My Not So Perfect Life(14)

“No one’s even noticed it!” he exclaims, as he gets it to hover outside the window of the big meeting round the table. “Look, we can spy on them.” He taps at a control on the touch screen, and the camera tilts to film the table. “Focus in…” He taps again, and the camera zooms in on some papers.



“You shouldn’t do that,” I protest. “It’s sneaky. Stop it.”

Alex turns to look at me, and something flickers across his face—as if he’s chastened and amused, all at the same time.

“You’re right.” He nods. “Let’s not be sneaky. Let’s be up front.”

He switches all the helicopter’s lights back on and sets them to flash red and white. Then he carefully maneuvers the drone toward the open window.

“Stop it!” I say, clapping a hand over my mouth. “You’re not going to—”

But he’s already sending the flashing drone through the window, into the formal meeting room.

Just for a moment no one notices. Then a man in a navy suit looks up, followed by a gray-haired woman—and soon everyone’s pointing. On the screen, we can see their astonished faces up close, and I stifle a giggle. Two people are peering out of the open window down to street level, but no one has even looked in our direction.

“There,” says Alex. “They all looked stressed out. Now they’re distracted. We’re doing them a favor.”

“What if their meeting’s really important?” I object.

“Of course it’s not important. No meeting is important. Hey, look, a microphone function. We can listen to them.” He touches a button and suddenly we can hear the voices of the people in the room, coming through a speaker on the remote.



“Is it filming us?” a woman is asking in panicked tones.

“It’s Chinese.” A man is jabbing his finger at the drone. “Look at the writing. That’s Chinese.”

“Everyone cover your faces,” another woman says urgently. “Cover your faces.”

“It’s too late!” says a girl shrilly. “It’s seen our faces!”

“We shouldn’t cover our faces!” a man exclaims. “We should cover the minutes of the meeting!”

“They’re only draft minutes,” puts in a blond woman, looking anxious and putting both arms over her printed sheets.

A man in shirtsleeves has stood up on his chair and is trying to hit the drone with a rolled-up piece of paper.

“No, you don’t!” retorts Alex, and he presses an icon on the remote control. The next moment, the drone starts shooting spurts of water at the man, and I clap a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter.

“Ah,” says Alex. “So that’s what that is. How about this one?” He presses another icon, and bubbles start streaming out of the drone.

“Argh!” The man jumps down off his chair as though under attack and starts batting at the bubbles. I’m laughing so hard, my nose has started to hurt. There are bubbles floating everywhere in the room, and people are shrinking away from them.

“OK,” says Alex. “I think we’ve tortured these good people enough.” From the side of the remote, he pulls out a tiny microphone on a wire. He holds it to his mouth, flips a switch, and makes a “quiet” gesture at me. “Attention,” he says in clipped tones, like a World War II RAF pilot. “I repeat, attention, attention.”



His voice rings out of the drone, and the effect on the people in the room is instantaneous. They all freeze as though in fright and stare up at the drone.

“Apologies for the inconvenience,” Alex announces, in the same clipped voice. “Normal service will be resumed shortly. God Save Our Gracious Queen…”

I don’t believe it. He’s singing the national anthem. “Stand up!” he suddenly barks into the microphone, and a couple of the people at the table half-rise to their feet before sitting back down again and looking embarrassed.

“Thank you,” Alex concludes. “Thank you so much.” Deftly, he flies the drone out of the room and swoops it down, out of view. The people in the room are all crowding to the window to see where it’s gone, pointing in different directions, and Alex pulls me out of sight, behind a low concrete wall. A few moments later the drone quietly descends behind us, all its lights off. It’s obvious that none of the people in the room has the faintest idea where it disappeared to, and after a minute or two they head back to the table. I meet Alex’s eye and shake my head.

“I can’t believe you did that.” A final giggle ripples through me.

“That made their day,” he says. “Now they all have a dinner-party anecdote.” He picks up the drone, places it between us, and surveys it. “So, what do we think?”

“Awesome,” I say.

“I agree.” He nods. “Awesome.” He drags over another box and cuts the tape. “Look at this! Special jumping boots with springs!”

“Oh my God!” I gape at them. “Is that safe?”



“And in here we have…” He prizes open another box. “Neon light-up tennis rackets. That’s hilarious.”

“This is going to be the best project,” I say with enthusiasm.