Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  She scowled and pressed her pillow against the glass on the closed side of the window. “Harry Styles.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is one of these guys named Harry?” I studied their cartoony, screen-printed faces. “Wait. Is every guy in Great Britain named Harry?”

  “I’m coming out,” she said, and pulled the window shut.

  I moved my fingers just in time.

  Oh-kay then.

  I walked back to my car, confused. Why had she told me to come look in her window? She could have told me to wait in the car. She always looked great. I don’t know why she needed my help deciding what to wear.

  “What on earth are you doing?” Kimbal’s voice.

  I scanned the street until I spotted the black sedan parked about a hundred yards back from the banana. The driver’s side window was rolled down, and Kimbal’s pale face was fixed on mine.

  I shuddered. It was like looking through a time mirror and seeing myself in twenty-five years. “Giving Grace a ride to school,” I said. “What are you doing?”

  “Wondering why you’re skulking through someone’s yard in the wee dawn hours.”

  “She said to knock on her window.” I didn’t give Kimbal a chance to reply and wedged myself into my car to wait. At least the banana was cool inside so early in the morning. I doubted Grace would want rides anywhere when the inside was hotter than Hades.

  She came out a few minutes later and climbed in beside me. The smell of coconuts filled the interior and made me want to kiss her.

  Okay. Wow. Starting the car now.

  The engine screamed. The engine I had thought was so quiet after Lukas’s repairs. It sounded like a leaf blower sitting between us. I put the car in drive and pulled away.

  “So what have I missed this year?” she half-yelled over the roar.

  I thought about it. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about my arrest—even though I’d been the victim there and all the charges had been dropped. “Tore my ACL,” I said.

  She hummed. “Isabel said you lost your scholarship.”

  “Several, actually. I hadn’t decided which one to take since I was holding out for UCLA. But I’m not giving up.”

  She glanced at my legs. “No brace?”

  “Got it off two weeks ago. It’s been slow gaining back the muscle. Mario—my PT guy—has me do this exercise where I stand on my tiptoes… It’s so hard! I feel like a cripple.”

  “It takes a year to come back from a torn ACL, Spencer. You’ll get there.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t have a year. I have eight months—maybe nine.”

  “You’ll only injure it again if you push too hard.”

  “But there’s still a chance I could get my offers back.”

  Awkward silence.

  Because Grace knew what I knew, deep down. Coach had said it over and over. Players like me were a dime a dozen. The arrest alone would have put the schools on edge. But adding that to my injury… They’d likely crossed me off for good and offered someone else.

  Still. I wasn’t a quitter. Sure, it was a long shot, but anyone who underestimated my motivation and drive to succeed didn’t know who they were dealing with.

  “If you see me limping, tell me,” I said. “It will help my recovery.”

  “No limping?”

  “I need to stop favoring my bad leg. I just forget sometimes.”

  She gave me a curt nod that made her curls bounce. “I’ll tell you.”

  Enter awkward silence number two.

  I scrambled for something to ask her. How was Miami? How was her dad? But in light of her dad’s drinking problem being the reason they’d moved, such topics seemed in bad form. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I said nothing, which also felt wrong.

  Grace didn’t live all that far from the school, so I drove two miles under the speed limit, wanting to lengthen the trip as much as possible. A light turned yellow, and where I normally would have gunned it, I slammed on the breaks.

  Grace jerked forward in her seat.

  “Sorry,” I said, then finally found a safe topic of conversation. “So you met Samantha.”

  “Yeah, she’s nice,” Grace said. “Isabel said Alpha team got two new boys.”

  “Luke and Drew. Wait until you see these two. Luke Williamson is as skinny as I used to be, but not nearly as tall. He’s quick, though.” The light turned green, and I drove on. Sadly, we were almost there. “Luke’s family owns the Tae Kwon Do club in Pilot Point, and they all have black belts—even his mom and little sister.”

  “That should help our team.”

  “You have no idea.” I pulled into the school and veered toward a parking spot in the back near The Barn. “Then there’s Drew Lusco,” I said. “He’s the physical opposite of Luke. The kid is over six feet tall and played center on varsity football for Pilot Point High—as a freshman.”

  “I know who he is. I’m a cheerleader, remember?”

  “Right.” I parked the car and turned it off. The silence was deafening. “I thought you were a basketball cheerleader.”

  “I cheer for both. Luke and Lukas, that’s confusing.”

  “I know. I’ve been calling Luke ‘El McDub,’ but I don’t think he likes it.”

  “I don’t blame him. It sounds like a McDonald’s sandwich.” She opened the car door and got out.

  I reached into the back seat, grabbed my backpack, and climbed out of the car. “How about El McWilly?” I shut the door and walked around to the front. “Think that’s better?”

  Grace wasn’t paying attention. “Aren’t you going to lock your car?”

  “Nah,” I said. “If someone wants the banana that badly, they can have it.”

  We started across the moist grass toward The Barn, a utilities building on the far side of the football field, which was the entrance to Harris Hall. That’s where us agents-in-training met for morning class. Thankfully, the walk would probably take longer than the drive had.

  “How did the initiation go this year?” Grace asked. “Who won?”

  “We did.” Now this I could talk about. “Diakonos did so badly I think they’re still in the red, points-wise.”

  “What happened?”

  “We nabbed Samantha when she was leaving drama practice. She pulled a taser out of her duffle bag. Gabe went down, twitching. I managed to knock the weapon out of her hand and get her in the van—had to go back for Gabe, who was still on the ground. Threw him in the van beside Sam.”

  “Poor Gabe!” Grace said.

  “Yeah…” I winced at the memory. “He was fine by the time we got to his house, though.”

  “I didn’t think minors could have a taser,” Grace said. “I couldn’t even carry pepper spray until I was sixteen.”

  “Oh, yeah. Mr. S got on Sam’s case about that too. Anyway, let me tell you about Diakonos. They managed to grab Drew—I have no idea how. Lukas probably used hairspray. Then they went after Luke. You know, El McWilly? Mr. Tae Kwon Do Black Belt? In the scuffle, the kid pulled off Nick’s ski mask, saw it was him, and ran off. Wiggled through a hole in a chain link fence.”

  A guy like Luke would have been a great grease man for the gang I ran with back in junior high.

  Grace and I were almost to The Barn. Lukas and Isabel were coming toward us from the school. I slowed down, wanting to finish the story before they reached us. Lukas didn’t like people talking about it.

  “So while Willy was giving Nick the slip, Drew, who’d been trussed up in the back of Nick’s van, got loose. Probably ripped through his binds like the Incredible Hulk. He let himself out and walked away. Nick and Lukas were so busy chasing down El McWilly, they didn’t even know Drew was gone.”

  “So Diakonos caught no one?” Grace asked.

  “It gets better. A few blocks from the scene of the totally failed crime, El McWilly and Drew ran into each other. They figured out this had been an initiation and went back and shanghaied Nick’s entire team, tied them up, and drove the van to the Stopplecam
p’s house—illegally, I might add, since Drew doesn’t have a license.”

  Grace’s blue eyes were huge. “No way!”

  I cackled. “Oh yes. We were waiting for Diakonos when Drew and El McWilly dragged in their first victim—Nick, screaming obscenities that lost their team a bunch more points. None of us in Team Alpha could stop laughing for a week.” I gave her a happy sigh. “It was awesome.”

  She stopped in front of the janitor’s door. “I wonder why Isabel didn’t say anything?”

  “Would you?” Lukas walked up beside us, a breakfast burrito in hand. His latest hairstyle was shaggy and flat and inky black. He’d even dyed his eyebrows and goatee to match. It looked wrong somehow, but he’d likely have a new look by next week.

  Isabel cringed. “Oh my gosh, Grace. It was so embarrassing.”

  “Mr. S was ticked,” I added. “No one dared talk about it for weeks.”

  “Yeah,” Lukas said, opening the door to the janitor closet, “I thought this subject was off limits.”

  “Grace has been gone,” I said. “I’m just bringing her up to speed.”

  Lukas narrowed his eyes. “Sure you are.”

  We entered the janitor closet, and Isabel pulled the door shut. With four people and all the cleaning supplies, it was a tight squeeze. The smell of Lukas’s burrito was instantly overpowered by all the chemicals. I reached over Grace’s head and pressed the white button behind the bleach. A soft buzz came from below, and Grace pushed in the secret door that was covered in hanging brooms and mops.

  We clattered down the stairs to Harris Hall. Grace, being in the lead, entered the combo on the door lock, and we all went in.

  Harris Hall was a basement classroom with a concrete floor and white cinderblock walls. It was furnished with a dozen vintage students’ desks, a teacher’s desk, two round tables in back before a wall of black cabinets that held all kinds of old spy gadgets. It was chilly this morning. I eyed Grace’s purple T-shirt and thought about offering her my hoodie. If I wasn’t a total chicken, I might have.

  “Take a seat and study quietly for your final exam,” Mr. S told us. “Prière will call you when he’s ready.”

  The Frenchman was here, talking with Gabe at a table in the back. The red card in Gabe’s hand said it all.

  Assignment day.

  Usually we got summer assignments once we were off on our summer training trip, but since this was an OST year, things were different.

  Everyone was here except Nick. Was he off with Kimatra, perhaps? I had found her name in the credits of Jolt II last night and looked her up on IMDB. She’d done nothing but the one movie. I’d also found out she was seventeen years old. She looked twenty-five.

  I took my usual seat in the back beside Lukas. He eyed me, inky black brows lifted high.

  “What?” I asked him.

  He shrugged. “You going to that gnome thing?”

  Youth group scavenger hunt with garden gnomes. “Maybe,” I said, wondering if Grace was going.

  Gabe came back from talking with Prière and sat in front of Lukas. He pocketed two cards: one red, one blue.

  “Dude, let me see,” Lukas said.

  “You know better than to ask me that,” Gabe said.

  “At least give us a clue,” I said.

  Gabe pushed his round glasses up his nose and pulled out a notebook. He’d gotten his braces off this year, but I had a feeling he’d have the glasses for life.

  “Grace Thomas,” Prière called from the table in back.

  I forgot all about Gabe’s assignments as Grace walked between our desks and joined Prière at the back table. From where I sat, I had a nice view of her ear and neck and the way her hair curled down—

  A wad of tinfoil paper bounced off my temple and fell into my lap.

  I grabbed Lukas’s burrito wrapper and chucked it back at him, hard. Lukas’s hands flailed, trying to catch it, but it whizzed past his arms, bounced off his cheek, and hit the floor between my sneakers. I snatched it before he had a chance and shot it across the room and into the trash can beside Mr. S’s desk.

  I punched my arms over my head. “From outside the arc, Garmond sinks three points for UCLA!”

  “No basketball in the classroom, Agent Garmond.”

  “Sorry, Mr. S.”

  Lukas leaned across the aisle and whispered, “I can’t believe you told her about the initiation.”

  He was still thinking about that? “She would have found out eventually,” I said. “Better to get it out of the way.”

  “It’s embarrassing,” Lukas said. “I don’t like looking stupid to Grace.”

  “Why should you care what she thinks?” I asked, mind racing with the knowledge that the two of them used to go out. He’d better not still like her.

  “That girl can really bruise an ego,” Lukas said. “And she doesn’t need any more ammo against me.”

  I so wanted to know what ammo Grace had against Lukas.

  “Just don’t tell anyone else,” he said.

  “Who would I tell?”

  Lukas looked pacified.

  Just to irritate him I added, “Isaac… Jake… Beth and Jensina… I still email Jun every now and again—he’d love to hear about it.”

  “You suck.”

  “Dum Dums. Tootsie pops. Jawbreakers. Root beer barrels. Occasionally an Altoid.”

  “You’re a moron.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. S said from his desk. “It doesn’t sound like you’re reviewing for the final.”

  I went for the laugh. “Mr. S, lollipops and other hard candies help with dehydration. I plan to keep some in my emergency pack.”

  “ ‘It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts.’ Minus five points for being a smart aleck, Agent Garmond, unless you can tell me who said it. And this is one you should know.”

  “Come on.” I never knew any of Mr. S’s quotes.

  “It was spoken by John Wooden, also known as the Wizard of Westwood. Won ten NCAA national championships for UCLA during his time as their head coach. You should study his Seven Point Creed.”

  That shut me up. I’d known that UCLA had won a lot of titles, but I’d never heard of John Wooden. I slouched in my chair and Googled him on my iPhone. It didn’t take long to add the man to my long list of basketball idols. I found his Seven-Point Creed on his Wikipedia page.

  1. Be true to yourself.

  2. Make each day your masterpiece.

  3. Help others.

  4. Drink deeply from good books, especially the Bible.

  5. Make friendship a fine art.

  6. Build a shelter against a rainy day.

  7. Pray for guidance and give thanks for your blessings every day.

  I read them a few more times. Kind of touchy-feely, but good stuff. I was thinking I needed to find this guy’s book and started a search on Amazon when chair legs scraped over cement, a half dozen footsteps pattered my way, and Grace passed my desk. I watched her walk by, admiring the shirt I’d helped pick out.

  “Spence,” Prière said.

  My turn. I got up and walked to the chair Grace had just vacated. It was still warm.

  Prière wasted no time today. The moment I sat down, he handed me a red card.

  SOLO

  FIELD: PROFILING: SURVEILLANCE

  Monitor the behavior, activities, employees, and trail of information involving Ron and Anita Sayle at the Sayle Real Estate Agency.

  My heart sank a bit when I didn’t see Kimatra Patel’s name on the card. “Sayle Real Estate Agency? Is that their real name?”

  “Oui. This is your Occupational Training Mission,” Prière said.

  Oh. “But I thought OTMs were just for training.” I waved the card. “This is red.”

  “We have reason to believe that some of the commercial properties represented by this agency are connected to drug trafficking.”

  My eyes widened. “You want me to learn to traffic drugs?”

  “You will be interning as an administrativ
e assistant. We want you to run surveillance on this company and its properties. They believe you are doing this for high school credit. You must be careful not to draw attention to yourself. Send me anything you find. And if you need equipment, I can get it for you as well.”

  Equipment? Sweet. “I got this, Prière. Don’t you worry about a thing. These pushers are going down.”

  Prière frowned and handed me a packet of papers. The first page, a dossier on Sayle Real Estate Agency, had my name Sharpied across the top. “Read this and return it to me before you leave this room. Do not take photograph with your cell phone. If you forget anything on these pages, call me, and we can meet again to refresh your memory. Do not discuss your mission with anyone, and use codes when journaling about this.”

  Prière had been trying to get me to use codes in my journal for a few months now. Fact was, I stank at codes. Guess he’d found a way to force them on me.

  “That is all,” Prière said.

  That surprised me. “Only one assignment? Not even a blue card?”

  “This one will keep you busy enough.”

  True that. But what about Kimatra? I’d really thought Prière was going to give me something about that one movie wonder.

  I spent the rest of class memorizing the dossier on the Sayles and watching Nick chew gum like a junior high girl. His meeting with Prière had gone quickly. He’d been handed one blue card, which had to be his OTM. That meant he had no official reason to be investigating Kimatra.

  Not that I did, either, but that was beside the point.

  The dossier on the Sayles was mostly the history of the couple and their business. Nothing suspicious. I was to act as an administrative assistant intern and do whatever they trained me to do. I wondered if they were really hiding something.

  After class, I walked with Grace toward the front of the school where her friend Jazmine was going to pick her up and take her to Pilot Point High. I wanted to know about her assignments but didn’t want to ask. She saved me the trouble.

  “My OTM is to work at the Sonshine Christian Preschool.”

  That stopped me in my tracks. “That’s my grandma’s school.”

  A knowing shrug. “Guess she’s going to be my boss.”