“My eyes hurt,” Shahid moans. He rubs them and adds, “If I’d known we’d have to wait around in the sun, I wouldn’t have let you keep me up half the night staring at a computer.” We’re in a small parking lot, waiting for the Spies 4 Real store to open. The building, with its gray metal door and gray stuccoed walls, isn’t welcoming. We tried peering in through the barred window, but the dark tinted glass wasn’t giving up any secrets. “It shouldn’t be much longer,” I say. “And just think. When we come back out, you’ll be the lucky one wearing sunglasses.” We were halfway here before I realized my late-night choice of spy gear wouldn’t work for me. “You’re sure your parents won’t let you get contact lenses?” Shahid asks. I nod. I have no intention of asking them. I don’t tell Shahid that the mere thought of sticking something in my eye makes me queasy. A clicking sound comes from the store. I turn to find the lights have been switched on and the Closed sign has been replaced with an Open one.
