Ambushed

by Jill Williamson

  A sudden knock at the door, Grandma's gentle tapping.

  I dropped the sleeping bag, which rolled over in the corner behind the door. I also might have had a massive heart attack.

  “Spencer? I’m going to bed.”

  I clutched my knees and took a deep breath. “Okay. Goodnight.”

  The doorknob rattled. “Open this door, please.”

  Mother pus bucket . . . I stood. Grace did too, running for my closet. Well, at least one of us was thinking straight. She shut herself inside, so I unlocked the door and pulled it open.

  “Yeah?” Don’t look guilty. Just look normal. Look calm.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Grandma asked.

  “What? Me? Nothing.”

  She barged past me into the room. “You’ve been playing that game again.” She stopped at my desk and glared at the computer screen, hands propped on her hips.

  “You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

  “Do I have to say you can’t do things in order for you to know you shouldn’t do them? You’re sixteen years old.”

  I thought of Grace in the closet. “Uhh . . .”

  “It’s a violent game, and I don’t like it.”

  “Okay.” So, was she telling me not to play it anymore? I thought about clarifying, but if I didn’t, I’d have that loophole going for me if she caught me playing again. Right?

  “It’s after ten o’clock on a school night. What finals do you have tomorrow?”

  “Chemistry and English.”

  “Get some sleep.” She walked back toward the door. “And turn that computer off.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Goodnight, Spencer.”

  “Night.”

  She pulled the door shut behind her, and I locked it, fingers trembling.

  Way too close.

  I stood there a moment, staring at the closet door, thinking about what I’d wanted to do before Grandma had interrupted. I needed to be smart here. Kip would tell me to take advantage of the situation. But I had a feeling that if I kissed that girl, she would put my heart in her pink backpack and carry it around. She would own me. When a girl owned me, I forgot to think. And I couldn’t afford to be stupid with Grace’s safety on the line.

  I walked to the closet and pulled open the door. “She’s gone,” I whispered.

  Grace came out and picked up the sleeping bag.

  I took it back from her. “You take the bed. I can sleep on the floor.”

  She offered me a small smile. “Thanks.”

  It might have been fun to stay up late and talk or play cards or something, but Grandma had said lights out. And this wasn’t the night to test the woman’s patience.

  I unrolled the bag and waited for Grace to get under the covers. I grabbed my phone, which had another text from Kip: she kill u?

  I texted back: No. Gotta go to bed, though. Finals.

  Then I shut off the lights and used my cell to see while I burrowed into the sleeping bag.

  Could I sleep? No way. I just lay there staring at the ceiling, watching the headlights move across the walls every time a car passed by outside, thinking about the beautiful girl lying in my bed, head on my pillow. Maybe it would smell like coconuts tomorrow. If it did, I’d have to make sure Grandma didn’t wash—

  “It’s my dad,” Grace said. “He drinks too much and sometimes hurts us. That’s why my parents separated. Dad moved out here to get sober. Mom and I stayed in Miami. But he talked her into giving it another try, and it is better. But . . . he’s still sick.”

  Sick. She said it in a sad way like the man had cancer, but I heard it in the angry way like the man should be in jail.

  “Would you like me to kill him?” I asked. “Or better yet, have Wally do it?

  She snickered. “No.”

  “Would you like me to kick his—?”

  “No!”

  “Shh!” Please don’t let Grandma come again.

  Right. Like God was going to help me out with this one.

  “Sorry,” Grace whispered. “I don’t want you to do anything. Or tell anyone. This is me and my mom’s problem, Spencer. Not yours.”

  Well, I guess that settled that.

  Not really.

  REPORT NUMBER: 3

  REPORT TITLE: I Get Ranked by Recruiting Coaches

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

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

  DATE AND TIME: Thursday, December 22, 5:27 a.m.

  I WOKE TO THE BEEP, BEEP, BEEP OF a dump truck backing up. A cool breeze tickled my ear. I rolled onto my back and propped myself on one elbow. Open window. Curtain waving in the wind. Dark outside. No sign of the pink backpack on the floor by the window, which meant . . .

  I sat up to find my bed empty, the blankets pulled crookedly over the mattress like she’d tried to make it in three seconds. I checked the time on my cell—5:27.

  There was no morning League today because of finals; we’d taken ours yesterday. So I inch-wormed my sleeping-bagged body up onto my bed to sleep another hour.

  My pillow smelled gloriously of coconuts.

  ● ● ●

  Arianna found me in the hallway before my chem final and pulled me aside. “Grace stayed the night at your house?” It was an angry whisper, like the whole thing had been my idea.

  “What? Are you getting prophecies now?” I asked. “How do you even know that?”

  “She texted me this morning to ask if she could get ready at my house. What’s going on? She wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Then I’m not telling you either. That’s up to her.”

  “Spencer! Don’t be like that?”

  “Like what? Not a gossip?” That should get her. Arianna was always telling Isabel not to gossip.

  She pursed her lips, thinking. And it didn’t take her long to find another way to chastise me. “You should never have let her stay in your room. It was inappropriate.”

  “What would I do without your daily lectures?” Live a happy life, that’s what.

  “You need someone to remind you who you are. I think you forget sometimes. Too much time spent in the company of Kip and Megan, perhaps.”

  Personal foul. “Nothing happened, okay? I slept on the floor. I was the perfect gentleman.” In action, at least. My thoughts, however . . .

  “It was still inappropriate.”

  “Sorry. Next time I’ll leave her on the street.” Yeah, right.

  Arianna punched my arm, which hurt about as much as me getting hit with a balloon. “You know what I mean. You should have told your grandma.”

  “Look, I’ve been trying to help Grace all year. I wasn’t about to scare her away by squealing to my grandma. Give me some time to figure this out, so I know how to help her.”

  “If she’s in trouble, you should tell someone.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for your two million cents. If you’re done, I’ve got a chem final to pass.” By the skin of my teeth.

  “Spencer . . .”

  I walked backwards for a few steps. “Ask Grace, Arianna. It’s her business to tell, not mine.” Then I turned around and walked to the chemistry classroom.

  Grace had asked me not to do anything to her dad or tell anyone. I was going to honor that. For now. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t check out the guy sometime.

  My chemistry final sucked. I hated walking away with the feeling like I’d flunked the thing. I wasn’t too worried for basketball, but anything less than a C in the class, and I’d have Grandma to deal with. Thankfully I wouldn’t find out how I did until spring semester started, which was after the Arizona trip. So I had that going for me. Which was nice.

  I was free until lunch, so I texted Grace to see how she was—no answer, of course—then I went to play basketball with some of the guys out back. By lunchtime, I’d received a heartfelt response from Grace: Im fine.

  I’d always thought it was guys who replied in two-word answers. Why couldn’t I get thi
s girl to talk to me?

  Lunch today was “breakfast for lunch,” one of my faves and a nice touch to end the year. I sat with Kip and the guys.

  “Dude, did you see this?” Kip pushed his cell phone at me.

  It was a page on the Light Goddess website that had a full image of Brittany in her sexy demon battle outfit on one side of the screen. I read the header. “Join the Jolt Revolt.”

  “It’s a promo for Jolt IV: Daystar. You can host your own Jolt Revolt party, and if you get at least fifty people, they’ll send you a free screening copy of the DVD.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, but they track the email addresses, so people can only sign up for one party. You’re coming to mine, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Nick Muren sat down at the end of our table with his thick friend Jeb. “When you going to do yours?” he asked Kip.

  Kip narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

  “Well, I figure if we pick different days, we can make it so everyone can go to both.”

  “We have to get fifty unique emails each,” Kip said.

  “No problem,” Nick said. “If you need some emails, just ask. My dad has a whole prayer chain full that we can use.”

  I snorted. “I’m sure the prayer chain will be thrilled to get emails about a Jolt movie.”

  “Shut it, Spencer,” Kip said. “I might need extra emails to qualify.”

  So Nick and Kip started making plans for their Jolt Revolt parties, and I just sat there wondering why Nick was being nice to us all of a sudden.

  I’d been so preoccupied with Grace that I’d never found out why Nick had gotten kicked off the trip to Japan this past summer. I glanced at the round tables on the side of the cafeteria where couples usually sat—Kip and Megan didn’t believe in couple segregation. But Gabe and Isabel were over there. They’d finally started going out just before homecoming, much to my delight—I was sick of hearing Gabe whine.

  I’d have to ask Isabel about Nick. But I didn’t think she’d ever told Gabe about her “Nick mission,” so I’d have to catch her later or something so I could ask when Gabe wasn’t around.

  Easier said than done. Finding Isabel and Gabe apart was almost as hard as finding Kip and Megan apart. At least Gabe and Isabel weren’t making out all the time. Knowing Gabe, they were probably saving that for marriage.

  ● ● ●

  I’d thought about buying a Christmas present for Grace, but with her already thinking I was a stalker, I decided not to push my luck. Christmas was on Sunday this year, and Grace wasn’t at church. I texted her Merry Christmas. She didn’t reply.

  Gabe and Isabel were inseparable that morning, so I couldn’t ask Isabel about Nick. On Monday and Tuesday, our basketball team had the Beverly Hills Tournament, which we won. And I earned an all-star medal and the MVP trophy.

  I know, right? I hoped UCLA had been watching.

  That Wednesday at youth group, I still couldn’t get Isabel alone to ask about Nick. Grace wasn’t there, which had me a lot worried until Arianna shared a prayer request for Grace and her mom to have safe travels coming back from Miami where they’d gone for Christmas.

  So that answered that.

  After youth group, I finally broke down and asked Lukas for Isabel’s cell number.

  The next day, I called her. “You know how hard it is to have a conversation with you when Gabe’s not around?”

  “I like having him around,” Isabel said, her Latina accent thick as always. “Why do you want to talk to me without Gah-bree-el, anyway? This about his birthday party? I don’t know nothing. It’s only for guys.”

  What? He was turning eighteen and couldn’t have a co-ed party? I shook off the bizarreness and focused on my task. “No, I’ve been wanting to ask you about Nick. Do you know why he didn’t come to Okinawa?”

  “Es-pensor, you know I’m not supposed to say.”

  “Yeah, but I already know you were assigned to watch him, and he’s acting all weird right now. I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, it was nothing to do with those strange friends who kidnapped you,” Isabel said.

  She meant Blaine and Tito. They were in prison, as far as I knew. “Please, Isabel? It could be important.” Which wasn’t true. I was just being nosy. But where Nick was concerned, I justified this as taking preventative measures to protect myself.

  “He got in trouble for drugs, okay?” Isabel said. “He almost went to jail. The judge gave him drug court instead but wouldn’t let him leave the country.”

  What an idiot. “What drugs?” It had to be pot.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t find out that part.”

  My phone cut out. I looked at the screen. Text message from Kip: chek ur fb, man!

  “Okay, thanks, Isabel. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “You better not, Es-pensor.”

  “I won’t.” Girls, anyway.

  I ended the call, then pulled up Facebook and found a message from Kip: dude! check it out!

  And there was a link that took me to a webpage for ESPN Nation Basketball that had a profile for me. It had my picture, my stats, school, hometown, and position. And it had a star ranking of three and overall ranks for my position as a point guard, my ranking in the state and in my region.

  No way! No way!

  I already had four FB likes. Sweet!

  Wait. Was I really only a three-star player?

  But I was ranked twenty-five in the state of California for the point guard position. That had to be good, right?

  I tapped “like,” shared the link on my FB page, then called Coach and filled him in.

  “You’re a four star player,” he said. “If you’re patient that ranking could change. It probably won’t, though.”

  “How could it change?” If I was a four, I wanted a four on the site.

  “Well, the longer you hold out, the more chances coaches will have to see you play or to see your game tapes, which means you’ll get more ratings. And I’ve been thinking you could maybe play AAU next summer.”

  Really? “I thought you didn’t like AAU.”

  “I don’t, but if it will get you exposure . . . We could get you on a team that’s going to the Super 64 in Vegas in July.”

  Vegas? “But I promised I’d be with our team this summer.” I’d ditched last summer to go to Japan.

  “You know my off-season program is to work on skills,” Coach said. “We’re training for fall. Getting ready for the season. That’s why we don’t do summer league. It’s not about winning games in the summer. It’s about improving individually so we can win games during the season. But you need to do what will get you the most exposure. An AAU team can get you more. It might not, but it could.”

  I had mixed feelings about AAU ball. “Who’s the coach?”

  “There are lots of coaches. I know a guy who’d put you on his team. He’s not going to help you improve, but he’ll give you a fair chance to play. Look . . . AAU is a selfish game, Spencer. At your level it’s about showing off what you can do for anyone watching. Playing with them next summer won’t help your game, just your exposure to college coaches.”

  I only needed more exposure to UCLA. “What if I commit to Arizona and then UCLA offers?”

  “Won’t happen. You commit now, UCLA will back off. There are a lot of players out there at your level, and you giving Arizona a verbal commitment shows UCLA that you’re happy with Arizona.”

  “Could I go to Arizona as a freshman, then transfer?”

  “You could, but it’s not likely. Transfers are pretty complicated, from what I understand.”

  My brain sort of blanked then. I didn’t know what to do. If I wasn’t in the Mission League, I might be able to handle playing AAU. But I’d exhausted myself last year trying to keep up with everything. Adding an AAU team just might kill me.

  “You don’t have to decide this minute,” Coach said. “It was just an idea. You could do way worse than either Arizona or Gonzaga.”

  “
I know.” They were all good offers. I just didn’t know what to do.

  “At least wait until after your trip to decide anything. Seeing the schools might help.”

  Doubtful. I’d already seen UCLA, and I wanted it. But maybe after seeing Arizona and Arizona State, I’d want them too. It was probably a good thing I couldn’t afford to fly up to Gonzaga. Then again, there was no rush. If I waited until my senior year, maybe some schools would fly me in for an official visit.

  But how would I decide then?

  ● ● ●

  Former Mission League agent-in-training Jake Lindley called to say he was picking me and Lukas and Wally up at eight in the morning on Saturday for Gabe’s guys-only party.

  “Kind of early for a party,” I said.

  “It’s not local. We’ve got to drive up past Lake Hughes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s where the party is, fool.”

  “You still driving that Ford Ranger?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Then I call shotgun.” I’d once folded myself onto one of the jump seats in that tiny pickup. I wasn’t doing it again.

  Jake just chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

  But thankfully when Jake showed Saturday morning, Lukas was already tucked into the back behind Jake’s seat.

  Jake’s perfect cornrows hadn’t changed, but he was wearing round glasses now. He was pre-law, so maybe he thought they helped him look the part. No bow tie today, though.

  And this year Lukas had ditched the faux hawk and had been wearing his platinum hair blown back big over his head. He still dressed like a punk.

  I climbed into the front seat. “No Wally?”

  “He’s getting a ride from his mom. Refused to ride in the jump seats,” Jake said.

  “Oh yeah. He says he can only ride in the front of a vehicle.” Which I thought was a crock. “How’s Stanford? Can you just pick up and leave whenever you want?”

  “I drove down for the weekend,” Jake said. “Gabe’s my boy. And I wanted to be here for him.”