The Profile Match, page 12
DATE AND TIME: Tuesday, November 20, 7:05 p.m.
We won our first game of the season against North. Our second game was a local one against Pilot Point High School. By the time the JV girls, JV boys, and varsity girls had played, and we’d run out onto the court in our uniforms, the stands were packed full of people. We began warm-ups. I made a lay-up, rebounded, and passed to Chaz at the front of the line. As I jogged to the back, I looked for the PPH cheerleaders without it being obvious that I was looking for them.
Seeing Grace was like a punch to the gut. I missed her so much. I just stood there in my warm-ups, staring at her until Chaz shoved me, and I moved forward in line. Jasmine saw this, elbowed Grace, then whispered in her ear. Grace glanced at me, looked guilty, then pranced away, nose in the air as if I wasn’t worth looking at.
It made things easier, really, because it ticked me off. And when I was mad, I played better. I kept watching her from my side vision. Saw her talking to that bum Eli. I didn’t want to be jealous of a male cheerleader. I mean, come on. But there he was, hands all over my girlfriend.
Former girlfriend.
I still didn’t know what to call her. What a mess.
“Spencer!”
I turned at the sound of a girl’s voice and went into an instant daze. Brittany Holmes was here. With Meg Farland. Two actresses come to see me play? I snapped out of it and jogged over to them, hoping Grace would see.
“Hey,” I said.
“You look good in a uniform, NCAA,” Meg said, tracing my number 24 with her finger. “Really good.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, suddenly embarrassed. Of course, I pretended otherwise. “I always look good,” I said.
Meg chuckled. “So modest.”
Brittany glanced past me, eyes roving the bleachers. “So where should we sit?”
“Brittany!”
A clatter on the bleachers behind us turned out to be Kip, all but tripping over himself and everyone else to reach the floor.
Brittany smirked and set her hand on one hip, all attitude. “Kiplan Johnson, what are you doing here?”
“I go to school with Spencer,” he said. “You ladies need a place to sit? I’ve got seats right behind the team.”
Brittany glanced at Meg, then at me. I shrugged. “I’ll be in the game.” I left them there to figure it out and ran back onto the court. Alex tossed me a ball. I squared up on the baseline and shot from outside the three-point line.
All net.
I ran under the basket to get my ball and saw Grace standing with Jasmine, both staring past me to the bleachers where Kip was now seated with the actresses.
I couldn’t help it. The look of helpless jealousy on her face made me exceedingly happy.
I pushed her from my thoughts and set my mind on the game.
It was always fairly close between us and PPH. They were a bigger school, but we were a better team. In the end, we beat them 68–61. Twenty-some of those points had been mine. After the game, Sue Adams from the Pilot Point Bulletin, my nemesis reporter, came up and asked me about colleges.
“I’m considering several options,” I told her.
“And your injury?”
“My knee is in great shape,” I said. “I’m ready to play college ball. I just want to be sure I pick the right school.” Whichever school had mercy on my poor, battered soul. Hopefully Sue Adams would like my comeback story enough to print it. Any clippings I got would be emailed to recruiting coaches, especially those who’d asked about me or offered me once upon a time. Could be we’d get some renewed interest.
When I came back from the shower and opened my locker, I saw on my phone that both Brittany and Meg had texted me.
Brittany: we gotta go. u played great.
Meg: Spencer, it was so great to watch you play. You’re really good. Your whole team is. But you are definitely the best! I’m sure by the end of the season, you’ll have your offer. Sorry we had to run. See you soon, I hope. 😊
I changed into my street clothes and went back into the gym. Most everyone had left, but there were still pockets of people standing around, talking.
A man approached me and introduced himself as a recruiting coach. My heart about burst out of my chest until he said what school he was from. D2. I listened politely. Took his card. Thanked him and told him I’d talk with my coach.
I met another recruiting coach in the lobby. This one for an NAIA school.
By the time I walked out to my car, it was dark. Grace was leaning against the driver’s side door, still wearing her cheer uniform. A uniform that brought back far too many memories of happier times between us. No sign of Eli or Jasmine or anyone else.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s up?”
“You played so good, Spencer. I just wanted to tell you. I’m proud of you. If you keep playing like you did tonight, I’m sure a good school will make you an offer.”
I nodded. She hadn’t moved from my car door, and I didn’t know what to do. “What do you want, Grace?”
“I miss you.”
Hearing her say that made something desperate flail inside me. I released a long breath. “We’re doing the right thing. Respecting your mom.”
“My mom is wrong.”
“Don’t do that, Grace.” Mrs. Thomas had lost one kid already. All she had was Grace. I couldn’t blame the woman for being overprotective, especially after Tito had kidnapped her.
Grace’s eyes glossed with tears. “You’re mad, aren’t you?”
“I’m not mad. But I’ve got to go.” I didn’t. I just didn’t want to do this.
A tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. No need to apologize.” I took hold of her wrist and tugged her to the side. She raised on her tiptoes like she might kiss me. But I hadn’t been pulling her to me, I’d been moving her away from my car door. Once my door was free, I let go and opened it.
Her face flushed. “Text me later?”
“You first.” I closed the door and started my car. The engine growled to life. When I looked out my side window, Grace was jogging away toward a black sedan.
I set my cheek on the steering wheel and watched her go.
● ● ●
Because of practices and games, the best time I could find to meet with Mr. S and Grace was on Sunday afternoons—and then only if I had something to report. Mr. S hadn’t been too interested in Brittany and had wanted to wait until after my dinner with MacCormack.
Grace showed up in Harris Hall a couple minutes after I arrived Sunday afternoon. I was sitting in my usual desk, and she sat in front of me, sticking her ponytail in my face. The smell of her coconut shampoo wafted down my nose and laid siege to my heart.
And Arianna said I sucked at poetry.
Mr. S, who’d been sitting at his desk, stood and headed down the aisle. “Let’s talk back here,” he said, heading for one of the round tables.
I waited for Grace to get up and watched her pass my desk. She didn’t even look at me.
Whatever.
I got up and followed. We all three sat at the Alpha table. I sat across from Mr. S, and Grace sat beside him. Nice. It felt like they were going to interrogate me.
“I hope you both had a nice Thanksgiving,” Mr. S said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Fine,” Grace said.
“Gabe was home, just for the day,” Mr. S said. “He wanted to see you, Spencer, but he had to get back. Has a job at the mall and was working Black Friday. Wanted me to say, ‘Hi.’ ”
Gabe who seemed to forget he could just text me like a normal person would. “Yeah, ‘Hi’ back to him,” I said.
“Why don’t you go ahead and report?” Mr. S said, clicking the top of a pen and poising it over a blank notebook page.
“Well, I went to MacCormack’s house for dinner on—”
“Didn’t you go to Brittany Holmes’s house first?” Mr. S asked.
Grace stared at me. “You went to her house?”
Sure, now Mr. S wanted to talk about Brittany. “Uh, yeah,” I said. “I went there a few weeks ago. It was, uh, Tuesday the sixth, I believe. I went up after practice.”
“How?” Grace asked. “I mean, you don’t just drop by the house of a movie star and get invited inside.”
“I told you we met at the premiere,” I said. “So when I decided to investigate MacCormack, I texted her. She works for him, so I figured she’s a source of intel.”
“Intel my foot,” Grace said. “You like her.”
“I do not,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and looked away.
I tried again. “Grace, I don’t like her.”
“Agent Thomas,” Mr. S said, “let’s let Agent Garmond give his report, then we can ask questions. Is that okay with you?”
“Whatever,” she said.
Mr. S nodded for me to continue, so I told them how Brittany had invited me over. I gave them her address, described her place, her maid, chef, and friends. “That’s pretty much it.”
“That’s where you met Meg Farland?” Grace asked.
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“What went on while you were there?” Mr. S asked.
“Nothing much. We just sat around and talked.”
Mr. S scribbled in his notebook. “Any illegal substances appear?”
“Uh . . . kind of. But I didn’t touch any of it. Denny had a vape mod. It was one of those vapes for dry herbs, because I saw him refill it at least twice with weed. He was passing it around. And some of them were drinking. Brittany has a full bar in her house. Most of her guests were over twenty-one, though, so it wasn’t illegal for them. But there were minors present, so I guess they were contributing. No sign of iVitrax, but Meg and Claudia both had fresh grid marks on their arms. They’d clearly had some recently.”
“And what did you have?” Grace asked.
“Brittany’s chef, Arne, made me a pastrami sandwich with pickles. And I had a Sprite.”
“Next time you’re around any illegal substances, you go right to the field office and take a drug test,” Mr. S said.
Whoa. “What for?”
He held up his hands. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Spencer. This is to protect you from any accusations that might arise later.”
“Accusations from who?”
“You never know,” Mr. S said. “Look, I’ve met a lot of agents who regretted not going in to test after a mission. I’ve never met anyone who regretted going in. It covers your backside. You should know how important that is, more than most.”
“Okay, I get it,” I said, calming down.
“What did you guys do?” Mr. S asked.
“Like I already said. Sat around and talked. I really only talked to Brittany and Meg. I got Meg’s number. She wanted to come see me play ball, and her and Brittany came to the PPH game last Tuesday. They left before I could talk to them. I haven’t heard from Brittany since, but I’ve been texting Meg.”
“What about?” Grace asked.
“Nothing much. I asked about her being an actress, so she’s been telling me about that. I also started watching her show, so I could ask about the story. Spoilers for season three. Stuff like that. She’s here for the next few months doing publicity. She’s got to go back to Vancouver this spring to shoot season three.”
“Okay,” Mr. S said. “What about MacCormack? How’d that go?”
So I told him all about my dinner with Ving and Diane. The tour of the house. The video game room. His offer that I could live there if I wanted, have a party, bring my girlfriend—I waggled my eyebrows at Grace. I told them what we talked about. How I didn’t know who the First Twin was. How they wanted me to become a Dream Dealer. How I should spend more time with them in hopes that I’d spark some prophecies to present myself as authentic.
“Have you had any prophecies about them?” Mr. S asked.
“No. Not that I’m aware of,” I said. “But I had another one about Anya. The same as before. But it happened when I touched a set of car keys at Ving’s. I was thinking she must have driven that car.”
“Could be,” Mr. S said.
“What’s a Dream Dealer?” Grace asked.
“There have been some Mission League agents who’ve had prophecies or heard or read them and gone on to sell them or use them for blackmail,” Mr. S said. “It’s rare. They became known as Dream Dealers, but the truth is, while people can steal prophecies, God does not give prophecies for exploitation. So while some might abuse the prophecies of intercessors, any intercessor who chooses to walk down that path—in my experience—no longer receives future prophecies. In other words, Dream Dealers careers are very short lived.”
“God takes away his gift,” I said.
“And rightly so,” Mr. S said. “The only way one could keep on is if it were a person who had access to an intercessor’s notebook or the files at a field office. What else happened?”
I told them about how MacCormack and Diane had met. How they’d encouraged me to join Brittany’s FLY group.
“What did Director Moreland say about that?” Mr. S asked.
“He said I should go ahead.” Actually, Watkins said that Moreland said I should go ahead, but I didn’t think Mr. S cared that Moreland had pawned me off on his minion.
“Anything else?” Mr. S asked.
“Yeah, Ving said I could borrow any of his cars for as long as I wanted. I don’t think it’s a good idea. With Sue Adams always hounding me, I don’t want anyone thinking some coach is giving me a bribe. But I thought it would look suspicious if I didn’t at least take one for a spin. I’d like to drive the one Anya used, see if I can find any clues in there or maybe have another glimpse. I told Ving I needed to ask Grandma, which I did. She’s fine with it as long as you are.”
“What did Director Moreland say?”
“He said I could drive them around for fun while I was in Ving’s world and to look into Anya, but that I shouldn’t keep any overnight or bring them back to my house.”
“That sounds wise,” Mr. S said. “What kind of car?”
I grinned. “A Corvette. Bright yellow. It’s gorgeous.”
Mr. S nodded like he could appreciate a nice car. “Just don’t wreck it,” he said.
“Please,” I said. “You saw the grade I got in Defensive Driving.”
“What was his grade?” Grace asked.
“Only perfect score I’ve ever seen,” Mr. S said.
I flashed Grace a cheesy smile. She rolled her eyes.
“All right,” Mr. S said. “I have all I need. Grace? Did this bring up anything for you?”
“No, but I have a question.”
“Go ahead,” Mr. S said.
“How far does he take his investigation with those actresses? What if one of them starts liking him. Is he supposed to date them?”
I fought back a grin. Grace was jealous. About me. After all her talk about Eli, I found this moment rather satisfying.
“Spencer has been well trained,” Mr. S said. “And he’s been given the lead of this investigation. So we’re going to trust him to conduct it as he sees fit.”
I got to admit. That answer made me feel ah-mazing. I mean, it was about time someone trusted me.
But Grace turned to Mr. S, her mouth hanging open. “It’s up to him?”
“That’s right,” Mr. S said.
“It shouldn’t be up to him.”
“Grace,” Mr. S said, “I’ve decided to trust Spencer. Can you trust him too?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she glared at him. “I’m not trying to control anything. I just think he’s going to get hurt.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “I’m not going to get hurt,” I said.
She glanced at me, eyes wet with unshed tears. “You can’t know that.”
“Neither can you.”
Mr. S stood up. “If there’s nothing else, I have a piano lesson to teach.”
“Thanks, Mr. S,” I said, pushing to my feet.
“Be careful, Spencer,” Grace said.
“Will do.”
I headed for the door, pushed through, and took the steps up four at a time, loving the burn that gave my thighs. I moved quickly through the broom closet and stepped out into the cool afternoon, hoping to be gone before Grace came out. No such luck. Three steps across the grass and I heard the door close again. Footsteps swishing over the grass behind me made me turn my head. Grace, following me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I need a ride.”
Was she kidding me?
She caught up and stopped beside me, looked up with those crystalline blue eyes.
Apparently, she was not kidding.
“You know I can’t,” I said. “Why don’t you call Jasmine?”
“Can we just talk for a few minutes?” She reached my car first, opened the passenger’s door, and got in.
Oh-kay.
I climbed in, and Grace handed me a manila envelope.
I took it. “What’s this?”
She shrugged. “It was sitting on your passenger’s seat.”
A chill ran over me. “It’s not mine.”
Grace stared at the envelope. “You should start locking your car. You going to open it?”
I did. Out slid a key attached to a slip of paper that had a bunch of numbers on it and a Pilot Point address. I pulled out my phone and typed in the address. “Pilot Point Savings and Trust,” I said.
“Maybe it’s to a safety deposit box,” Grace said.
“I’ll drive over there and ask,” I said.
“They’re closed on Sunday,” she said.
“Right.” I sighed, staring at the key. “Tomorrow then.”
“Pick me up?”
“Grace! Your mom doesn’t want you around me.”
“You don’t know this is related to your investigation.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What else would it be for? And why would that matter?”
Silence stretched between us. Grace’s forehead creased. Something was bothering her. I gave her a moment to find her words.
“I don’t want you to date either of those girls,” she said finally.
I frowned, trying to force my brain to leap to a new subject. “What girls?”
“Brittany Homes. Meg Farland.”
