Blonde Ops Read Online Free

asked, taking a sip.
    â€œBoston. I’m in Italy for a semester and staying with a host family not too far from here. What about you? What’s your deal?”
    The truth? I got kicked out of school and Mom banished me here because she knows Parker .
    â€œMy mom and Parker went to college together. She had a long business trip and couldn’t take me along. Dad’s traveling too.” There. The truth, but only the part she needed to know.
    She eyed my whistle, dangling outside my shirt.“That’s an interesting accessory. What is it?”
    â€œA Cap’n Crunch whistle.”
    â€œYou mean you got it out of a cereal box?”
    â€œNot exactly. It’s kind of like … an antique.”
    She squinted at it like she was trying to understand. “Does it work?”
    â€œSure,” I said, and picking it up, blew a blast on it. A few people turned around. “Sorry!” I said. “But that’s not what it’s for.” How to explain … “Okay, so the frequency of this whistle was the exact same frequency the phone company used to route calls before everything went digital. If you blew the whistle into the phone when you dialed the operator, you became the operator.”
    Sophie’s eyes widened. And I steeled myself for the inevitable eye roll and possible “You’re a freak” look that would follow, but she smiled and glanced at the nearest phone.
    â€œLet’s try it!”
    I laughed. “We can’t. Not anymore. Phone systems have changed a lot since this whistle was made.”
    â€œWhat could you do, if it did work?”
    I shrugged. “Make free long-distance calls, get information…”
    She gave me a knowing look. “So you’re a hacker.”
    I grinned. “I prefer information vigilante .”
    â€œI see. Well, your secret is safe with me, but for the record, I think it’s cool. You’ll have to show me something sometime.”
    I gave a noncommittal nod. I didn’t hack on command, or to show off. Draining my cup I said, “You totally missed your calling.”
    She struck a dramatic pose, her long hair drooping seductively over one eye. “Model?”
    â€œI was thinking barista. Or maybe comedian.”
    She snorted. “I have enough material from working in this place to do a stand-up routine. Interning here is the price of getting my foot in the door to be a fashion writer.” She rolled her eyes at one of the models passing by. “There are days when I have to remind myself that I really want to do this work instead of being a dog walker.”
    I spent the next four and a half hours fetching bottles of water, cell phones, and other items within two inches of each model’s fingertips. They came and went: in the door, into Ugi’s makeup chair, then to Joe for hair, and then in front of Angelo and Aldo and out the door again.
    Around 4:30, Sophie looked at the clock and prodded me, her eyes lighting up. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and there’ll be a delivery today.”
    I was about to ask her what she meant when a buzzing hum tore through the open front window, louder than the usual traffic. I knew that sound. It was an open carburetor modified to let more gas into the engine, increasing the speed over what a vehicle straight off the assembly line could reach. Dad insisted on setting the one on his classic Harley bike the same way. The neighbors hated it when he took it for a ride.
    â€œWe just got lucky!” She giggled and dragged me over to see.
    I looked into the street to see a yellow Vespa pull into an empty spot and idle down. Then the driver took off his helmet and holy cannoli , did I start to feel lucky.
    Windblown blond hair, faded jeans, and a tight blue tee shirt outlined a totally delizioso body. He looked up, and catching Sophie’s eye, waved. Then his gaze shifted to me.
    I. Melt.
    Sophie leaned on the sill next to me.