But that's when I noticed something strange. Not only was Bex not paying attention to Madame Dabney's anguished cries and the laws which govern the operation of motor vehicles in this country, but—and here's the weird thing—Liz wasn't freaking out!
Liz, who hates spiders and refuses to go barefoot anywhere. Liz, who is a perfectly good swimmer and yet owns six different types of flotation devices. Liz, who once went to bed without flossing and couldn't sleep the entire night, was sitting calmly in the backseat while Bex nearly took out a trash can on the curb.
"Rebecca, that could have been a pedestrian," Madame Dabney warned, but she didn't use her emergency brake, so now I'll always wonder what Madame Dabney saw in France to make her definition of "emergency" so wildly skewed.
That's also when I noticed the street signs.
"Oh my gosh!" I muttered through clenched teeth. Liz was grinning as a sign announcing we were on North Bellis whizzed by.
"Shhh," Liz said as she reached into the pocket of her bag and pulled out the remote control from the stereo she'd destroyed on her first day back.
"What are you doing with—"
"Shhh!" She cut a warning glance toward Madame Dabney. "It will only be a little explosion."
Explosion!
Seconds later a loud bang rocketed through the car. Bex fought for control of the wheel. I smelled smoke and heard the dull, lifeless flapping of rubber banging against the pavement.
"Oh, no, Madame Dabney," Bex exclaimed in her most theatrical voice. "I think we've got a flat!"
"Oh, do we now?" I said as I glared at Liz, who just shrugged. Maybe I should take back my ringing endorsement for having genius friends. Normal friends probably don't go around blowing up Driver's Ed cars—well, not intentionally, anyway.
When the car finally came to a stop—you guessed it— we were in front of Josh's house.
"Oh, girls," Madame Dabney soothed, turning around to make sure that Liz and I were still in our original one-piece bodies. "Is everyone okay?" We nodded. "Well," Madame Dabney said, composing herself, "I suppose we'll just learn how to change a tire."
Of course Bex and Liz had known that was coming. That was the whole point. But Bex still sounded surprised as she shouted, "I'll get the spare!"
In a flash of blinding speed she was out of the car and popping the trunk, while Liz intercepted Madame Dabney.
"Tell me, ma'am, what causes the majority of flat tires, do you think?" As Liz dragged our instructor to inspect the damage at the front of the car, I met Bex around back.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
But Bex only grinned and reached into the trunk, revealing a bulging trash bag just like the ones that lined the street. "Couldn't leave the curb bare, now, could we?"
And then I noticed it; all up and down Bellis Street, trash cans and plastic sacks covered the curb, waiting like soldiers standing at attention.
"You switched the days," I said, dismayed. "You blew the tire. You …" I trailed off, probably because the next words out of my mouth were either going to be "You care enough to do this?" or "You're destined for a life of crime." It was a toss-up either way.
"Can't give up now, can we?" Bex said, sounding very Bexish. Dramatically, she pulled the jack out of the trunk and cocked an eyebrow. "We owe it to your country."
No, they thought they owed it to me. I'm just really glad she didn't say so.
Within seconds, Bex and I had the spare tire out of the trunk, and Madame Dabney was illustrating the finer points of lug-nut-loosening, but all I could do was look up and down Bellis Street. What if he saw me and recognized the car and the uniforms? How would I ever explain? Would he want me to explain? Would he even see me at all, or would I simply be "some girl"? Would I just be "nobody"?
"School trip to D.C.," Liz whispered in my ear when she saw how tense I was. "He won't be back until after nine."
I felt myself exhale.
"Do you have any questions?" Madame Dabney asked as she eased the jack out from beneath the car and Bex went to put the ruined tire in the trunk. Liz and I shook our heads. "Well, that should do it, then," Madame Dabney said, slapping her hands together, obviously proud of her handiwork.
Yeah, I thought, as I stole one last look at the neighborhood around me and saw Bex flash me a quick thumbs-up. That should do it.
Summary of Surveillance Operatives: Cameron Morgan, Rebecca Baxter, and Elizabeth Sutton
Report of trash taken from the home of Josh Abrams Number of empty cardboard toilet paper rolls: 2 Preferred variety of canned soup: tomato (followed closely by Campbell's Cream of Mushroom).