Broken Trust

by Jill Williamson

  “Yes. But the longest sinew is always found along either side of the backbone.”

  Isabel clapped her hands over her ears. “La-la-la.”

  Everybody laughed.

  “Does it have to be natural?” Grace asked. “Couldn’t you use fabric or trash bags? Stuff like that?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. S said. “Both can be shredded to make cordage. The inner bark of most trees can also be stripped out and woven. But the easiest substance to find is dead plants. In Alaska you’ll look for grass, fireweed, willow branches. We don’t have any of that here. We’ll look for dogbane and nettle in the Verdugo Mountains. It’s actually stinging nettle in this part of California. The hairs will sting you if you’re not careful.”

  We set off with Mr. S in search of dogbane and stinging nettle. He showed us how to handle the nettle by working with the grain of the hairs. We each cut a stalk of both plants, then returned to the tables.

  Nick was the last one cutting his stalks, so I lingered a bit, then approached. Kimatra had been giving me zilch to work with, so I figured I’d see if Nick might let anything slip.

  “You like working for the vending machine people?” I asked.

  Nick looked up, eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “My car needs a lot of work, so I’m looking for a summer job, you know, once the OTM is over.”

  “They’re not hiring,” he said, walking past me.

  Well, that went well.

  I returned to my place between Gabe and Lukas and set to work. First we had to scrape all the hairs off the nettle, so we wouldn’t get stung. Then we found stones and beat the stalks flat against the wheel stops in the parking lot. When the stalks were malleable, we folded them until the hard part broke, then peeled it away from the grass green fibers inside.

  Once we got our strands all separated, we had to twist two together. Twist and twist. For a really, really, really long time.

  When we ran out of fiber, we would have to add a new length. I hadn’t made it that far. The girls had. And Gabe. And El McWilly was holding his own. But me and Lukas and Drew and Nick were not feeling the love on this new skill. And Wally… He hadn’t even managed to crush his stalk yet.

  “Are we getting points for this?” I asked.

  “You know better than that, Agent Garmond,” Mr. S said. “You get points for everything.”

  I glanced at Grace, who had clamped the end of her cord between her teeth and was twisting the thing like this was some sort of reality TV show competition. Gabe was rolling his on his thigh, which seemed to twist it faster. The rest of us were doing it with our fingers and not well. I tried it Gabe’s way for a while. I was not putting stinging nettle into my mouth, despite the fact that Mr. S had said it was safe to eat.

  “This is stupid!” Drew said, throwing down his cord. “Every time I let go, it untwists. Cordage is dumb. I hate cordage!”

  “No problemo, man,” Lukas said. “Just wait until the friction fire day. We will dominate that OST.”

  We learned to make a simple cord wrap, a reverse wrap, how to splice the fibers together to make longer cordage, how to double the strength of our ropes by joining two reverse wraps together, and how to finish the ends with a figure-eight knot.

  And when I say that we “learned it,” I mean that Mr. S showed us how it was done and we did our best to imitate him. And my best kind of stank.

  I was still attempting to tie a figure-eight knot in the end of my “cord” when I heard a car leave. Mr. S had dismissed us, but I was determined to finish my cord and get my points.

  “Spencer?” Grace said. “Can I get a ride?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” I looked around. Nick was already driving away. Wally was climbing into the front seat of his mom’s car. Isabel, Arianna, and Samantha were standing by Isabel’s car, talking. Mr. S and Gabe were loading boxes into his minivan.

  Rats. I forgot I needed to talk to him. I stood up. “I just need to ask Mr. S something. Be right back.”

  I met him at the van. “I finished my cord.” I held it up, frowning slightly at how loose it looked.

  “A valiant effort, Agent Garmond,” Mr. S said, accepting it.

  “Thanks. Hey, Mr. S? I need to leave early on the edible plants day.”

  “How early?”

  “Lunchtime.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “There’s this, uh… This baptism thing at the church. At Cornerstone and I—”

  His eyes lit up. “Who’s getting baptized?”

  My hands were shaking. Why were my hands shaking? “Uh… me?”

  I swear, the guy hopped. Just a little one, but I think it’s fair to say that Mr. S jumped up and down at this news.

  He adjusted his glasses, which had jostled during his little dance. “Spencer, that’s incredible. Of course you can leave early.”

  “I can make up whatever I miss.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  Too many awkwardly silent seconds followed in which we stared at each other.

  Awkwardly.

  I could only take so much of that. “So, I’ll see you later, then.”

  “Yes, see you next Saturday, Spencer.”

  I took off. Not that I didn’t like Mr. S. I liked him just fine. But the socially-awkward gene ran strong in the Stopplecamp family.

  I opened my car door and waited, hoping to let out some heat. Grace was standing with the girls, so I went around and opened her door too.

  She came over. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to let some air in.”

  “It’ll cool down once we get going.” She took off her hoodie and laid it over the seat, then climbed inside.

  “Okay.” I shut her door, then ran around to my side and climbed in. The seat burned my legs. Figs and jam! I wiggled and tugged my shorts down to create a fabric barrier.

  “My dad keeps a towel in the trunk to put over the seat,” Grace said.

  “Good idea.” I started the car and drove away. Not nearly enough air came in through the windows.

  “Can we do something?” Grace asked. “I don’t want to go home.”

  “Sure. What do you want to do?”

  “Shoot baskets at your house?”

  I grinned. She could have said she wanted to do yoga and I would have agreed. But this was my kind of extra-curricular activity. “You got it.”

  We actually had a decent conversation about cordage on the way to my house, but just as I pulled into the driveway, Grandma walked out the front door. As we got out of the car, she stood on the porch, watching us. Her arms were coated in black metal bracelets today, and when she put her hands on her hips, she sounded like a wind chime.

  Aww, nuts. Hands on hips… bad sign.

  “Have you been driving Grace around before today?” she asked me.

  “Maybe,” I said, wincing.

  She shook her head. “You can’t do that, Spencer. Not until you’ve had your license for at least a year.”

  “But I aced Defensive Driving.”

  “Don’t you use the Mission League as an excuse. I don’t care if you invented the automobile. The law is the law. Don’t do it again.”

  And just like that, Grandma had ruined everything. If I couldn’t drive Grace around, when would I get to spend time with her?

  Grandma and I stood there, glowering at each other like two old west gunslingers with our hands poised over our belted pistols, ready to draw.

  But I knew when I’d been beaten.

  Grandma came down the steps and walked past me. “Grace, honey, I’m just running to the store for a couple things. Spencer’s not allowed to have girls over when I’m not here, so why don’t I give you a ride home now?”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Garmond,” Grace said, smiling like they were the best of friends.

  I pretty much gasped. “But what about playing basketball?”

  Grace shrugged. “Some other time, I guess.”

  She guessed. She guessed
? Well, I guessed that I’d be giving my grandma the silent treatment for a few days. That ought to show her, right?

  Right?

  REPORT NUMBER: 9

  REPORT TITLE: I Set Up Surveillance Cams

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Grandma Alice’s House, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Monday, June 11, 3:00 a.m.

  At 3:00 a.m. late Sunday, early Monday, my iPhone alarm went off, and I went out to plant my cameras on the Sayle Real Estate commercial properties. I figured before dawn would be best because bad guys would be sleeping but so would the good guys. No one should see me at that hour.

  Prière had gotten me the most amazing spy cameras. They were covert Wi-Fi digital wireless Web cams inside power receptacles. So they looked like power outlets—European ones, so that no one would try plugging in something. I grabbed a screwdriver from Grandma’s tool cabinet and set off.

  I’d found the lockbox codes for each of the sixteen properties when Jessica had asked me to file for her last Thursday.

  These people really made my job way too easy.

  I drove from one property to the next, let myself in, and set up the cameras.

  These were all commercial locations. There were five spaces inside office buildings, three retail spaces downtown, six isolated retail buildings, and two warehouses. I put each camera in a place that would show the entrance and give the widest view inside. Prière had access to a satellite that I could connect the cameras to. He’d walked me through it last night, and I should have no trouble at all connecting the Wi-Fi. The feed would be recorded in the regional Mission League office, and after each 24-hour segment, I’d receive an email with a link so I could review the footage. I could also log in and view the footage live.

  So cool.

  I saw nothing suspicious in any of these properties. It looked like the second half of this assignment was going to be bor-ring.

  It took me just under three hours to put a camera in each of the sixteen properties. By the time I got home, it was after six and Grandma was up, making eggs.

  “Where have you been so early? Not running.”

  “I had something to do for Prière.” The smell of scrambled eggs made my stomach growl. I was starving. “Got enough for me?”

  “You can have mine. I’ll make some more.” She scraped the scrambled eggs onto a plate and set it at the kitchen table. “Here. Sit and eat.”

  I obeyed.

  “What’s this about you getting baptized?” Grandma asked. “Mrs. Martin told me yesterday at church. She heard it from her daughter, who heard it from Kerri Stopplecamp.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “Sounds like gossip.”

  “So it’s not true?”

  “No, it’s true. I signed up. You don’t have to come or anything.”

  She huffed and went back to her cooking, mumbling to herself, “Why should I come? It’s not like I was invited.”

  Whatever. I shoveled in a bite of eggs. I wanted a nap, but it was an hour until I had to be at the real estate agency, and I deemed a shower more important.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re talking to me again, at least. I didn’t appreciate your brooding silence.”

  Oh yeah. I forgot I wasn’t talking to “Grandma the girl police.” So I stopped talking and ate my eggs.

  She shook her head. “I know you like Grace, Spencer, but I can’t allow you to break the law and—”

  “I know. I get it. It’s fine.” I scooped up the last bite of eggs. I did not want to talk to Grandma anymore, especially about Grace. Time to hit the road.

  ****

  I worked nine to five. Then I went to physical therapy. Then I went to Lukas’s place and worked on the car. I repeated this schedule all week and did my best to avoid Grandma and her sudden desire to lecture me like I was thirteen.

  Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday passed by with no word—misspelled or otherwise—from Grace. And then late Wednesday afternoon she texted and asked me to pick her up for youth group.

  Um. Hello? Why was she even asking?

  Me: You know I can’t.

  Grace: ???

  Me: Grandma? She told me I can’t drive you anymore.

  Grace: :(

  Seriously?

  Grace: Wen can u? legaly?

  Me: I’ll be 18 next Feb.

  Grace: :( :( :( :( :(

  Me: Can you get another ride?

  Grace: yep. c u their

  I wondered what Grace’s English grade was last semester.

  I drove the banana to Cornerstone, again reminisced about my exploits as a delinquent middle schooler, and went inside to the youth room. Grace was already there, talking with Isabel, Sam, Arianna, and—ug—Sherry. I took my favorite spot on the back couch where my height wouldn’t block anyone’s view.

  Arianna came back to say hi, and I took our brief moment of privacy to ask about her OTM. “So, how is working for Anita Sayle? I still haven’t met the woman.”

  “She’s crazy,” Arianna said. “I think it might be fun to stage apartments on my own, but she just orders me around.”

  “She ever talk with Kimatra Patel?”

  Arianna wrinkled her nose. “Nick’s girlfriend? Why would she?”

  I shrugged it off. “She came into the office and I thought it was weird.”

  “Wait, Spencer, is your OTM a red card?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re not supposed to talk about red card missions,” she hissed.

  I lifted my hands like I was playing defense. “Hey, it was just a question.”

  Grace appeared and sat down beside me. “Hello.”

  I took a deep, gratifying breath of coconut shampoo. “Hey, Tumblelina.”

  Arianna rolled her eyes and walked away.

  “So it’s one and one, now,” Grace said, tipping her Miami Heat cap at me.

  “Last night was a fluke,” I said about Miami’s win over the Spurs. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Whatever. How was physical therapy tonight?”

  “I got to run!” I did. I forgot to report that. “It felt so good.”

  She giggled. “Did you run hard?”

  “Not at first. But I did by the end. Mario says I’m looking really good. My knee, I mean.” Why did I overanalyze every word I said to this girl?

  “I’m glad, Spencer. I can’t wait to see you play again.”

  “You saw me play before?”

  “Sure. I came to some of your games. You know, before we left.”

  She did? “You never said.”

  She shrugged. “You never asked.”

  So it was like that, was it? “So maybe I need to ask you more things? So you can tell me more things.”

  Those clear blue eyes met mine. So cute. “Maybe.”

  My stomach flipped. What did that mean? What did that mean?

  Pastor Scott went into his announcements. Grace and I kept on talking—whispering—until he shushed us. I wished I could hang out with her more in person.

  Alaska. We’d hang out lots in Alaska.

  I did the math… Seven weeks until Alaska.

  Ug.

  A lot could happen in seven weeks.

  Pastor Scott finished his announcements and started the game. Tonight was musical chairs with people. All the girls got down on one knee in the middle, and the guys pranced around until the music stopped. Then they had to find a knee. While I’d probably be fine, this game was so not worth a re-injury. So I stayed on the couch when everyone rushed over to the open space in the room. But I couldn’t see very well from my position, and this game was fun to watch, so I moved to stand by the door.

  Pastor Scott started the tunes, and the guys trudged along. And I mean trudged. Lukas got into it and danced his way around. El McWilly copied him. The rest of the guys looked like they were channeling Frankenstein. Every time the music stopped, the guys scrambled to find a girl’s knee to perch on. Whichever guy was left stan
ding—he was out. Then Pastor Scott pulled out one of the girls too, and the odds increased.

  Seriously hysterical to watch, except when I started to notice a pattern. Most of the guys wouldn’t sit on Arianna’s knee. They’d either rush past, try and back up and sit on the pervious girl’s knee, or just stand there until Lukas or El McWilly swooped in, then they’d be out of the game.

  It was really starting to tick me off.

  I mean, Arianna was weird, and she could be super annoying, but once you got to know her, she was a good friend. It wasn’t her fault she took after her hairy, Sasquatch dad instead of her mom.

  The next time the music stopped, some punky freshman from PPH looked down his nose at Arianna and said, “I can’t. I just… there’s no way!”

  And a couple of his dirt-bag friends laughed, like it was funny.

  It was not.

  I lost my cool. “Hey, come on!” I said. “Arianna’s not that bad.”

  The room fell silent.

  Wow. That had come out wrong. I had meant to sound more supportive.

  Arianna ran out of the room. And I felt like that crusty stuff on the inside lip of a toilet.

  So much for trying to defend her.

  “Let’s keep it going!” Pastor Scott yelled, then said quieter to his wife, “Nat, will you check on her?”

  The group rearranged themselves, and the game continued. Pastor Scott pulled aside the punky freshman, and Natalie disappeared upstairs. She returned a minute later and headed my way.

  She’d barely reached me when I said, “I’m sorry!”

  “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” Natalie said. “Girls remember things guys say to them, Spencer. Some girls will carry around negative comments for the rest of their lives.”

  What? “Well, that’s stupid.”

  “It’s not like we want to remember. Most of us are just wired that way.”

  “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else she wanted me to say. I’d been trying to stick up for Arianna.

  “A guy’s words have immense power in a girl’s ears. Use your words to build up, not to tear down. Okay?”

  A deep sigh. “So how do I fix it?”

  “Go apologize.”

  Ohhhh-kaaaay. I found Arianna upstairs in the lobby, sitting in an arm chair behind a potted ficus tree.