Escaping Maximoff

Espresso

"Sam, that's never going to work!" I exclaimed, pulling the plotting boy out of the way of an elderly lady, muttering an apology to her before giving my best friend a death stare.

"Says who?" He retorted, matching my harsh gaze.

I rolled my eyes. "Any person with an IQ higher than 50, which counts you out I guess."

"You know, you're not a very imaginative person," he said after poking me in the ribs for my mean (but truthful) comment.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, placing a hand on my chest in mock offence.

"I meant," he started, dragging out his words with a glint in his eyes, "you need to think of the bigger picture."

The boy had officially gone mad.

"Sam, I think people are going to notice us leave, even if you wear that fake moustache, and especially if you intend on climbing out the bathroom window."

"See, this is what I'm talking about," he said, pointing a finger at me as if I'd just proven him right. I sighed and shook my head, lowing my voice to a whisper when we joined the back of our class, crowded around some dead white guy's painting. "We might as well try!"

"Only if you want to get caught," I snorted. Common sense was neither of our strong points, but at least I wasn't the one who had ordered in a bunch of fancy dress costumes to the store. An Albert Einstein lab coat wasn't much of a disguise. "Look, we'll wait until everyone goes to lunch, then we'll sneak out of the staff-only door." I concluded, deciding that anything would be better than what Sam came up with.

"I guess that could work," he shrugged, giving me a coy look. "I still think my plan is better."

I sighed. "Of course you do."

The museum was beautiful, with countless rooms filled with archaic tapestries and paintings. They had added a few new exhibits since my last visit, and I was dying to check them out. Time moved quickly as we wandered through the crowded rooms. I had tuned out our tour guide and instead focused on the individual pieces of artwork, coming up with my own conclusions on their meanings.

"Hey, do you want me to go get you something for lunch?" Victoria asked, walking over to gaze at the picture I was observing. The seniors were blessed with freedom to leave and grab lunch from one of the many local restaurants. If Sam and I were just a year older, our mission wouldn't be quite so impossible. Where's Rebecca Ferguson when you need her?

"I'm okay," I replied with a smile. "Thank you, though."

"Are you sure? There's a really nice book café that sells the best salted caramel cookies!" She said, bumping her shoulder against mine teasingly.

I caved as soon as she met me with those enticing grey eyes. "Okay, but only if it's not a bother."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm the one offering, y/n. Besides, it's kind of a way for me to bribe you to let me see your artwork."

"Oh, I forgot about that!"

"I haven't," she told me plainly, a smirk tugging at her lips as she turned to walk away. "Prepare for the best cookie of your life."

I smiled and shook my head. If my plan worked, Sam and I would be able to join her in the café, but if we failed, then I might have to prepare to be grounded instead.

I walked over to Sam, who was unsuccessfully trying to chat up some senior, and dragged him away, ignoring his indignant complaints. "It's now or never," I explained, nodding to our distracted teacher.

"Okay, let's go," he said, buzzing with excitement as he practically skipped away from Mrs Norberry.

It wasn't difficult to find the staff-only exit, and surprisingly no one batted an eyelid when we left through it.

The sun, shining from a cloudless sky, greeted us as we made our way down the practically empty street. Sam had claimed to know exactly where the comic shop was, but a quick Look at Google Maps told me he had no clue.

"Look, we're going in the completely wrong direction," I exclaimed, shoving my phone in the dismissive blond's face.

"No, I promise you it's this way." He claimed, making me raise an eyebrow at him. "Google Maps doesn't know what it's talking about."

"You're crazy," I groaned, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead in discontent. It was far too hot to be aimlessly walking around.

"Fine," he sighed. "Let's go ask those police officers."

I followed his gaze to an armoured truck by the side of the road, and let out a gasp when I saw the owners. It was them.

"Sam, we need to go," I whispered, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the opposite direction from the armed men.

"Why? What's up?" He asked, trying to slow our pace by digging his heels into the ground.

"I'll tell you later, just trust me." I urged. He held my gaze for a second before nodding and following me without complaint. We didn't slow our pace until we reached the safety of a small café.

I rested against the wall outside, running a shaky hand through my hair as my thoughts raced away from me.

"Y/n what's wro–"

I interrupted him, unable to hide my worry any longer. "I think Wanda's in trouble."