Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  I laughed. “Yeah, good luck with that. She excels at being bossy.”

  Grace poked my arm and grinned. “You must drive her crazy.”

  “You have no idea.”

  I waited with Grace until Jazmine drove her away, then headed into the school, thinking it was unfair that my grandma was going to spend more time with the girl I liked that I would.

  How’s that for luck?

  REPORT NUMBER: 4

  REPORT TITLE: I Juggle Three Girls at Once

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: My car, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Friday, May 25, 5:53 a.m.

  The rest of the week, Grace asked me to pick her up for morning League. There had been no more requests for me to come look in her window. She always met me at the curb.

  Our conversations were not stellar. Wednesday we reminisced about Okinawa. Thursday she mocked the Lakers, and I spent the entire car ride defending them. I wondered later if she had done it on purpose just to mess with me.

  Friday she started talking about this guy Eli from her school. He was a yearbook photographer who kept taking her picture and asking her out. I didn’t know why she was telling me about him, so I’d asked if he was bothering her and if she wanted me to kick his butt. That made her mad, so maybe she liked him or something. Girls, anyway. It figured that this thing with Grace and me—whatever it was—would be one-sided.

  That morning in Harris Hall before class started, everyone was talking about their OTMs, even though they didn’t start until summer break. Gabe, Isabel, and Nick would all be working for the Pilot Point Theater Arts, helping with the summer musical production. Arianna and I both had been assigned at the Sayle Real Estate Agency, only Arianna would be helping Anita stage homes while I would be working in the office. I wondered if Arianna had gotten a red card too. Grace had the preschool assignment with my grandma. Lukas would work at a local garage—they’d probably beg him to stay. Wally was doing something at the airport. Drew would be working with a dentist, El McWilly with Boss Schwarz at C Camp, and Samantha with the Pilot Point Police Department.

  I had not seen Kimatra Patel since that first day. I found her on Facebook through Nick’s page and added her, doubting she’d accept my friend request. But I was out of ideas as far as investigating her went. Facebook stalking was the best plan I had.

  Friday afternoon, Lukas and I worked on the banana’s transmission. Well, Lukas worked. I did exciting things like empty the dirty fluid, clean the pan, hand things to Lukas when he asked me to, and eat Doritos. Lukas said I would have to drive the car a couple hundred miles to see if the cleaner had helped, otherwise I would be looking at some serious internal transmission work.

  When we finished, we went inside to watch game three of the Eastern Conference playoffs. The Lakers weren’t even in the running this year, forcing me to betray them by rooting for the Pacers against Miami tonight and the Spurs overall. So sad.

  Lukas walked into the kitchen. “You hungry?” he asked.

  Though I’d just finished the bag of Doritos, I said, “I’m always hungry.”

  “I’ll make some guac.”

  “You’re going to cook?” This I had to see.

  “Hardly.” Lukas washed up, then grabbed two avocados and a knife. He cut the avocados down the middle, popped out the pit, then used a spoon to scoop out the green, which he mashed into paste. Then he stirred in a half a jar of salsa.

  “Grab that bag of chips.” He nodded past me to an unopened bag of tortilla chips sitting beside the toaster.

  I obeyed and claimed the couch in the living room. Lukas sat in the recliner. I opened the chips and ate two at once, then grabbed a handful and set the bag on the end of the couch where Lukas could reach. He’d set the guacamole on the coffee table. I filled a chip and sampled a bite.

  “Hey, that’s good.” Though why should I be surprised that Lukas could probably win on Master Chef?

  “Miami’s got this,” he said. “Indiana doesn’t have a chance.”

  “Totally,” I said. “It’ll be Spurs against Miami in the final. Spurs will take it.”

  Lukas pushed the chips toward me. “Stuff more chips in that mouth, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  I complied.

  My phone buzzed, and I checked it. I had a Facebook notification.

  My heart skipped a beat. Kimatra Patel had accepted my friend request. And sent me a private message that said: What are you doing right now?

  My. How chatty.

  I wrote back: Watching the game.

  A car engine rumbled close and died out front. I glanced at Lukas.

  His eyes never left the TV. “Izzy’s home.”

  Ah. Facebook said Kimatra Patel was typing. I stared at my phone, wondering what she’d say next.

  The door opened, and Isabel and Grace came in.

  I shoved the phone between my knees.

  “Oh no,” Isabel said, frowning. “You guys are watching sports?”

  Grace walked up to the couch, eyes glued on the TV. She was wearing her Miami Heat cap.

  I lifted my foot and pushed in the back of her legs. “Don’t you wear that hat in here.”

  As her knees buckled, she caught herself on the arm of the couch. “Why you watching if you want them to lose? You know they won’t.”

  I shrugged, admiring the way Grace’s hair curled down her back. “I watch because it’s basketball.”

  “No!” Lukas yelled. “Did you see that? Dragić just threw the ball out of bounds! I can’t believe they’re behind.”

  I caught the replay. “They’ll catch up. They’re at home.”

  Isabel picked up the bag of chips and sat on my left. Grace stood by the couch, looking awkward.

  “Have a seat, Graciela,” Lukas said, patting his lap. “Stay a while.”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she sat primly on my right.

  Quite pleased to have found myself in a girl sandwich, I leaned back and put my arms along the back of the couch—a move I’d learned from Kip. My cell phone slipped out from my knees and clattered on the floor. I leaned forward to grab it, but Grace was quicker.

  She picked it up, glanced at it. Her eyebrows sank, and she handed me the phone. “You have a message.”

  I winced, glanced at the screen. Kimatra had replied: My money goes to Miami’s team, but I prefer to be a Lakers girl myself.

  I started to smile—caught myself and glanced at Grace, who was studying the floor.

  “Es-pensor, I wish I could die my hair this color.” Isabel brushed her fingers through my hair.

  “That color isn’t right for your skin tone, Isabel,” Grace said.

  “You’re prolly right.” Isabel sat back. “I can’t wait to start my OTM. Prière says I get to work with hair and make-up.” She gasped. “Es-pensor! Can I practice on you?”

  “No,” I said quickly.

  “I just want brush your hair. Maybe add some gel. Please?”

  Gel?

  “¡Cierra la boca!” Lukas yelled. “I can’t hear the game.”

  “You tonto. Why you gotta hear it, eh? Just watch it.” Isabel turned back to me. She set the chips on the table, then twisted until she was standing on her knees on the couch. She brushed both hands through my hair and hummed. “It’s so soft, your hair. What shampoo you use?”

  “Whatever Grandma buys.”

  “Boys.” She jumped off the couch. “Be right back!” She ran down the hallway, out of sight.

  “You’re in trouble now,” Lukas said. “She’s going to mess with your hair.”

  So? If a girl wanted to touch me, I wasn’t going to complain, though I wished it was Grace rather than Isabel.

  Footsteps pounded down the hall, and Isabel reappeared. She tossed a brush and a yellow zipper pouch on the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled. “Sit on the floor, Es-pensor. Come on.”

  I grimaced because I felt I should, then slid down to the floor and leaned ba
ck against the bottom section of the couch. I peeked around Isabel’s legs as Paul George hit a jumper from the top of the key and drew a foul.

  “Nice,” I said.

  Isabel raked the brush through my hair a few times. “Grace, get the gel from Lukas’s room. Please?”

  “After the free throw,” Grace said.

  “Should I be worried about the gel?” I asked Lukas.

  “Pfft, would anything I say matter?”

  I groaned as George missed the free throw.

  Grace bopped me on the head as she got up. “Don’t root for the Pacers.”

  “I’m rooting for George,” I yelled after her. “We have the same number.” I grabbed my cell and messaged Kimatra: A Lakers girl? Did you grow up in LA?

  It was the best comment I could think of that I could type quickly and might tell me more about her. I shoved my phone in my pocket just as Grace returned with the gel.

  For the next hour and a half, Lukas and I watched the game while Isabel sculpted my hair into… something. Grace found a pen and drew an ink tattoo on my arm that said “Kobe For President.”

  All their attention made me feel like a happy cat. If I could have, I would have purred. But when Isabel pulled out the makeup, I put my foot down.

  “I am not wearing makeup,” I said.

  Grace stepped over me as she climbed off the couch. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll take you,” I said pushing to my feet.

  Isabel stepped around me. “No, Es-pensor. I’ll take her.”

  “Then you’ll come back and fix my hair, right?” I asked, squinting at my reflection in the darkened picture window. My head looked like a mace. I had spikes.

  “I think you look perfect,” Grace said. She stepped into my personal space, put her arms around my waist, and gave me a hug. She was so small, her head fit under my arm. I hugged her back, of course, inhaling her tropical scent. When she let go, her shirt was hanging too far to one shoulder, revealing a purple bruise on the curve of her neck. How had I missed that before? Had her dad been losing his temper again? I wanted to ask about it, but decided to wait until later.

  The girls left me and my 80s hair with Lukas and the game. I reclaimed my spot on the couch, dwelling on Grace’s fresh bruise, and grabbed the nearly empty bag of chips.

  “She’s into you,” Lukas said. “Grace, I mean, not Izzy.”

  “Nah.”

  “Oh, yes she is. I know her looks. I dated her, remember?”

  “I try to forget that, actually.”

  Lukas laughed. “She’s a good kisser.”

  “Don’t,” I said. “That mental image is not helping right now.”

  “So what would help?”

  I shrugged, nervous just thinking about Grace liking me as something more than a friend. I would mess it up. I knew I would. Besides, there was that yearbook guy she kept talking about. And once I asked her about that bruise, she’d be ticked off.

  “More time, I think.” Lots more.

  Like, decades.

  I pulled my phone from my pants pocket to text Grace about the bruise and saw that Kimatra had replied to my question. Not in LA, no. I grew up in India. In Mumbai. I came here for college, which I will start this fall. I will study to be a nurse at the UCLA school.

  Interesting. Were her parents rich? Seemed expensive to send your kid across the world for college. She was being so open, I took a risk and brought up Nick. That’s cool. UCLA is a great school. How long have you known Nick?

  Then I switched over to messaging and texted Grace: That a bruise on your neck? Then I sat watching TV with Lukas and feeling like I’d just made two colossal blunders.

  ****

  Finals ran Tuesday to Thursday the last week of May, so Monday was our last day to study. I picked up Grace that morning and razzed her all the way to school, saying that the Spurs would beat Miami in the finals. She didn’t mention the bruise or my text, so let it go. This time. But I’d be watching her carefully, and if I saw another bruise, I was going to have a little talk with her daddy. The first and only time I’d ever spoken with the man hadn’t gone well. I hated to fall into a pattern, but if left with no choice, I wouldn’t hesitate to threaten him with words and force.

  In Harris Hall, Mr. S grilled us over outdoor survival methods. After class I offered to get together with Grace that night and study, but she was already studying with Arianna and Isabel and didn’t ask me to join them.

  Whatev.

  I ran into Kip at the door of our Algebra II class. “Hey, Spencer. You hear I’m having another Jolt Revolt party?”

  I took a calming breath before answering. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll be sure to have an air-tight alibi that night.” I walked inside the room.

  Kip called after me, “You don’t have to be such a—”

  The word he used was so nasty that made it really hard for me to keep walking.

  But I did. Gabe would be so proud.

  That afternoon Mr. S had to leave early to pick up his daughters, so he left us alone in Room 401 to study our OST book for the final. The room was covered in posters from various countries and had two round tables, one for Alpha team, another for Diakonos.

  Ten minutes later, Kimatra Patel let herself in. My cheeks burned when I saw her. I caught Grace looking at me, so I pretended I hadn’t noticed the new arrival. Over the last few days, Kimatra and I had continued talking on Facebook Messenger. I’d found out she was an only child. Orphaned. Came to America on some kind of scholarship program she had yet to name, but I was optimistic I could get it from her in time.

  “You’re not supposed to come in here,” Arianna said. “This is a closed class.”

  “Shut it, Mission-Ari,” Nick said. “Kimmy’s my ride.”

  Oh no no. One should not call a gorgeous actress “Kimmy” as if she had scraped knees, pigtails, and braces.

  Proving my point, Kimatra stopped behind Nick’s chair. He tipped his head way back to look up and her, and she leaned over and kissed him upside down.

  How on planet earth was this psychotically hot woman Nick’s girlfriend?

  She blurred before my eyes, until there were two of her kissing Nick. A wave of dizziness swept over me and I heard her scream.

  It’s the hospital again. The doctor is yelling at Kimatra in his foreign language. She shakes her head, disagreeing with whatever he’d said. Tears have left streaks down her cheeks. One of the nurses takes her hand and brushes the sweaty hair back from her face, comforting her. Then I see why she’s crying. On the other side of the room, another nurse puts a bundle in a little cart, which she wheels out into the hall. Kimatra reaches after it, yelling, pleading in that same foreign language.

  “Spencer?”

  I came out of the glimpse and found Grace reaching across the table, clutching my wrist, staring at me, her forehead all scrunched up.

  I shivered, still feeling the emotions from my vision. I didn’t understand what I’d seen. Maybe Kimatra was going to give her kid up for adoption, then have second thoughts. But why have her baby in another country?

  “See you losers later.”

  Nick. He was on his feet now. He stacked his books in a short pile and swept them off the table, then headed for the door, holding Kimatra’s hand.

  I watched them leave, not looking away until the door shut.

  My gaze fell to Diakonos’s table where Arianna sat with Samantha, Isabel, and Lukas. A book on the floor under Nick’s chair caught my eye. I instantly knew what it was because I had the same book. Plus I’d seen Nick drag it to class for the past few years.

  His intercession journal.

  Hard to believe that Nick was also gifted in intercession. I tended to forget that. Because intercession was prayer, and someone that mean couldn’t be praying very often.

  Grace was still holding my hand—er, my arm, technically.

  “Need a ride today?” I asked.

  She let go. A shrug. “I don’t know.”

  She didn�
�t know? I studied her, confused, then eventually came up with an equally lame statement. “Well, if you figure it out before I leave, I can take you.”

  But first I needed to get that intercession journal.

  I waited until everyone left and it was just me and Grace. I got up and deliberately knocked one of my books off the table. “Oops.” I bent to retrieve it, but kicked it toward the empty Diakonos table. It slid right up beside Nick’s journal. Perfect. “Oh, man. So clumsy.” I fetched my book, set it on top of Nick’s journal, and picked up both.

  Totally stealth.

  I grabbed the rest of my stuff, and as I headed for the door, I heard Grace push back her chair. I glanced back and she smiled at me.

  Oh, yes. The girl couldn’t get enough of me.

  Or my sweet ride.

  Yet she barely spoke on the drive to her place. When I thought over our interactions from the last class, I guessed she might be mad at me for staring at Kimatra. I had to admit, that had probably looked bad. Like she wouldn’t have drooled if Benny Cumberbatch had dropped by Room 401. I so didn’t understand the obsession girls had with that guy. Besides, I wasn’t into Kimatra or anything. I just wanted to find out who she worked for, what she was doing with Nick, why she’d been looking for me before, and what had made her give up.

  Oh, yeah, and what do to with my knowledge of her and Nick’s love child.

  Shudder.

  I dropped off Grace, then pushed the speed limit back to my house, bursting to look at Nick’s journal. Grandma wasn’t home yet, so I headed down the hall.

  And ran into a man.

  In retrospect, the sound I made was a little embarrassing. Thankfully I recognized my uncle before I tried to take him out with my League Combat skills. Somebody could have gotten hurt. Probably me.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked Kimbal. “Shouldn’t you be in a car out front?”

  “We thought we saw a prowler. I have a key, so I let myself in.”

  “You have a key.” Of course he did. Why didn’t I know this?

  “House is clean,” Kimbal said. “No sign of forced entry.”