This was it. She finally invited me to her

This was it. She finally invited me to her place. Oh she definitely piqued my curiosity. When she excused herself to slip into something more comfortable, I perused her bookshelf.

She had Encyclopedia Britannica. "Who reads these?" I wondered as pulled out letter the 'L.' A soft click, and I was standing in front of a short-wave transmitter. My date's a spy?

"So," I said to my date over dinner, "tell my your opinion on betrayal." She dropped the spoon into her soup. "Ha! Who are you working for? Russia? Korea? Not the French, surely?

"Mon cher, tu sais que je ne peux pas vous le dire. Mon entreprise est top-secret. C'est pour votre sécurité. Trust me," he replied. She frowned at her date, looking puzzled.

This boy was strange. What 12-year-old was fluent in multiple languages and spoke of his top-secret company? She looked around at the other Nectarine Pit customers. They were all

contemptible and fruitless. The eerie boy, a 12-year old, multi-lingual top-secret company owner, pointed at her. He said, "You." She gulped her panic, and looked around. "Me?"

She had a purple dress on and a black hat, just like her Mum 's generation wore. Mihnnie Mouse was painting the basement a Vietnamese orange. It clashed with the traditional shade.

It was orange on orange violence. One moment it looked like Traditional was on top then suddenly Vietamese was on top. Mihnnie Mouse hoped Vietnamese orange won; her whole design p

-proposal depended on it. "Please, let the Asian design influence win," Mihnnie Mouse prayed to Ganesh, "and not that weary old U.S.A. patriotic bullshit again!" But Ganesh was