Spy-in-Training Read Online Free

up the chant, it starts to get clearer. It sounds like they’re yelling Doom Patrol over and over. Their voices go up on the Doom ; they come down on the Patrol. It’s nice that they rehearse.
    They come to a halt a few feet outside the entrance of the fro-yo store. I don’t see what happens next. But I hear loud, harsh laughter. And I see Dale go staggering backward. I see him trying not to look scared. The four guys surround him. They’re up in his face, crowding him, shoving him, yelling, “Doom Patrol!” His face is getting redder. He’s trying to hold it together. To show them they’re not getting to him. I feel sick just watching this. I can’t imagine how Dale Tookey must feel. Finally, he thrusts a hand in his pocket and pulls out a crumpled wad of dollar bills. One of them snatches it from his hand. While he does this, another grabs Dale’s backpack, opensit, and empties it in the street. Then they walk away, laughing loudly, shouting “Doom Patrol!” over and over.
    I watch Dale as he squats down and tries to gather up all his stuff. I want to go and help. But even from this distance, I can see the look on his face. He’s embarrassed and angry and close to tears. I slump back down in the booth. I feel awful for him and I feel stupid. I should have done something. I don’t know what: yelled at them to leave him alone, taken pictures of them to send to the cops, thrown my yogurt at them? Would it have made any difference? Would the outcome have been any less humiliating for Dale? I doubt it. But I should have done something. Maybe I deserve to be alone on my birthday.
    I wish I had an extracurricular activity or a group of friends to hang out with, or even a job. But I don’t currently have any of these things. So I go home. Where no one will be there to greet me. Where FedEx will have delivered no packages with my name on them. Where no birthday cards will wait for me. Where no HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BRIDGET banners will stretch out to greet me. Mom and Dad are at work. Mom’s in charge of a courier company, Wheel GetIt2u. (Think about it.) Dad manages the local Pottery Barn. (They were looking for someone who owned a messy house where nothingworks.) Natalie’s got soccer practice, then she’s rehearsing for her role in the school musical she helped write, and after that she volunteers with Sacramento Animal Rescue. And Ryan? Who knows. Hostage situation. High-speed car chase. Aircraft hijack. But at least he’s got a life. What do I have? I ask myself as I trudge up the driveway to the house. “Oh,” I say out loud when I see the unexpected object with my name on it sitting on the doormat. “I’ve got a bag.”

CHAPTER THREE
Goody Bag
    I t’s a shopping bag. But it’s not just any shopping bag. It’s the sort of posh shopping bag you expect to see dangling from the arm of someone who spends their days and credit cards on Rodeo Drive. It’s covered in brown and pink stripes. The handles are made from thickly braided black string. I cannot believe how excited I am. I can literally feel my heart beat as I get close to the bag. It actually takes an effort to restrain myself from jumping up and down and clapping my hands. Which is totally what I want to do.
    I open the door, take the stairs at a gallop, charge intomy room, plop down on the bed, and peek into the bag.
    Stuff!
    There’s stuff in the bag.
    Presents. And an envelope.
    Relief and guilt wash over me. Why would my family torment me like this? But why would I not trust them to come through for me? It’s a complex issue, which . . . Oh my God, they got me an iPhone!
    I yank the black rectangle from the bag. Who should I call first? Joanna? (“You know who’s next to go in the Report? People who think their phones are awesome!”) Perhaps not. Mom. I try to call Mom but there are no icons. No buttons to touch. Just a black screen. I look