Dad lets me drive us home from the restaurant. This is a rare case. He almost never let me drive this car, which is a really nice silver Acura. Even when we had driving lessons, he made me practice on Mom’s SUV. But I can tell Dad is in a fantastic mood tonight. Dinner went really well, and we even got the chance to introduce “Chunji” to one of my classmates.

At the thought of Tiffany, my mood sours. I swear, sometimes I think that girl is out to ruin my life.

I unlock the car and climb into the driver’s seat. Chanhee sits up front next to me, and Mom and Dad snuggle together in the back like newlyweds. My parents are so affectionate you would never know they’ve been married twenty years. It’s a little nauseating. Chanhee talks to me, though, and that takes my mind off Mom and Dad’s cuddlefest.

“Dinner was nice,” he says as I put the car in reverse and back out of the parking space.

“Yeah, it was.” It’s funny how Chanhee pronounces the word nice. His accent makes the i sound three syllables long.

“So that was your mortal enemy,” Chanhee says.

“What? How do you know that?” I put the car in drive and steer out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“You told me the first day we met,” he explains.

“I did?” I don’t even remember this.

He laughs. “You did. So what’s the deal with y’all? She seemed nice enough. But looks can be deceiving.”

“It’s a long story.” I’m cruising slowly down the street when my mind flashes back to The Ultimate Spy Manual. I remember what it said: When driving, take unusual routes and switch lanes often to avoid being followed. Wow, I’ve really let my guard down. For all I know we’re being followed. I glance in the rearview mirror. A dark blue Toyota sedan is lumbering along slowly behind us. Immediately, I’m suspicious. Why hasn’t the driver pulled around to pass us? I push down on the gas, testing the car’s acceleration. Thank God, Dad doesn’t seem to notice. He normally freaks out when I drive fast. I take the car up to fifty mile an hour, and the Toyota matches my speed. Uh-oh, this isn’t looking good. I decide to try and lose him.

"Someday you'll have to tell me what happened between you and Tiffany," Chanhee continues.

"Yeah, when you've got ten hours to listen to the whole sordid story." I round the corner without slowing down. My heart starts racing. Maybe I should tell Dad that I suspect we're being followed. He's the professional. He'll know what to do. But then I remembered what Dad said the first day Chanhee was here. Chanhee's life is in my hands. If we're at school together and something creepy hsppens, I can't call Dad and get him to fix it. It's time I learn how to take care of these things by myself.

I abruptly switch lanes, moving from the right to the far left in one quick swerve. Finally, Dad notices that something is going on. "No need to floor it, Heejoon. This isn't a race."

"Yeah, let's get home in one piece," Mom chimes in.

Easy for them to say. They don't know what I'm up against. Despite my frantic driving, the Toyota is still clearly behind us. I'm not sure where to go from here. The turnoff for our street is in a couple blocks. If I take it, the Toyota can follow us right home. If, on the other hand, I keep on going straight, Mom and Dad will definitely know something is up.

I decide to make one last attempt to lose the sedan. I switch lanes again and this time the Toyota doesn't follow. It turns left onto a side street and vanishes out of sight.

Whew. False alarm. But at least it gave me a good chance to practice my spy driving. And I think I did pretty well, thank you very much.

As we pull into the driveway, Chanhee says, "You drive like you're in training."

"In training?" I gulp.

"Yeah, for the Indy 500," he snickers.

Harsh. But I don't want Chanhee to know I thought we were being followed—it'd just make him worry—so I don't say anything.

We walk into the house. I'm about to make my way upstairs when Dad places his hand on my shoulder, holding me back. "Hang on a minute." Once Mom and Chanhee are out of earshot he says, "I saw it too."

"The car?"

He nods. "Four-door navy blue. Toyota Camry, small dent in the back driver's-side door. Missouri tags."

"I didn't think you noticed," I say. "And I didn't want Chanhee to worry."

"It was probably nothing."

"I was trying to lose him," I tell Dad.

"I know that, too." He smoothes a wrinkle from his green pastel shirt. "You did a pretty impressive job. But next time, try to be a little less obvious. You never want them to know you're on to them. It's possible the driver turned off the road because he realized he'd been caught."

This sends me a shiver down my spine. I study Dad's face. He seems concerned. Suddenly, I'm terrified. "Oh, God, Dad, what if that guy was after Chunji?" I ask. Then something occurs to me. "How did you know the car had Missouri tag? He never got in front of us. You couldn't have seen his license plate."

Dad reaches into his pants pocket and hands me a dry cleaning receipt. Scrawled at the bottom, in scraggly handwriting, is a license plate number.

I'm stunned. "How did you get this?"

"I noticed the Toyota when you were pulling out of the parking lot. It was one row over from us, and whoever was in the car was just sitting there in the dark, waiting. That caught my interest, so I made a mental note of the license plate, assuming I wouldn't need it. But when the car reappeared behind us on the road a few minutes later, I jotted it down so I wouldn't forget."

"I can't believe you knew how to do that!" I'm really impressed. My dad makes being a spy look like a piece of cake.

Dad gives me a quick hug. "I can't believe you knew to lose the car. That was remarkable! As for keeping mental tabs on license plates, I do it all the the time. Even before Chunji moved in. I'm always cheking our our surroundings wherever we go."

This blows my mind. "You're joking, right?"

"Nope. Every dance recital. Every shopping trip. I'm always paying attention. You have to be on the lookout for suspicious things constantly—the FBI taught me that. Ninety-nine percent of the time it adds up to nothing. But you don't want to miss that one percent where it pans out. You have to be on your guard for that."

I lean back against the wall, letting this sink in. I feel really shaky.

Dad gives me a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay. I've got things under control. You just go upstairs and do your homework." He takes the receipt back from me. "I'm going to go run these plates. I'll let you know what I find."

Despite Dad's suggestion, I know I won't be able to concentrate on homework right now. I need to talk to somebody. I want to call Inyoung, but she doesn't have a clue what's going on over here and she won't be able to offer much support.

I decide to go see how Chunji/Chanhee is doing. I can't help but thinking he's a nice guy, even if he is a teensy bit of a snob. But I guess that comes with the territory when you're the son of a billionaire.

Chanhee is staying upstairs in the guest room, which is at the opposite end of the hall from my bedroom. He almost never comes out of his room at night. I have no idea what he does in there. I tentatively knock on the door.

"Come in," he calls.

I step into the room and find Chanhee sprawled out on the bed, reading a book. "Hi."

"Hey!" Chanhee sets his book on the bed. He looks really surprised to see me.

"What are you reading?" I ask, coming over and sitting down on a chair facing the bed.

"A Tale of Two Cities," he says. "I had a paper on it due next week at my old school." He gets a far-off look in his eyes and then laughs. "I don't know why I'm bothering to finish. Guess I just want to know how the story turns out."

I pull my legs up and fold them underneath me in the chair. "When did you find out you had to leave?'

"About fifteen minutes before your dad showed up at the hotel."

"The hotel?"

Chanhee nods. "Last week the FBI took me and my mom out of our house and put us in a hotel. I thought we would be going back home in a day or two. Then everything changed. The threats got much serious."

"Where is your mom?" I ask. "Did she get to go back home?"

Chanhee shakes his head. "I don't know for sure, but I'm pretty sure she didn't. There were threats made toward her, too. The FBI split us up because they felt it was safer that way."

"You're safe here," I say.

He leans back against the headboard of the bed and sighs. "I hope so. Sometimes I worry—"

"Heejoon."

I jump a mile. "Oh, hi, Dad."

"I can help you with that algebra problem now." He gives me a pointed look.

"Thanks." I get up, even though there is no algebra problem. Dad must have news about the car. I'm dying to know what Chanhee was about to say. But it will have to wait. "Have a good night, Chan—Chunji," I catch myself.

"Night," he says, going back to his book.

Dad and I go into my room and he shuts the door. "We have to stop the meeting like this," I crack.

Dad chuckles, and I feel a little better. He wouldn't laugh if he had bad news, right? "I just finished running the license number."

I can barely contain myself. "And?"

"Everything's fine."

I breathe a huge sigh of relief and flop onto my bed. "Thank God!"

"The car is registered to Mrs. Choi Jeong Yoon, a seventy-three-year-old woman who lives over on Macon Crest, the exact same side street where the car turned off earlier. There was no stolen vehicle repot but, just to be sure, I had one of my colleagues give Mrs. Choi a call. Turns out her grandson took the car out earlier tonight and brought it back just a few minutes ago. She said he went out to dinner, but she didn't recall the name of the restaurant."

I feel a million times better. "Thanks, Dad." I would never admit this out loud, but it's kind of cool to see him in his element. All these years I've known my dad was an undercover agent, but I've never actually witnessed his skills in action.

"Finish up your homework and then get to sleep," he advises. "You've had an eventful night."

"I will. I promise."

As soon as Dad is gone, I hop on MySpace and write Inyoung a message.

Hey girl,

You're never going to believe this. But remember how my mom was talking about the house getting more crowded the other day? I finally figured out what that meant. My cousin, Chunji, is coming to live with us for a little while...

I type out the whole story—well, the fake version we're telling everyone. I'm a decent liar, but Inyoung is especially perceptive. She can almost always see through me. The safest bet is to explain the whole thing to her in an e-mail. That way she can't ask any questions or poke any holes in what I'm saying. The last thing I need is another Laguna Beach nightmare.

I absolutely must tell Inyoung tonight. If Tiffany has her way, half the school will know about Chunji by tomorrow morning. I don't want Inyoung to find out from anyone other than me.

Once I've sent the e-mail, I pick up my chemistry book and flip it open. For once, I'm looking forward to a night spend studying the periodic table. It's nice and boring. Just what I need.

- - -

There! You see Mr. Kim in action. LMAO<3

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Updated on: 2:38am, 11.12.2011

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