Ambushed

by Jill Williamson

  “Yee-ah.” She slapped my chest and yelled, “Grace, your boyfriend’s here!”

  That got my attention. “Don’t do that,” I whispered, but Jasmine just giggled and yelled again. “Gracie Lou Who, your boyfriend’s here for you!”

  Across the gym I heard Grace mumble, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  Story of my life, really.

  I paced for ten minutes, wearing a groove into the floor, until practice ended and Grace finally came over.

  She had that look on her face, like I was some stray dog she couldn't figure out how to lose. “Hey, stalker.”

  “Hey, tumblelina. You missed class this morning.” I took in every millimeter of her face but couldn't tell if she was wearing more makeup than normal.

  “Checking up on me again, huh?”

  “Naw, I just wanted to say hey.” And see if there were any bruises on your face. I shifted to get a better look at the back of her neck. The lighting in here was pretty bad.

  “Spencer, look. I like you. But I’m not ready for a boyfriend right now. I’m just . . . there’s a lot going on.”

  That comment pulled my eyes to hers. My face got all hot. She didn't understand. She thought I was just trying to hook up. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend. Just your friend.” And keep you from getting beat up.

  “Even my best friends don’t come to my cheer practices.”

  That was fair. “Well, you didn't show this morning, so I was worried about you.”

  She folded her arms. “Why are you always worried about me? I might not be able to bench my own body weight like you, but do I look like an invalid?”

  “No.” It was time to tell her. Spill my guts and hope I didn't look like more of a freak than she already thought I was. “Okay, this will sound weird but . . .” I swallowed. “Well . . . uh . . . you know how last spring when you joined the League and Mr. S made you take that spiritual gifts test?”

  “Yeah. I got service and teaching.”

  “Okay, good. That’s great. Well, I got prophecy.”

  “Oh.” Her eyebrows sank. “Wow, that’s . . .”

  “Yeah. And that means that, uh . . . sometimes I, uh, I know things. Well, I, uh . . . I see them, sort of.” Smooth. Did I even know what I was talking about?

  She cocked one eyebrow. “You see them.”

  “Yeah, in my head.” I tapped my temple.

  She folded her arms and sank into that “prove it” pose girls do so well. “And what have you seen, Spencer?”

  I looked at the floor. “I’ve seen you get hurt.”

  “How? I fall at practice or something?”

  “No.” I scratched the back of my neck. “Some drunk guy. He uh . . .” Yup. She was looking at me like I was a freak. This wasn’t going how I’d planned. “They usually come true, Grace. The things I see. Not always, but . . .”

  She just stared at me. No expression on her face, but I could have sworn her eyes got misty. But maybe that was just the bad lighting. “Well, I’m fine, Spencer.” She smiled, a nice big fake one. “No one hurt me, okay?”

  Liar. “Okay.”

  “So stop following me around.”

  “Okay.” Yeah. Like that was going to happen.

  REPORT NUMBER: 2

  REPORT TITLE: I Have a Sleepover with a Hot Blond

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Dino’s Pizza, 235 3rd Street, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Wednesday, December 21, 8:12 p.m.

  THAT NIGHT’S GAME WAS A BLOWOUT in our favor, which put us at 10-1 for the season so far. The reporter from the Pilot Point Bulletin was waiting to talk to me after, which did take long. No, I hadn’t made a decision yet. No, I didn’t know when I would.

  Once I got away, Grandma and I went out to pizza with Gabe’s family, who’d come to watch my game. All seven of us crowded around a half-circle booth in the back of the pizza place. Grandma, Mr. S, Kerri, Gabe, his twin sisters Mary and Martha, and me. Though the twins were identical, they were easy to tell apart by their personalities and the way they dressed.

  Oh, and one of them thought she was going to marry me.

  I’d known Mary had a little crush on me since my trip to Moscow, but when we got back from Japan last summer, she told me we were going to get married someday.

  Yee-ah. Middle school girls, anyway.

  Gabe and I had turned it into a game, joking that I had to get at least a dozen goats before he’d be willing to part with his sister, since that’s what men did a zillion years ago. So when I’d seen a little stuffed goat in the mall last week, I bought it for Mary for Christmas. I thought it was funny.

  “Mary, I have something for you.” I dug the goat out of my backpack and tossed it across the table.

  She caught it and sucked in a delighted breath. “It’s a goat!”

  Gabe snatched it from her. “Oh, no. Goats go to the brother, not the bride. I keep the goats.”

  “Goats go to the father,” Mr. S said.

  “Give it back!” Mary tried to take the goat from Gabe.

  He held it up in the air. “You still owe me eleven goats, Spencer,” Gabe said. “One isn’t going to be enough.”

  “I just thought she could take care of the little guy until I got the whole herd together,” I said. “Plus I liked its beard.”

  “I want to see its beard!” Mary grabbed the goat’s tail and pulled. Gabe readjusted his grip on the thing’s head. “Don’t you dare break him, Gabriel!”

  “Gabe, give your sister the sheep,” Mr. S said.

  “It’s a goat,” Gabe said. “And it’s rightfully mine if Spencer thinks he’s going to marry her.” But then he let go, and Mary flew back against Martha in the restaurant booth.

  “Ouch!” Martha scowled at Mary, then Gabe, then me.

  But Mary straightened, smiling, and snuggled the little goat. “I’m going to name him Ramzy because he’s going to grow up to be a big ram.”

  “Goats aren’t rams, Mary,” Martha said.

  “Thank you for the present, Spencer.” Mary beamed at me. “I know you think I’m just a dumb eighth grader, but when you’re twenty-seven and I’m twenty-four, things will be different. Trust me.”

  Okay, she was getting weird again. I probably shouldn’t have encouraged her. “Yeah, I’ll be playing for the NBA.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Mary said. “You and I will—”

  “Mary,” Mr. S said. “That’s enough.”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” Mary set Ramzy in front of her plate and tugged on his little beard.

  The whole thing would be pretty funny if Mary wasn’t gifted in prophecy like me. There was no way for me to know if she was just being a goofy middle school girl or if she’d seen something.

  I was glad Mr. S had ended the conversation.

  After dinner, on the way out to the car, Mr. S pulled me aside. “Spencer, I was hoping you’d be available to come to a special birthday event I’m having for Gabe. It’s not something he knows about, so I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”

  “Sure, when is it?”

  “December thirty-first, pretty much all day. You’ll be home in time for dinner, though, in case you have plans for New Year’s Eve. I checked the basketball schedule before I picked the date in hopes that you could come.”

  “Really? Thanks, Mr. S.” But an all day party? What was that about?

  “It’s important that he have some of his friends there,” Mr. S said. “Think you can come?”

  As serious as he was looking, I wondered if Gabe was going to get some national Boy Scout award or something. I checked my phone and entered the date into my calendar. “Yeah, I can be there.”

  “Thank you, Spencer. I really appreciate it. I’ll get you the details later. And remember, it’s a surprise.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  ● ● ●

  When I got home a little after nine, I had another Facebook message from my dad. He’d
contacted me when I got back from Japan, then started messaging me on Facebook. He didn’t use the name Alex Wright on Facebook, which was the name I think he was born with. He was Ving MacCormack online. Said he’d changed his name years ago. I hadn’t accepted his friend request or answered any of his messages yet. I clicked open his latest.

  Nice triple-double tonight. You guys blew them away.

  Dad

  Uh . . . Had he been at the game?

  When I’d first gotten his letter, I was ticked. I mean, Officer Kimball, my Mission League handler, had told me my dad was a traitor who’d gotten my mom killed. But I kept thinking about how Anya had planned to cut me—to try and force me to fit the attributes of the profile match prophecy. What if my dad had been trying to do the same thing for himself, and all that traitor stuff had been an accident?

  I could relate to that kind of accident.

  In his letter, my dad said Grandma wouldn’t let me see him. So I hadn’t told her about the letter or his Facebook messages. I hadn’t told anyone. I was torn. Because what if the Mission League misunderstood what had happened? What if I had a chance to know my dad, but the Mission League wouldn’t let me?

  I didn’t know what to do. I needed to find out the truth before I made a decision, but so far I had hit nothing but dead ends.

  I opened my intercession journal to the most recent page. I wished I’d have a prophecy about my dad. That, I could use. I didn’t know what to do with all this Grace stuff.

  I’d tried spending more time with Grace in hopes I’d have another glimpse, but she’d been avoiding me lately. Telling her about my dreams probably hadn’t helped matters.

  So I loaded up Planet of Peril on my MacBook and put in my earbuds to listen to some music. Kip had already logged on, so in a few minutes Kardash, my bounty hunter, was flying in a plane with Kip’s pilot Badios.

  We were in the middle of an expedition to the Gorganan Mountains when My Precious II bleeped.

  Text message from Grace: Look out your window.

  My heart back-flipped. I pulled out my earbuds and stood from my desk. The curtains were closed. I carried my cell phone to the window and drew back the blue fabric.

  Grace was standing outside, two feet from the glass.

  I just stood there. Struck stupid. She motioned to me, mouthed words: Open the window.

  Duh, man. Move it.

  I dropped the curtain and tossed the phone to my bed, then kicked some dirty laundry under my desk just in case she looked inside. My room had been in far worse shape. Today Grandma had been in here. Put clean sheets on my bed and made it.

  I loved the woman so very much just then.

  I closed my intercession journal and put it in my desk drawer, then went to my window. I hooked the curtain into the little fabric loop and pulled up the old-style window—the house having been built in the 70s. I hadn’t opened the window since it had gotten cold, and the frame stuck a little on the paint, but thankfully I got it up. How dumb would it have looked if I couldn’t get my own window open?

  But I did. And then I stood there. Staring. Until I noticed the black streaks on Grace’s cheeks. Makeup. She’d been crying.

  My stomach roiled with dread. “What happened?”

  “Can I come in?” Her voice croaked. She was still upset.

  “Yeah, uh . . .” I glanced at the wall that separated my room from the living room, wondering where Grandma was in the house.

  “She’s in the front,” Grace said. “I can see her sitting in a chair doing something with yarn.”

  “Crocheting,” I said, offering her my hands.

  Instead of taking them, she shrugged off a pink backpack and pushed it at me. I took it and set it on the floor. When I looked back, she’d hoisted herself up and was climbing inside.

  I stepped past her and shut the window, then pulled the curtain closed. Last thing I needed was neighbors telling Grandma they’d seen a girl climb in my window.

  Holy figs, I had a girl in my room! I hoped it didn’t stink. I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just stood there. She’d have to say something eventually, right?

  But she didn’t. She wandered slowly into the room, studying the basketball posters on my walls, the things on my desk. I got nervous then, wondering if there was anything I didn’t want her to see. I spotted a pair of boxers on the floor by my door. I ran past her and kicked them under the bed. Then I locked the door.

  Grace looked at me then, her eyes wide and bright blue. “You going to keep me in here for good?”

  If I could, yes. “I just don’t want Grandma to come in. She doesn’t always knock.”

  “She wouldn’t like you having a girl in your room?”

  I shook my head. More like she’d cancel the trip to Arizona and ground me until I was eighteen.

  My phone bleeped. Kip texting me: Where r u?

  Oh, the game. I texted back: Grandma

  “I didn’t know where else to go,” Grace said, her voice whining a little like she was going to start crying.

  I swallowed and searched her face. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’ll live.”

  I didn’t like that answer, but she had climbed through my window without help, so nothing could be broken.

  “Have a seat,” I said, motioning to my desk chair.

  But she sat on the bed. My bed! What did that mean?

  “Can I stay here tonight?” she asked.

  “In my room?” I said it without thinking, and my eyes had gone cartoon-wide. Of course that’s what she meant, or she would’ve gone to the front door. But just seeing her sitting on my bed had taken my imagination places I didn’t need it to go right then. Whoa, boy.

  “If you don’t want me to, it’s okay,” she said. “I can call Arianna or Isabel. It’s just . . . I don’t want to tell them why and you already . . .” She looked at her hands.

  I already knew. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I might have a bruise or two, Spencer, but I’m fine.”

  Bruises.

  I wanted to hurt whoever had hurt her. I gritted my teeth and made myself calm down until I could speak without sounding like an angry lion. “Was it Justin?”

  Her eyebrows arched up on her forehead. She had perfect skin. Not a blemish. “I thought you knew who it was.” Then she laughed, a silent laugh that was all breathy. “Justin . . . No, it’s not Justin.”

  Then why hadn’t she gone to his place? “Does Justin know?”

  “Nobody knows but you.”

  Oh. Well, me and whoever saw my intercession reports, but I wasn’t going to say anything about those. Why make her mad?

  “So can I stay?”

  Gee. Let’s see . . . Gorgeous girl wants to have a sleepover with me? Yes or no?

  “Yeah.” I turned around and opened my closet a crack to make sure nothing came falling out. I grabbed my sleeping bag from the top shelf and turned back to Grace. She was pulling off her hoodie. Underneath she had on a white tank top. Hello. Gorgeous girl undressing on my bed.

  I forced my gaze to my computer. The PoP instant messenger screen had popped up and there was a long list of messages from Kip.

  21:49 [Badios]: dude, can you tank?

  21:49 [Badios]: i’ll help you.

  21:51 [Badios]: where r u? tank, man!

  21:51 [Badios]: hellooooo?

  21:53 [Badios]: did she kick u off?

  21:54 [Badios]: text me when u can

  “Sit down,” Grace said. “You’re so tall, it’s making me nervous.”

  I jerked my knee toward my bed but stopped. Maybe I should sit on the chair. Grace was like a toddler standing on the court in the middle of a Warriors/Pacers game. I needed to make sure she didn’t get hurt, even by me.

  But she patted the bed beside her, which settled the matter. I sat down, holding the sleeping bag on my lap, inhaling her coconut smell, and searching my suddenly empty brain for something to say.

  I came up with, “Why did
n’t you tell Arianna or Isabel?”

  “It’s embarrassing. Would you want to tell people?”

  “I guess not. But they’re your friends.” Her little golden cross necklace was all twisted. In a very bold move for me, I reached out and turned the cross until it was facing the right way. It was a crucifix, though, not a plain cross. It was on backwards, and now Jesus was looking at me.

  I’m being a good boy, I told him, then dropped the cross and looked away to prove it.

  “I wear it that way on purpose,” Grace said. “I like Jesus’s face looking at my heart.”

  I glanced at her. “Are you Catholic?”

  “I was. In Miami. Here I go to church with Isabel and Arianna. It’s different from going to mass, but I like it. I like both.”

  “How’d you meet them when you go to PPH?”

  “When we first moved here, my mom went to their salon and got to know Isabel’s mom. She had us over for dinner.”

  “And you got to know Lukas too.” Grace had dated Isabel’s little brother last year.

  She looked at her hands and bumped her arm against mine. “I don’t want to talk about Lukas.”

  Good. Me either. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. What else do you have dreams about?”

  I didn’t want to talk that. “Nothing but you for a while now. It’s not just dreams. Sometimes they’re glimpses, which means I see them when I’m awake.”

  “Really? That’s weird.”

  “Yeah.” Tell me about it.

  “Jaz says you’re obsessed with me. Said you only went to homecoming with her to spy on me.”

  I studied the knot on the strings holding the sleeping bag in a roll. “I was worried about you.”

  “Because of the dreams?”

  “They’re pretty intense. It’s like I’m there. I can even smell the beer.”

  “You probably think I ask for it, huh?”

  Was she nuts? “I don’t think anybody asks for that.”

  She looked at me then, like waaay into me. Her icy blue eyes were intense and had tiny flecks of orange, right around the pupil. I think she could see my thoughts because her gaze shifted to my lips. That made me look at her lips, but then I got really nervous and all I could do was stare. I imagined leaning down, kissing her, her kissing me back, the awesomeness of—