Spy to the Rescue by Jonathan Bernstein Page A

said don’t look down?” the woman says. “Same thing applies here.”
    Up to this point in my life, I would have said I was not scared of heights. I would have said that because I have never before been this high. The stone ledge is maybe three feet wide. I plaster myself face-first against the cold concrete of the building.
    â€œYou can’t stay here,” says the woman. “You’re a target for pigeon poop.”
    No sooner does she say those terrifying words than a white splotch hits the concrete wall mere inches from my face. I recoil in disgust.
    The woman touches my hand.
    â€œCome with me,” she urges.
    â€œWhere are we going?” I moan.
    â€œSomewhere safe,” she says.
    Her fingers circle my wrist. She leads me slowly around a corner.
    â€œWe just have to climb a little bit higher,” she says. She lets go of my hand and starts up a metal ladder. My heart sinks. I remember how unsafe I felt climbing the rusty ladder to the roof of Reindeer Crescent Middle School a matter of months ago. Now I have to make it upto the forty-ninth floor of a huge concrete tower where gargoyles grin down at me as if they’re anticipating the bloody mess I’ll leave on the sidewalk when I tumble to my death.
    â€œI get scared, too,” the woman shouts back at me.
    â€œAbsolute wrong time to tell me that,” I bawl up at her.
    â€œBut you know what I do to take my mind off it? I sing.”
    The wind is howling in my ears. The sounds of sirens screaming and car horns honking rise up from the streets below us. I hear the percussive sound of my teeth chattering. All that noise is swirling around my head, but as I climb the ladder, I hear the woman’s soft voice. She sings, “If I could only win your love . . .”
    Are you kidding me? I travel thousands of miles. I defeat a library filled with bad guys. I go face-to-face with a blond monster and now I’m trapped forty-eight-and-a-half stories up in the air with the Strangled Geese? How can this be the song she sings to banish her fear? This is no one’s favorite song. Except for one person, and if it’s his favorite song, it must be because it reminds him of her.
    I look up at the short black skirt and the black boots and the black leather jacket of the woman making her wayup the ladder. I watch her inky black hair whip around her shoulders. I know who she is.
    I have a thousand things to say to her. I have another thousand things to ask her. But I can’t do it right now because I have to follow her to the top of this endless ladder. So I start singing.
    â€œIf I could only win your love . . .”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Irina O
    I ’m forty-eight-and-a-half stories high and hanging onto a small metal ladder. The woman in black leans down and pushes her hand into the mouth of one of the gargoyles. The hideous stone creature swings away from the side of the building like it’s about to take flight. But it doesn’t take flight. It opens up to reveal a steel door.
    â€œNot far now,” the woman calls down to me. She unlocks the door and motions to me to clamber up the last few metal rungs and go inside.
    Suddenly, I’m inside a spacious walk-in closet surrounded by shelves and drawers containing rows ofclothes, shoes, and bags. The closet is big enough to contain two bamboo chairs and a large round mirror. The walls and ceiling are decorated in an orangey beige, or maybe it’s a beigey orange. A few framed photographs are scattered around and there’s a baby picture attached to the side of the mirror. The woman reaches down and opens a small white cabinet that turns out to be a minifridge. She takes out two cans of Sprite and hands me one.
    â€œBad for you,” she says. “Rots your teeth. But just this once . . .”
    The woman sinks into one of the bamboo chairs and gestures to me to do the same.
    â€œAhhh,” she sighs as she relaxes into the chair.
    I