Model Spy

by Shannon Greenland

  TL looked up from his tuna sandwich when I stopped in front of him. “Now’s not the time,” he responded before I even opened my mouth. “Meet me in my room in five minutes. I’m the first door on the right.”

  He must have known what I wanted; otherwise he wouldn’t have greeted me in that manner. “Yes, sir.”

  “Why don’t you grab a sandwich,” suggested David. “Sit and eat with us.”

  You really expect me to sit here and eat like nothing’s happened, I wanted to say, but it wasn’t my nature to be so outspoken. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.”

  I strode from the dining hall, my heart still racing, and went back to my room. I paced from one end to the next and back again, going over everything in my brain. I checked the clock hanging on the wall at least four times before I made my way to TL’s door. I took a quick I-can-do-this breath and knocked.

  “Enter.”

  He sat behind a light wood desk with a computer to his right. Through a cracked door behind him I saw his bedroom. Same colors as mine, except with a blue comforter.

  TL indicated I should sit in one of the metal chairs in front of his desk.

  He leveled his odd, light gaze on me. “I know why you’re here, so I’m not going to waste time pretending otherwise. The IPNC has been keeping tabs on you for years. Anybody with an IQ of a hundred and ninety-one naturally draws attention. Not to mention the compendium computer program you wrote when you were seven years old. It won the National New Mind Award.”

  I blinked. I’d forgotten all about that program, and the award.

  “You’re brilliant and incredibly talented with computers. I wanted you for the Specialists Team One, but you were only thirteen. Way too young emotionally to handle your new life. Yes, I sent David for you. Told him to convince you to hack the government’s system. I needed it for leverage in bringing you to the Specialists. Based on your psychological profile . . .”

  Psychological profile? They had a profile on me? Of course they had a profile on me. This was the IPNC.

  “. . . it was evident you would never come to work for me on your own. You’re not a risk taker.”

  “What do you mean you’ve been keeping tabs on me?” Had they been watching me, following me, filming me?

  “Let me assure you we never invaded your personal privacy. We only researched what was public record already. We know your school records, your accomplishments, your test scores. Your family history.”

  “I can walk out right now, can’t I?”

  TL nodded. “Yes, you can. It was my hope that once you got here, you would feel at home, find a purpose in life, want to stay.” He folded his hands atop his desk and leaned in. “Before you make a decision, I want you to think about these questions: What’s waiting for you back in Iowa? Where were you headed? Did you ever feel like you belonged? When was the last time you had a real home, a family? Have you ever done something new, exciting, risky?”

  Jeez, he knew the right questions to ask.

  He stood. “I’ll give you until tomorrow morning to make your decision. It’s a big one. Take your time. It will affect the rest of your life.”

  “What’s going on?” Bruiser asked as I entered our room. “I know something’s going on. Everybody knows something’s going on. Are you leaving? You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  I lay down on my bed. She and Beaker had both changed clothes, wearing something they didn’t mind sweating in, just like TL instructed. I stared at Bruiser a second, amazed at her body. She wore a tight, blue “Wanna Piece of This?” tank top and snug, red shorts. Every muscle stood out in lean definition.

  Beaker, on the other hand, still wore her black combat boots, loose black T-shirt, and spiky dog collar. Her long, baggy, black shorts marked the only change in her apparel. All I had was my jeans, T-shirts, and two nightshirts. I owned nothing to get sweaty in.

  “Helllooo?” Bruiser waved her hand.

  I smiled at her impatient persistence and then told them everything. Why? I wasn’t sure. I’d never blabbed to anyone about my thoughts, problems, or issues. I always figured stuff out on my own. But somehow it felt right sharing my circumstances with them. Maybe because they were sort of in the same boat. Except they hadn’t been tricked into being here.

  Bruiser whistled when I finished. “Yowza. That’s some story. TL must want you really bad. He doesn’t strike me as the type to do something underhanded. I bet he had a hard time lying to you. David, too. He and TL seem a lot alike. I think I’d be flattered if someone wanted me so bad.”

  Flattered? Hmm, I hadn’t thought of it from that angle.

  She pushed up from her bed. “I’ve only known you for half a day, but this place wouldn’t be the same if you left. Right, Beaker?”

  I glanced over at her. She sat on the carpet with her back to her bed. She’d had her nose in a book the entire time, chomping on yet another piece of gum. The title read The Atomic Beta Particle.

  Bruiser nudged her with her tennis shoe. “Hey, I’m talking to you. Answer me.”

  I almost laughed at Bruiser’s boldness.

  Beaker shrugged as a response.

  Bruiser rolled her eyes. “Pay no attention to her. She has issues. Listen, GiGi, I really want you to stay. And so does everybody else. We were all talking about it at lunch.”

  They’d discussed me at lunch? In a good way? Usually, people only gossiped about me. Hearing Bruiser say otherwise brought a warm fuzziness to my heart.

  She peeked at her watch. “We’re supposed to be out at the barn in a few minutes. Coming?”

  I nodded. “But I need to use the bathroom first.”

  “Want me to wait?”

  Again, the warm fuzziness. I never had a girl offer such a simple, friendly thing. “No. Go on ahead.”

  “Yo, Beaker head, coming?”

  Beaker lifted her attention from her book. “Beaker head?”

  “Yeah, ya know, Beaker. Your chemistry code name.”

  Beaker’s lips twitched in amusement, but it was probably an optical illusion. She didn’t strike me as the type to smile at anything.

  “I need to finish this chapter.”

  Bruiser waved as she headed out, leaving me alone with Beaker.

  I started for the bathroom, and Beaker closed the book and tossed it onto her bed. I thought she said she needed to finish a chapter.

  She stood up, hands on her hips. “So,” she asked through gum chews. “You staying or what?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “How long”—chew, snap, chew—“TL give you?”

  “Until tomorrow morning.”

  She grunted as a response. “Well, uh, ya know . . .” Then she sort of smirked and shrugged her shoulders, like she was trying to look indifferent but didn’t really mean it.

  Somewhere between the “well, uh, ya know” and her smirk, I made up my mind.

  [4]

  I decided to stay. Mainly because the Specialists were such a unique group. I felt compelled to see what types of people they would become, and maybe I was curious to see how I would change, too. And if this place would really turn out to be a home, my new family, like TL and David had said.

  When I told TL I was staying, he simply nodded, shook my hand, and said, “Welcome aboard.” Not what I’d expected. No smile, no song and dance, no exuberant anything.

  So here I stood in the barn with my other teammates. TL, David, and a gigantic bald man stood off to the left, talking. The bald man wore a black eye patch. The three of them wore matching camouflage shorts and shirts, resembling a recruitment poster for the military. I tried really hard to ignore their muscles and focus on my surroundings.

  Horses were corralled in the back half of the barn, while the front looked like an old-fashioned gym. Three knotted ropes dangled from the ceiling, a bunch of mats were piled in one corner, racks of weights lined the walls, and two punching bags hung from a wooden plank. Huge windows allowed the sun to warm and light the area. Hay and mus
ty horse smells clung to the air.

  “Okay, people.” TL broke the silence. “It’s already after one. GiGi, you were three minutes late. Be prompt next time.”

  I swallowed. “Yes, sir.” Three minutes late? Sheesh.

  TL flipped over a white dry eraser board, revealing a list of fighting terms and their definitions. “Welcome to your first PT. We’ll do a warm-up, followed by an introduction to martial arts.”

  I whipped the spiral pad from my back pocket and began taking notes.

  Wirenut stuck his hand in the air. “PT?”

  Exactly what I wanted to know. Thanks, Wirenut.

  “Physical training.” TL nodded over his shoulder. “As you can see, this barn doubles as a fitness facility.”

  Parrot sneezed.

  Seeing as how I stood the closest to him, I mumbled, “Bless you.”

  He sniffed. “Thanks. It’s the hay. I’m allergic.”

  I gave him a “that sucks” face, and he smiled.

  “Bruiser,” rasped the gigantic bald man, squinting in her direction. He beckoned her with a jerk of his head.

  I was sure the others thought the same thing as me. Phew, glad I’m not Bruiser.

  Bruiser stepped out of line and crossed the cement floor to where TL, David, and the bald man stood.

  He extended his hand with a big smile. “Jonathan. Nice to meet you.”

  His oversize grin did not match his appearance or voice, nor did his name. Someone like him should be called Snake or Viper.

  Wearing her “Wanna Piece of This?” tank top, Bruiser returned his handshake with a dimpled, toothy smile. Their size difference reminded me of the David and Goliath story. Jonathan released her hand and immediately karate-chopped her head.

  We all caught a collective breath.

  She dropped to a split to dodge the chop, spun around, and kicked the back of his knee. Jonathan landed with a thud on his butt.

  Bruiser rolled away and back onto her feet before I had a chance to blink.

  Jonathan and TL exchanged knowing nods.

  TL motioned with his chin toward us. “That’s it for now, Bruiser.”

  She rejoined our line, all nonchalant, like she hadn’t just kicked Goliath’s butt.

  As we stood in awe of Bruiser’s talents, the members of the Specialists Team One filed in through the barn door. They all wore matching black T-shirts with SPECIALISTS printed in white.

  Cool shirts. Wonder if we’ll get them, too.

  The differences between the two teams struck me then. Team One appeared focused, unified, controlled. Team Two stood in a hodgepodge line, each person with his or her own unique style.

  Beaker with her nose ring, purple hair, thick eyeliner, and gum chomping. Bruiser with her innocent wide eyes, freckles, and red pigtails. Parrot sniffing and sneezing from his hay allergy. Mystic with his thick neck, blond crew cut, and peaceful aura. Wirenut with his Harley-Davidson T-shirt cut off at the shoulders, upper arm tattoo, and goatee.

  And me with my little spiral notepad.

  Jeez, sometimes I’m a real nerd.

  TL cleared his throat, snapping us to attention. “Now that Team One’s here, we’ll begin with stretching. Afterward I’ll pair you off for your first PT. Understand that although you’re each here for your own specialty, fitness is a must. If you’re not healthy and able to physically handle the extreme situations you may find yourself in, you’ll let your team members down.”

  Extreme situations? Physical fitness? TL told me I would operate from home base. I was the most uncoordinated, unathletic, klutzy person in the world. Anybody could see that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standing here in jeans. I’d own athletic wear and have muscle tone.

  Okay, I can do this.

  Although I really wanted to stick my hand in the air and say, TL, sir, I’m the geeky computer person. May I please be excused from physical training? I have code to key.

  But somehow I knew that wouldn’t fly.

  If this was part of the training, then I would certainly participate.

  “Spread out,” Jonathan rasped. “Arm’s length between you.”

  Specialists Team One immediately went into position while Team Two sort of shuffled around before we figured it out.

  “Arms up.” Jonathan raised his. “Stretch. Feel it through your sides and spine.”

  I’d never been one for stretching and considered myself about as limber as my laptop. But this felt good. I could do this.

  “Down. Spread your legs. Work it side to side.”

  Ooowww . . . my legs weren’t meant to be spread this wide. I gritted my teeth and held my breath and hoped for the best.

  “Up,” Jonathan grunted.

  Oh, thank God. I managed to get up and noticed nobody else seemed to be having problems.

  Oh, wait . . . a bead of sweat trickled down Beaker’s cheek. She glanced over at me and smirked. Somehow it comforted me. I was beginning to like and expect her smirks.

  “Roll your neck back.” Jonathan demonstrated. “Stop at your shoulders. Up and forward.”

  David’s neck rolling caught my attention, and even though there were twenty feet of cement floor between us, I zeroed in on his muscles as he rolled. Though my brain told me to stop, I couldn’t stop my gaze from traveling down his body. How come I never noticed he had so many defined muscles?

  “Feet together . . .”

  I blinked back to focus and found David staring right at me. I’d never been a blusher, but my face caught on fire. And to make matters worse, a look of sexy intuitiveness creased his eyes. “Palms to the floor.” Jonathan performed the contortionist act.

  Feet together and touch my palms to the floor? Is he kidding?

  Beside me, Bruiser effortlessly did it, and so I tried. My palms made it to my knees. I gritted my teeth and held my breath and reached for the floor. Gravity or my weight or pure lack of coordination sent me swaying forward, and I landed on my head.

  “GiGi, you okay?” Bruiser reached for me.

  “I’m fine,” I muttered, pushing to my feet.

  I did not peek at David because I knew he’d seen the whole thing and was probably shaking his head in disgust. I did look at Beaker and caught her lips twitching. Well, at least I’d amused someone.

  We finished stretching, then TL paired each member of Team One with a person from Team Two. As he partnered us up one by one, I slowly realized who I would end up with.

  “And, David, you’re with GiGi.”

  I stared at TL a moment wondering why he’d done that. David was the absolute last person I wanted to be around right now. TL had to know that. Was this some kind of test? Part of my overall training? Something along the lines of quickly overcoming and dealing with emotional stress.

  With a slight curve to his lips that made my stomach swirl, David crossed the cement floor to where I stood. “Looks like it’s gonna be you and me.”

  “Working with you I’m not.” I shook my head, dazed from the smell of his cologne. “I mean, I’m not working with you.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not an option.” He picked my notepad off the floor and tossed it a few feet into the corner. “Always taking notes, aren’t you?”

  Looking over to where it landed, I tightened my jaw. How dare he throw my notepad like an insignificant piece of trash?

  “You.” I pointed at it. “Go. Pick. That. Up. Right. Now.”

  “No.” He smiled. “I. Won’t. Go. Pick. That. Up. Right. Now.”

  Was he making fun of me? I reared and shoved him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. His jaw dropped in disbelief, and my heart kicked into overdrive.

  I can’t believe I just did that.

  “Hey,” TL barked from across the barn. “Save it for the mats.”

  I peered around the training area and found all eyes on me. Parrot’s brows shot up in surprise, as if to say, Whoa, didn’t know you had it in you. Beaker stopped chomping her gum and stood studying me, like she couldn’t quite figure me out.
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  There was nothing worse than people staring at me. Resisting the urge to run away in embarrassment, I wiped my damp palms on my jeans and made myself stay.

  TL began giving instructions, and slowly everyone’s focus turned to him. My mortification slipped away. But I didn’t hear a word he said as I replayed everything in my mind, over and over and over again. What had I been thinking?

  Moments later, everyone grabbed mats and slid them to separate areas in the barn. I followed David’s lead because I didn’t know what we were supposed to be doing.

  David situated our mats in the far corner away from everyone else. He picked up my notepad and handed it to me. “Sorry,” he said. “I guess I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I took my spiral pad. “I’m sorry, too, for shoving you.”

  He nodded, accepting the small truce. “Feel better now?”

  “A little.” Not really. Because every time I set eyes on him I recalled how nice he’d been to me back at East Iowa University. Under it all he’d been fabricating lie after lie after lie.

  “Bet you didn’t hear a word TL said.”

  David knew me too well. “You’re right.” I extracted my mechanical pencil from the spiral and flipped the cardboard cover over. “Shoot.”

  “We’re practicing basic self-defense today using mixed martial arts. And how to keep yourself calm during stressful situations.” He continued outlining everything while I scribbled notes. Different holds and twists of the body. Breathing. Which body parts you can get to the easiest.

  When he finished, I slipped the pad into my back pocket. “Okay, where do we start?”

  “Well, first of all,” David looked me up and down, “where’re your workout clothes?”

  “Don’t have any. I don’t work out.”

  “We’re going to have to buy you some. PT’s four times a week. For everyone. You need something other than jeans.”

  Four times a week?!