The Mall - Megan McCafferty Page 0,20

lips, pinched a toothpicked mini-sausage from the old man’s tray, and plunged it into her mouth.

“Yummmmy,” purred Drea.

Hickory Farms’ finest was not at all prepared for such provocation.

“Gurgle,” gasped the geezer.

What a shame to survive World War I only to be taken out seventy years later by a ruthless temptress young enough to be his great-great-granddaughter.

“You’re not as hopeless as I thought you’d be,” Drea said as she blithely sauntered away from what was probably a heart attack in progress. “I actually saw a sexy spark when you faced off with that mopey guy in the record store.”

“I was angry, not s—” I couldn’t bring myself to use the word “sexy” in reference to myself. “I was pissed at him!”

“Well, whatever it was, it was something I could work with.” Drea let the toothpick dangle between her lips like a cigarette. “Flirting with Sonny will be great practice for when it really matters later on. Because you want to show Troy you’re totally over him, right?”

I did want to show Troy I was better off without him. But I was also nervous about what that would entail. As I debated, Drea kept chewing on the toothpick, putting her gorgeous smile in jeopardy. Wooden toothpicks were no-nos at Worthy Orthodontics and Pediatric Dentistry. Even when used properly, they were never an acceptable substitute for dental floss. I was relieved when she removed the toothpick from her mouth and chucked it into an ashtray.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll flirt with Sonny Sexton. And when I fail miserably at our mission, you’ll never ask me to do it again.”

“You won’t fail because you’re an excellent student,” she said, “and I’m an even better teacher.”

Then she carefully refolded the map and stuffed it back in her bra.

10

SEXUAL QUID PRO QUO

Though I was technically still working at Bellarosa for the next four hours, not much accounting was accomplished. Drea kept disrupting my progress by popping in to give so-called seduction instructions between customers.

“Keep the conversation short!”

“Look up at him through your lashes!”

“Play with your hair!”

“Touch him on the arm!”

Her interruptions came every ten minutes or so. My conservative estimate of two dozen flirtation tips was roughly twenty-three too many for me to handle. The instant I was off the clock, she raced to the back office. I think she was afraid I’d escape before completing our mission.

She was right to fear this.

Drea shook a glittery napkin at me.

“Wardrobe!”

I flashed back to the humiliation I felt the last time Drea selected my outfit.

“Ohhhh no,” I protested. “Nononononono. I am not wearing that.”

“But you can’t wear”—she grimaced—“that.”

I was wearing black jean shorts and a 10,000 Maniacs T-shirt.

“I am not changing.”

Drea must have decided it was not worth the effort to fight me on this.

“Fine.” Drea sighed. “At least let me work a little bit of my magic on you.”

Then, without permission, she yanked the hem of my shirt.

“Hey! You’re gonna stretch it all out!”

I loved that shirt, printed with elephants from the cover of the band’s most recent album, Blind Man’s Zoo. The ethereal lead singer, Natalie Merchant, was a vegetarian, just like my beloved Morrissey, Michael Stipe from R. E. M., the Indigo Girls, and other musicians on T-shirts Drea found equally appalling.

“It’s either this or the Parisian special,” Drea warned, shaking the hanger at me.

So I let her tie my tee at the waist, exposing my midriff. Then she rolled my jean shorts so they rode high on my thighs. I was showing approximately 25 percent more skin than I had ten seconds earlier.

She took a step back to observe her work.

“If Sonny were a tougher target, I’d do your hair and makeup,” she said. “But he doesn’t require that kind of effort, and we don’t have that kind of time even if he did.”

It should be noted that we had two more hours before Fun Tyme closed. Two hours was not enough time, in Drea’s estimation, to make me over properly. But it was enough time for me to make some headway on Bellarosa’s expense reports—off the clock—while Drea finished her shift.

“It’s Fun Tyme!” she announced when the clock struck 8:00 p.m.

As we hurried to the arcade, Drea explained that it would stay open past closing for any player who still had lives left on the quarters already put in the machine. We just had to hope that at least one super gamer was going for his highest score or we’d have to put off our ploy for another day.

The arcade’s metal security gate was