Simone LaFray and the Chocolatiers' Ball
by S.P. O'Farrell (Author)
and Kelly O'Neill (Illustrator)
Chapter One
“Bonjour,” or should I say, “Hello.” evening Mother caught me nishing her copy of Moby Dick, the fact was not lost on her that it was my fourth birthday. What did strike her as odd was that the book had only been missing since lunchtime. She asked that I kindly return it to her bookshelf in the morning, which I did. I was done with it. In my twelve years of experience, I have concluded that adults invariably underestimate children and gravitate to two types: the precocious, oh-so-sweet girl with curly hair and full eyelashes (that’s my sister and you’ll meet her soon enough) and the doeyeyed, athletic boy who is revered for simply being in attendance and not burping loudly. I can assure you that I bear no resemblance to either, although these tenets have served me well in my occupation. If we were to pass on the sidewalk or share a seat on the transit, you wouldn’t notice me—I wouldn’t let you. If you did happen to catch a glance, the image would quickly fade: a typical girl, practically invisible among the crowd.
Straight brown hair, glasses, bookish, gray knits, blah, seemingly ordinary in every way—but that’s what I want you to see. e truth might alarm you. I know we just met, but I have a secret to tell. In fact, I have two, but I’m not comfortable sharing the other. And besides, it’s been of no help to me thus far. You will agree that the rest is far more relevant. Simply put, I’m an espion, or a spy, and the most promising agent within the Ministry of Foreign AŸairs, or so I’m told. I have no reason to discredit this assertion as I was destined to one day walk in my mother’s rather large footsteps. However, no one expected it to happen this early, not even her. Ratted out by a white whale. Since I could crawl, Mother has told me that the truly strong are silent and serve without applause. I prefer it this way. Her wisdom comes from experience, as Mother is no typical mademoiselle.
After 15 years of decorated service in the French Army, she now works within the Ministry. Her o¡cial title is “Diplomat,” but she is perhaps the most accomplished spy in the world. She is a legend within the community, a patriot, and my hero. I’m the luckiest girl in the world to be the daughter of the one-and-only Cpt. Julia C. LaFray. As for me, I can remember every second of my life since my rst birthday—all ve senses heightened in a constant ¤utter, every detail absorbed and analyzed. You get used to it, although it can be exhausting. Perhaps my most remarkable skill was hiding it from others. ey didn’t need to know, and they wouldn’t understand. My mother was the only one who could see me—well, most of me—and she told my father when she thought he was ready. He took the news well. I’m comfortable with the fact that I have never been picked for a schoolyard game at the Elizabeth of Trinity School for Girls, although I’m surprisingly athletic and I never draw attention to myself. Never ever.
Trinity would have a series of junior league football titles—sorry, I meant soccer titles—by now had Coach Rousseau picked me for the old red and white. She prefers the aforementioned oh-so-sweet girls, which has produced a perennial gaggle of perfectly braided, ribbon adorned ponytails and unstained uniforms. It is safe to say that Trinity will not be making space for the City Cup any time soon. Growing up in Paris with a secret was the ideal life, although circumstances were about to change. ey can’t be averted; certain wheels are now in motion that are beyond my control. I’m afraid an unwelcome light is about to illuminate the comfortable shadows where I’m most at ease. My apologies—where are my manners? We have not been formally introduced. I am, truly, Simone LaFray.
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