Everyone at the entire table paused at my question, and I realized this was one of those times when I just should have kept my mouth shut. Forget orders not to engage the TCIs. I should have adopted a strict No Engagement policy with the football team.

“She’s right,” Jack said, and I got the distinct feeling that I was the only one who could hear the sarcastic undertone to his voice. “We’re going to beat them so badly that next year, they won’t have the cajones to call us their rivals.”

The Chipling sitting nearest Zee, who I inferred was probably her homecoming date, spoke up then. “That’s right, son,” he said, pounding his fist into the table. “Bayport High doesn’t have a rival. Nobody can touch us.”

Eventually, the conversation tapered off, and once I’d actually managed to ingest my food, I decided to make a quick exit before somebody brought up me and Jack again, or before I became possessed by enough school spirit that I felt compelled to actually insult the collective manhood of the Hillside football team.

“I’ll be back.” I lied through my teeth, knowing as I did it that there wasn’t a girl on the Squad who I would fool. “Just going to run to the bathroom real quick.”

Immediately, Lucy and Bubbles stood to follow. Over the past few weeks, I’d come to accept the fact that it was a law of girl nature that for reasons I couldn’t quite grasp, going to the bathroom required as much backup as even the most dangerous reconnaissance maneuvers. The three of us passed Noah’s table on the way to the bathroom, and I knew better than to hope that he wouldn’t notice. Noah’s cheerleader radar was more advanced than anything the government could possibly develop. Zeroing in on the incoming hotties, he stood up. For one horrifying instant, I thought that he might have more Toby for Homecoming Queen shenanigans up his sleeve, but ultimately, his flirting impulse won out, and I was left trying to decide which of the two was a lesser evil.

“Hello, ladies.” Noah grinned in a way that he probably thought was suave, but that actually made him look like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Goodbye, Noah,” I said, trying to put an end to this interaction before he could proposition one of my Squadmates.

Bubbles and Lucy, however, either didn’t catch or chose to blatantly ignore my not-so-subtle hint that we were leaving. The two of them looked at each other and then at me, and before I could stop her, Bubbles offered Noah the same greeting she’d given me the first time we’d met.

“I can put my feet behind my head.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open, and for a moment, he was speechless.

Quick, I thought, while he’s still recovering! “Come on, guys,” I said, grabbing their arms and pulling them forward. “Let’s go.”

“You can put both feet behind your head,” Noah repeated, his voice full of reverent awe. “There is a God.” And with that pronouncement, he fell to his knees and raised his arms heavenward. “Hallelujah!”

Beside me, Lucy giggled, and even though I half expected her to match Bubbles’s overture, just to tease me, she didn’t. Instead, she did something much, much worse. She smiled shyly at Noah, and he grinned goofily back, both of them eerily subdued compared to their normal selves.

“Hi.” Noah climbed to his feet, and instead of dishing out one of his many standard pickup lines (none of which were effective; most of which were severely idiotic), he just offered Lucy an earnest smile.

“Hi,” Lucy returned, ducking her head a little and matching Noah’s grin with another of her own.

My brother and our resident weapons expert were officially having a moment. No good could come of this.

“We have to go,” I said again. I tightened my hold on Lucy’s arm and pulled her forcibly toward the bathroom. Bubbles trailed after us, leaving Noah in our wake. When we made it to the sanctuary of the girls’ room, I turned my full-force glare on Lucy.

“What?” she said innocently.

“You know what.”

“Yeah,” Bubbles said, and then she frowned, utterly lost.

“What?”

I took a deep and cleansing breath and prepared myself to patiently explain to them that phrases like do not engage were specifically invented with little brothers in mind.

CHAPTER 16

Code Word: Flirt

My reward for making it through the rest of lunch and Mr. Corkin’s class without making any kind of scene (or being sent to the office) was my sixth period: computer science, also known as free time on the net. The administration at Bayport High was somehow completely unaware of the fact that all of the students were members of the computer generation. I’d hacked into the Pentagon at the age of thirteen, and though my classmates were significantly less skilled in that department, they were connoisseurs of MySpace and Facebook, so a lot of what this class professed to teach us, all of us already knew. Our first few weeks had been devoted to Microsoft Office. Now, we’d moved on to the ins and outs of designing websites.

Really, they shouldn’t have even called the class “computer science,” because “how to use a computer” would have been a much more appropriate title. Not that I was complaining. I’d finished my website the first day and had been able to spend the past week surfing the net and accessing the high school’s most guarded databases.

Leaning back in my chair, I swiveled side to side, debating how best to spend my free time today. What I really wanted to do was dig up more information on the TCIs, or hack into the Big Guys’ mainframe to see if there was anything they weren’t telling us about yesterday’s explosion, but I knew better than to give in to temptation on that front. I was good, but I was also smart enough to know that using a public computer to do that kind of thing wasn’t the best idea. High school computer labs aren’t exactly the most secure places for any kind of data transfer. This is especially the case when the heir apparent of the Law Firm of Doom is sitting at the computer next to you.

I glanced at Jack’s monitor, wondering what he was working on, and his website assignment stared back at me. Between the moving graphics and the handmade font, it was definitely a step up from what most of our class was making. In fact, given that he’d actually put some effort into it, there was a distinct chance that it was better than mine.

And—be still, my heart—the site appeared to be dedicated to classic rock, proving once and for all that Jack was not afflicted by musical tastes capable of causing me massive amounts of psychic pain.

JackOfDiamonds: Like what you see?

The message popped up on my computer screen. I looked from the screen to Jack. He kept his eyes locked on his own monitor, but even from a limited side view, I could tell that he was biting back one of those smirky smiles.

How in the world had Jack Peyton gotten my IM name? Besides the rest of the Squad (all of whom had obtained it from the file the Big Guys had developed on me before I’d joined up), no one at school knew my IM name. I could count on one hand the number of people I’d given it to ever, and none of them were Jack.

JackOfDiamonds: Speechless, Ev?

I snorted and let that serve as my answer, since he could hear me perfectly well. Meanwhile, I angled my computer screen away from him so that he couldn’t see what I was doing, and then I set to work. Somehow, he’d figured out my instant messenger name. I planned to do him one better. I had his screen name. Now, I was going to figure out his password.

JackOfDiamonds: You liked what you saw so much that you need some privacy? A little alone time? I’m flattered.

I leaned around my computer screen and glared at him again. He pretended not to see me.

JackOfDiamonds: Come on, Ev. Talk to me.

You know you want to.

I was too busy trying to hack into his account to put much thought into it, but lest he get suspicious, I shot off a quick reply.

TaeKleinDo: Do I?

It was short, it was cryptic, and it poked holes in that annoying “I’m so charismatic” confidence of his.

JackOfDiamonds: You probably shouldn’t, but you do.

I hadn’t had any luck guessing his password yet, which meant that Jack was significantly savvier than certain TCIs I could think of.

TaeKleinDo: Why shouldn’t I want to talk to you?