A Different James Bond

It should be illegal to make kids do math when it’s 80 degrees and sunny and the calendar reads “August.” I wait near the gate for Mom to pick me up after Prison Camp and see Carly standing a few feet away. She spends most of Learning Camp with three other girls who practice cheerleading routines between sessions. We’ve had a few conversations about Ginger the hedgehog but not much else.

When Mom pulls up, I’m surprised to see Carly approach our car.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

My mother answers for her. “Maria called and asked if I could pick up Carly today. By the time we get her back, Maria will be home from work.”

Thankfully, Carly doesn’t try for the shotgun seat and slides into the back. We haven’t even hit the 405 when my mother asks Carly about her summer reading.

“I keep telling Derek he would love one of the books on our list,” Carly says. “This boy and his dog meet this guy with a—”

“I worked hard today—can we talk about something else?” I ask.

Carly changes the subject by talking about her mother’s landscaping company, and when we get to her house, I see she isn’t exaggerating her mother’s talents. Pink hibiscus weaves its way along the fence, and huge bushes of rosemary surround two palm trees on either side of the front door (Carly has to tell me what kinds of plants they are). Even though the smells want to coax me from the car, I still ask my mother if I can wait outside. She says Carly’s mom will be home in a minute and insists I come in and wait with Carly.

“This wasn’t my idea,” Carly whispers as she unlocks the door. “In case you think it was.”

Soon Carly’s mom pulls up in a small red pickup. She has long, dark hair like Carly’s. When Mom accepts an iced green tea from her, I know we’ll be here longer than a minute.

Carly asks if I want to see Ginger. I follow her to the dining room, where the hedgehog’s crate takes up most of the table. She nibbles at the carrot Carly gives her, then walks to the other side of the cage.

“Can your mom look at her?” Carly asks. “I want to make sure she’s okay. She didn’t eat much yesterday either.”

She hands me a glove—probably one her mother uses to landscape—and I take Ginger out of the crate and hold her like we’re back in school.

Mom comes in and examines Ginger. “I haven’t seen a hedgehog as a patient in years—I’m not much of an expert. But if you bring her in, I can call a colleague with more experience. It might be the change in location; they hate to be moved.”

Carly nods and I put Ginger back in her cage. My mom and Mrs. Rodriquez head back to the kitchen.

“Hey, do you want to see what I made?” Carly asks.

I tell her sure, but inside I’m thinking, If this involves dolls, tea parties, or karaoke, I’m grabbing on to that huge spider plant in the living room, smashing through the window, rolling onto the landscaped lawn, and sprinting the whole way home without looking back.

Carly leads me down to the playroom in the basement. The entire room is laid out in grids of fishing line crisscrossed from floor to ceiling. Because the lines are clear, they almost seem invisible. There are at least fifty of them, all fastened to the wall with wide, clear tape.

“You made this?” I ask.

She points to the other side of the room, where a crystal bowl is upside down on top of a stool covered in purple velvet. “I’m pretending this is a famous museum, and that’s the largest diamond in the world.” She nods toward the fishing line. “This is the alarm system, and I’m a burglar. I have to get to the diamond without triggering any of the motion detectors.”

Not that I would ever say so to Carly, but I am very impressed. She tosses me a black ski mask and tells me to give it a try. I slip on the mask and limbo under the first line with no problem but nail the second one with my shoulder. I make three more attempts before she asks for a turn.

She puts on the mask, takes a deep breath, and moves across the room like a hybrid gymnast/feline. The image makes me think of Joe Brennan and his stupid fantasy stories. But the person I really want to show this to is Matt. He and I could play this game for hours, hands down.

Carly makes her way under the intricate web of “detectors” until she reaches the stool. She bends under the last one like she’s going deep underneath a limbo pole, then turns—ever so slowly—to lift the fake diamond into her hands.

I can’t help but applaud.

She puts the bowl back on the stool and removes her mask. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” she says. “You want to try again?”

This time, I take off my sneakers before slipping on the mask. When my mother calls down, I ask if we can stay a little longer. She seems surprised but says yes. Carly shows me a few tricks, and by the time we leave an hour later, I’ve stolen the diamond twice.

I scan the room one last time. “You built this yourself AND read all the summer reading books?”

She shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard.”

Somehow that just doesn’t seem fair. Is that what my summer has come down to—getting my butt kicked by the school’s Goody Two-shoes?