Saturday 3rd Feb 2018

Upon arriving home I did what any sober and mature secret agent would do, which is to say I raced to my laptop and danced in excitement to find an email from a sender named Adam A. It had an e-ticket for the university gala dinner attached.

Can’t say I was overly impressed with his code name. Then again, perhaps ‘Adam’ is a code name itself. It could even be an acronym! A Divinely Appealing Man? Hmmm.

Anyway, the delicious Mr A didn’t write anything in the message body. Probably for security reasons, to prevent The Future from intercepting a message and so on. It definitely wasn’t because he didn’t have anything to say to me. I mean, when you think about it, he spent a long time sitting on a bench in the freezing cold when he technically didn’t have to. I mean, he did have to, because it was his job to try and recruit me, but I mean it didn’t have to be outside.

Sooooo that means he likes me, right?

Right, Sophie.

Thanks, Dear Diary. I knew I could count on you to follow me through convoluted leaps of improbable logic.

I spent most of yesterday writing up my epic conversation with Adam and then inspecting my wardrobe for potential gala dinner outfits. The way I’ve written that last part makes it sound like I devoted hours to the task of rooting through hundreds of garments and deciding among umpteen possibilities. In actual fact it was more like this:

Sophie’s wardrobe inventory:

1x neon blue slut dress (bought for visit to Blue Zone nightclub),

1x frilly beige Laura Ashley summer dress. (Present from former foster mother. Unworn).

Layla came sidling into my room as I was gazing with great concentration into my open wardrobe. After a few seconds of watching me she asked whether the clothes would multiply if I stared at them hard enough.

“The testing phase is still underway,” I replied. “What’s up?”

“I’m bored and was hoping you might have another excursion planned.”

“You mean you’re hoping for another opportunity to stun everyone with your Elf Queen impression.”

“It wasn’t like that!” she protested.

I rolled my eyes. “You knew exactly what you were doing, Elf Girl.”

She slapped me on the arm. Ouch!

Note to self: Do not underestimate strength of elves

“Alright, fine,” I admitted. “I have a ticket for a gala dinner thing later, but that’s only if I can manage to cobble together a formal outfit out of these things.” I gestured towards the inadequacy of dresses in my meagre excuse for a wardrobe.

Layla shook her head. “You’ll never do it. Borrow something from me.” Grabbing my hand, she dragged me into her room and began hunting through her own overflowing closet.

It was the first time I’d set foot in Layla’s room. I wasn’t surprised to find that it was a lot bigger than mine. Or that the walls were decorated with photo collages. I was mildly surprised to see that the bedsheets were black. Not what I would have expected. Maybe that was Dylan’s influence. A guitar stood in one corner and there was a bookcase that held photography equipment instead of books.

I didn’t expect Layla to have any clothing that would fit me, given how she’s half the circumference of a normal person, but I was pleased to be proven wrong when she unearthed a floaty black dress that was loose enough to forgive the fact that I’m not fairy-shaped.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re going,” she remarked as she adjusted the sash.

“Yes I have. The university’s gala dinner.”

She frowned. “I thought you said that, but it didn’t make sense. Didn’t you say you’re not a student? I got the impression there was some bad feeling between you and the university. Sorry, I don’t mean to pry…” She looked at me expectantly, obviously intending an exhaustive prying mission.

“There was a misunderstanding, but Ethan helped me to clear it all up,” I said carefully. “And I was randomly given a ticket to this dinner so I thought I might as well go. I’ve never been to such a fancy event and I’m curious to see what it’s like. You know?”

She grinned jerking a thumb at herself. “Photographer, remember? You don’t have to explain it to me.” Her face lit up. “Ooh I should come too. And I’ll bring Dylan. We can people-watch together.”

I squirmed. “I’d love that, Layla, but I’ve only got one ticket…”

“Oh come on. I’ll just tell them I’m covering the gala for the local paper. It should be easy to get a couple of passes.”

I paused. “Ok, why not.” The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a genius idea. I’d have the ideal way to blend in, two more pairs of eyes and even a camera at my disposal. Layla turned out to be an incredibly valuable resource at Enchantercon. Who’s to say she won’t be equally useful here?

Later…

Layla made a single phone call and announced that she’d secured VIP tickets for herself and Dylan. I tried not to grind my teeth at her charmed existence, reminding myself that she was there largely for my benefit.

When evening came, we rode to the event together in Dylan’s car and he dropped Layla and me outside the main university building while he went to find parking. The area was milling with sophisticated people wearing fancy clothes and greeting each other with fake enthusiasm. I recognised a couple of professors, some members of the university board and a few rich alumni whose faces were always gracing the prospectus. I’d intended to start looking for my mark right away but Layla babbled about not having the right equipment for outdoor shots and dragged me inside. She then put me to work holding various pieces of camera and other equipment while she took test shots of the décor. She explained that she needed to check the colour settings (or some such technical shit I didn’t understand). I didn’t feel I had any right to complain when I was relying on her to unwittingly aid me in my task for the evening.

Despite my impatience, there was something fascinating about watching Layla work. Earlier in the day she’d joked about her job, claiming that she only lugged a camera around for the sake of the free tickets. I’m not so sure. Anyone who caught sight of her as she laboured for perfection would be convinced of her deep passion for the work. I had no doubts that her online portfolio would shortly acquire yet another dazzling collection of photographs. I would have felt envious of her creative calling, but I took solace in the fact that I had my own mission for the evening. It was time for a game of Hunt the Agent.

The evening kicked off and there were boring speeches from successful alumni. The buffet dinner featured a chocolate fountain (probably Layla's 'most photographed item’ of the evening), but otherwise there was little to distract people from the main purpose of the evening: Networking. I drifted around in Layla’s wake, thanking the heavens that she’d wanted to come. Not only was she socially proficient, she was also thorough. There was no part of the hall that we didn’t visit and Layla fell naturally into conversation with the guests as she directed them to pose for photos or to fake conversations for candid shots. When Dylan joined us, I was also impressed by his ability to make small talk.

Note to self: Never judge a brooding musician by his tattoos.

Despite my personal army of infiltrators, I failed to hear anyone dropping hints about their ulterior motives for attending the gala. Well duh. I was at big-girl secret-agent school now. Listening out for someone ordering a vodka martini wasn’t going to cut it. I began to wonder how Adam expected me to ever complete this task.

Towards the end of the evening, I was occupying a chair at the side of the room and attempting to quell my growing agitation, when a hand clapped me on the shoulder. I jumped in surprise and looked up.

It was Ethan! I almost didn’t recognise him in evening wear. “Hi, Sophie.”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. In hindsight, perhaps it wasn’t the most polite way to open a conversation with an acquaintance. But I was startled to see him. And anyway he didn’t seem to mind. Or notice.

“Representative for the university gaming team,” he said, sinking into the chair next to me. “We’re doing pretty well so they feel obliged to invite us to these things. I come mainly for the food. Did you see the chocolate fountain?”

I nodded glumly.

Ethan’s eyes had been drawn to something on the other side of the room. He nudged me. “Oh look. Did you know Elf Girl is here?”

I rolled my eyes. “Her name is Layla, remember? Didn’t you guys have a whole conversation about your social media stuff?”

“Well yeah, but we’ve only spoken online since then. I forgot how she looks in real life. Who’s that gorilla next to her.”

“Her boyfriend.”

“Looks like a musician.”

“Yup.” I kept observing the room but couldn’t for the life of me see how I was supposed to know who, of these fancily dressed people, was the secret agent. Bored and desperate, there was nothing for it but to utilise Ethan’s super-nerd brain power. “Ethan, can you see anyone in here who looks like they don’t belong?”

He cast me a speculative glance. “You don’t look entirely at home. What are you doing here anyway? Didn’t you say you were finished with university? What about all that hacking I did for you?”

I was saved from having to answer this because Layla and Dylan crossed the room to join us. Ethan greeted Layla and started grilling her about his social media accounts. Dylan stood by and glowered at Ethan, which had the effect of making the skinny guy babble more determinedly.

Well they were a whole lotta help! I went back to observing the crowd.

How the heck was I supposed to solve this task?