra careful.’
‘Why don’t we follow him to see if he really is a mole?’ I suggest. If this is our last mission with each other I want to use all the spy knowledge we’ve learned together one last time.
A smile spreads across Sam’s face. ‘You mean do a proper surveillance mission on him?’
I nod, waiting for Sam to point out that we haven’t been told to do it by my parents or HQ. Sam’s great, but she does like to go by the rules.
But Sam nods. ‘Yeah, okay, you’re on.’
‘Really?’ My chest feels light with excitement, like it’s been filled with helium.
Sam hitches her bag further up her shoulder. ‘If this is going to be our last mission, then I want to make it count,’ she says. ‘Besides, you’re right. Curtis is a pain.’
I might still have more Wearing Heels torture in front of me, and I might be getting closer to losing my best friend for good, but at least we’re going to have some fun before we have to say goodbye.
Back at home, Dad tries to cheer me up about my next Mum Disguise outing by bringing me and Sam into Mission Control for another gadget training session.
It’s hard not to feel better when Dad starts pulling out boxes from the gadget shelves. He’s in his element, like Winnie-the-Pooh in a honey shop.
‘Today is about making quick getaways,’ Dad says, ‘or hiding if a getaway isn’t possible.’
This sounds promising. I exchange a grin with Sam as Dad hunts round for what he’s looking for.
‘Now this,’ he says. ‘I think you’re going to like.’ He holds up a small metal box. ‘Ta-dah!’
‘Ta-dah what?’ I peer at it, looking for the flashing lights and remote control buttons.
Dad grins as he presses a hinge at the side and the box opens up and four wheels pop out. It’s a skateboard! He places it on the floor. ‘Hop on the ScootSkate.’
I get up from my chair and place my feet in position on the board. Immediately, the area around my feet glows a bright, neon green.
‘Foot recognition software,’ Dad says. ‘Strong enough to be effective through shoes and socks. Remarkable technology.’ He’s got the same delighted grin he always wears when he’s telling us about one of his favourite gadgets.
Before I can say anything, the skateboard makes a revving sound.
‘Motorised!’ Dad says. ‘And fitted with GPS and steering sensors. Push down with your right foot to go forwards or backwards, and your left foot to brake. Steer by leaning the way you want to go,’ Dad instructs.
‘Okay …’ I press down with my right toes and immediately the skateboard surges forward across the floor. ‘Whoa!’
‘Left heel to brake!’ Dad shouts as I head towards one of the screens inset into the walls of Mission Control.
I lean back on my left heel and the skateboard comes to an abrupt stop, making me topple off it.
‘That. Is. Blinding!’ I tell Dad.
‘Can I have a go?’ Sam is already on her feet and hurrying over.
Dad grins. ‘Got one especially for you, Sam.’ He pulls out another skateboard.
For the next ten minutes, we take turns mastering the art of controlling the skateboards. Mission Control is big enough for us to skate round the corners of the room and we go fast enough to make Dad feel dizzy watching us. Eventually he waves at us to stop and sit down. We do, but I can’t help keeping hold of the skateboard. I feel like Dad – in love with a spy gadget.
‘Right, now we’ll go through what to do if you haven’t got time to get away, or you’ve left the skateboard somewhere,’ Dad starts.
‘I’d never leave this skateboard anywhere,’ I interrupt.
Dad smiles. ‘Yes, but say you’re somewhere it isn’t practical to use it, you might find this helpful.’ He takes out what looks like a folded map and opens it up. It immediately becomes rigid, like a screen. Gripping it by each corner, he turns away from us and holds it out to the wall opposite. Then he turns the whole thing around and crouches down behind it.
‘Wow,’ says Sam. ‘That is really impressive.’
She’s right, it is. The screen has taken a photo of the wall opposite, so one side is now showing a picture of the wall. It makes the screen look as if it’s disappeared – and Dad too.
‘Brilliant, eh?’ Dad says from behind the huge photo screen. He stands up, his hands outstretched. ‘It’s called the Spy Hide. It uses digital camera technology combined with the latest in malleable biodegradable plastics.’
‘Right,’ I say. I don’t understand a word Dad’s just said but he’s happiest when he gets to go into detail. ‘It’s also a really cool bit of spy kit.’
Dad takes out two folded Spy Hides and hands them to us. Then he checks his watch. ‘Unfortunately, it’s time for your other task today, Josie. Providing cover for your mum.’
The ScootSkate is blinding, the Spy Hide is great, but what I need is a gadget that gets me out of this.
As I put on the Mum Disguise I decide to be grateful that Mum’s not the sort of woman who wears flowery dresses and lumpy cardigans. At least my mum has some dress sense.
You know things have got desperate when you’re comforting yourself that you’re putting on a more fashionable ‘mum outfit’.
Once I’m ready, Dad tells me to get in the car. As we drive along, I keep remembering the way my foot slipped at the supermarket and the avalanche of onions. I’ve never liked food shopping much but now the idea of it doesn’t fill me with boredom, but terror. By the time we turn off the main road, I’ve chewed all the strawberry goo off my mouth. Dad makes me put more of it on as we draw up in front of a low building with boxes of gravel in front of it.
‘Where are we?’ I peer out of the window at the dark green building.
‘The local gardening centre,’ Dad says. ‘It’s perfect. Mostly outside so not too much lighting, non-slippy floors and no vegetables piled in pyramids.’ He winks at me. ‘We’ll just take a stroll around, maybe buy a packet of seeds and then head back. Your mum only needs long enough to hand over the package you picked up at the newsagents.’
My body floods with relief. Walking around a few green things should be a potato-planting doddle compared to shopping in a crowded supermarket.
We get out of the car and I manage to get across the gravel without falling over. There are plants in pots and people pushing around big trolleys filled with large bags and ceramic tubs and dozens of plastic trays with flowers in them. We pass a section full of rakes and little digging tools and a stack of wheelbarrows. Gardening looks like a lot of hard work to me.
‘Let’s have a look at the herbaceous borders, shall we?’ Dad says loudly, for the benefit of anyone who could be watching us, I guess. I don’t know what he’s talking about but since I’m trying to keep speech to a minimum, I smile and nod as he leads the way. A woman near us is picking up one pot of green leaves and then setting it down and examining another. I can’t see what the difference is. Maybe she wants extra-big leaves.
Over in the corner, a man in a long coat and a hat pulled down low over his face is leaning against a shed and glancing our way. Something about him makes me nervous – is he following us? I nudge Dad as we pass a bank full of pots and give him a tiny nod to alert him. Dad gives me a waggle of his eyebrows to show he’s understood and picks up one of the pots of flowers. I don’t notice the little spikes on the stems and I accidentally touch one of them as he hands it to me.
‘Ow!’ Oops. The man by the shed perks up.
The woman who can’t decide between two identical pots of green leaves stares at me. I smile at her, hoping to cover up, my eyes still on the man behind her. ‘This one’s got spiky bits,’ I explain.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘It’s a rose.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I say and then shut up when I see Dad shaking his head at me violently. I take a step back to get further away from the woman so that I don’t say anything else that lands me in trouble.
The problem with taking a step backwards, on gravel, in heels, in a place that has millions of pots, rakes and wheelbarrows lying around is that it’s very easy to fall over – into a pot, a rake and a wheelbarrow.
We don’t say much on the way back home. As Dad keeps an eye on the rear view mirror and takes a long route to shake off Shed Man in case he’s following us, he keeps muttering, ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’ I slink down into my seat, replaying my fall over and over in my head. I’m supposed to distract attention, not attract it! I’m supposed to help Mum, not make things worse! Have I messed up the mission – and my chance of being a boy again?