Project Gemini (Mission 2

by Jill Williamson

  I sat at the Alpha table between Gabe and Jensina. I put my backpack on the chair beside me and dug out my Lakers cap. We weren’t allowed to wear hats in school, so I always put it on the first chance I got after school.

  Jensina, as a senior at the public high school, was Alpha team’s leader this year. She was a small, shapeless bookworm who changed her hair more than Isabel, whose mom ran a hair salon. Right now, Jensina’s short hair was oranger than mine. She had it in a ponytail today, which made her look like Misty from Pokémon.

  “Do they all go to school here?” I asked Jensina. Lukas did, but I didn’t recognize the other two names.

  “Grace goes to Pilot Point High,” Jensina said.

  “Wally is homeschooled,” Arianna said.

  “My brother goes here.” Isabel, the goddess, looked like Demi Lovato. Nuff said.

  “Lukas and I are starting a band,” Gabe said to me, but he was staring at Isabel like she might overhear and ask to sign on. “He’s a drummer.”

  Of course he was. Lukas was too cool for his own good. I really hoped I wouldn’t have to start hating him.

  “I’ve never met Lukas,” Beth said. She was wearing a pink T-shirt that said: Pretty tough. “What’s he like?”

  “He’s a pain,” Isabel said.

  “He dresses punk,” I said. “And he’s got a faux-hawk. A tall one.”

  “That guy is your brother?” Jake grinned, his teeth bright against his dark skin. With dreads and a bowtie, Jake was his own version of cool, a black Matt Smith. And he wrote science fiction stories—so, yeah. “He had a part in the school play, right?” Jake asked Isabel. “I didn’t catch his accent.”

  “Lukas is big into drama,” Isabel said. “He can do any accent.”

  “Excellent. Looks like Diakonos caught the big fish this year,” Jake said to Jensina.

  “Jake!” Arianna said. “You’d rather have Spencer on your team? Truly?”

  “I’d trade Spencer for Arianna,” Jensina said.

  “Deal!” Jake said.

  Now it was my turn to protest. “Hey, I’m sitting right here.”

  “You know Mr. S doesn’t allow trades,” Arianna said.

  “I’m just messing with you, girl,” Jake said to Arianna. “I’d never trade that brain of yours.”

  “Thank you,” Arianna said.

  “Maybe Lukas can give me some insight about his sister,” Gabe whispered to me.

  I breathed a laugh. “Could you give a guy insight about your sisters?”

  Gabe ran his tongue over his braces. “No guy better even look at my sisters.”

  “I rest my case.” And Gabe had his work cut out for him too. I’d told him about Mary kissing me, and apparently it hadn’t been the first time Mary had macked on one of Gabe’s friends.

  Glad the girl wasn’t my responsibility.

  REPORT NUMBER: 4

  REPORT TITLE: A Demon Masquerades as a Hot Blond and Tortures Me

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Harris Hall, Pilot Point Christian School, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Monday, April 27, 5:52 a.m.

  I HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO SLEEP because of that stupid Anya dream. So I arrived early to morning League, which was so not normal. I was the only one there. I even beat Mr. S. The room had twelve desks in three rows of four, a teacher’s desk, and two round tables in the back. I sat in the center back of Harris Hall in my usual seat, took off my Lakers cap, and put my forehead on the desk. The basement room was chilly this early, and I stuck my hands between my knees to warm them.

  The door yawned open. I let my head roll until my cheek rested on the desk, allowing me to see who’d come in.

  Mr. S. crossed the room and set his briefcase on his desk. He always came in before his wife and son showed. Something about him and Kerri working in different parts of town after class, I think Gabe once said.

  Mr. S was bald and stocky with a pudgy gut that he always wrapped in one-size-too-small polo shirts. Today’s shirt was salmon and grey stripes, which didn’t help the gut look any smaller. He had glasses like his son, but unlike Gabe’s cool Buddy Hollys, these looked like two circles of bulletproof glass. “Good morning, Agent Garmond,” Mr. S said. “You’re early today.”

  “Yeah.” My voice came out in a raspy whisper.

  “Is something bothering you?”

  The dream. But I’d finally emailed Prière about all that craziness, and he’d told me it was normal. “Nah.”

  “Coach Van Buren came to speak to me last Friday,” Mr. S said.

  I grunted. The man was relentless.

  “I must admit. I was surprised that you’d picked Japan over basketball camp.”

  “I didn’t last year.”

  “Yes, but last year you didn’t have a college basketball coach interested in you.”

  I grunted again. It wasn’t that big of deal. It wasn’t like the coach had offered to sign me.

  “Don’t worry about Coach Van Buren,” Mr. S. said. “I’ll keep working on him. And so will Principal McKaffey. Our school cares as much about missions as it does sports.”

  Another grunt. But maybe Mr. S. could help. I wasn’t getting my hopes up. I mean, I’d never once gotten my way over a teacher. But … maybe.

  “Would you mind assisting me today, Spencer?” Mr. S said. “I never know how the initiates will react to their first day. It’s always nice to have a backup plan.”

  No, I didn’t want to help. I wanted to sit in my chair in the back of class and be left alone. But for some idiotic reason, I grunted a fourth time.

  The door opened. Gabe and his mom, Kerri, wife to Mr. S, came in, followed by Beth, Jensina, and Nick—sans Isabel. Maybe her mission was over and she and Nick were finally on the outs. Gabe must be thrilled. He came and sat in the seat next to mine.

  “No new recruits yet?” Beth was wearing her “Just walk away” T-shirt today. One of the perks of being homeschooled: No school uniforms. “Then I’m going back up.”

  But the door opened before she could. Jake entered with Isabel and Lukas-the faux-hawk-Rodriguez. Beth took a seat, her gaze locked on the feather duster in Lukas’s hand.

  I gave Isabel’s brother the once over. Lukas stood a head taller than his sister and was thin and wiry. His bleached white faux-hawk was spiked a good five inches above his skull and ran down the middle of his head. He had earrings, diamond-looking ones. His black slacks looked painted on, his studded leather belt had a skull buckle, and the sleeves of his blazer were rolled up to his elbows. He’d slung his navy and red striped uniform necktie over one shoulder like a scarf. And he was wearing bright red Chucks.

  I’d look like a moron if I tried dressing like that, but Lukas pulled it off. He carried the feather duster over to Mr. S’s desk and held it out, frozen, like he couldn’t decide what to do.

  I sat up straight and put my hat back on.

  Lukas and Mr. S stared at each other like Old West cowboys about to duel. Lukas jerked his hand closer to the desk then stopped. A little closer. Stop. Closer. Stop. The feather duster hung a centimeter from the fake wood laminate of the desk. The overhead lights gleamed off Mr. S’s shiny, hairless scalp and one of four pewter rings on Lukas’s hand.

  Lukas grinned then, a crooked, sneaky grin that said so much without his saying a word. He tossed the duster onto Mr. S’s desk. “Hey, Mr. S. How’s it going?”

  “Good, Agent Rodriguez. Is this feather duster a gift?”

  “Izzy said she’d give me five bucks if I dusted your desk.”

  “Ay!” Isabel yelled. “¡Arruinaste todo, Lukas!”

  “What did I ruin?” He looked back to Mr. S and shrugged. “I already work two jobs. What do I need five bucks for?”

  Isabel slapped Lukas’s arm. “Que tonto eres.”

  “I’m not dumb. ¡Esta bien, Izzy! ¡Santo cielo!”

  The door opened, Isabel and Lukas shut up, and all heads turned toward the entrance.


  A girl entered. Alone. Long, blond ponytail. Tan. Short. Wide blue eyes. Dark eye makeup. Empty-handed in the cleaning tools department. How’d she get in by herself?

  This had to be Grace. And I’d seen her before. At homecoming. Lukas’s date. She’d looked really good in the dark at the dance, but—great Caesar’s ghost—the girl was go-go-gorgeous under regular lights.

  “Hola, Graciela,” Lukas said, his voice low and taunting.

  She blinked slowly, but her stone-cold expression looked past Lukas to Mr. S as if Lukas wasn’t even there.

  Ouch. I guess things hadn’t worked out with Faux-Hawk despite his Derek Hough dance moves. Excellent.

  “Welcome to the Mission League, Agent Thomas,” Mr. S said. “Please take a seat wherever you’d like.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said, her voice girly and soft.

  Everyone stared as she pranced down the aisle and slid into the seat in front of mine. A plume of coconut fragrance engulfed me. It felt like someone was stirring the contents of my stomach with a spoon. Her ponytail swayed slightly, the curling ends of her hair inches from my fingertips. Hypnotic. A familiar déjà vu flooded over me, but I didn’t know why.

  I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and tugged a lock of silky golden strands.

  Grace whipped around, her dainty features pushed into a scowl. She had perfect white teeth and large blue eyes that looked dark under her glare. “Don’t touch me,” she said, as if I were some leprous creep and she was afraid of catching something. The condescension in that sweet voice was like a kick to the groin.

  Nick snickered.

  Oh, come on! Would I never catch a break with a pretty girl? Like, just once?

  Before I could think of anything to say, she spun forward again, her ponytail mocking me as it swayed and bobbed against the soft, tan skin of her neck.

  I slouched down in my seat, and my knees bumped into the back of her chair. She turned her head to the side, eyes downcast, but didn’t bother speaking to me again.

  Whatever.

  “Well, it’s time to start.” Mr. S stood and walked to the front of the room. “I must admit I’m disappointed with today’s events. Missing students, and no successful janitors.”

  I couldn’t see past that antagonizing ponytail, so I scooted my desk back and to the side a couple of feet, putting me in the aisle in the back middle of the classroom. The metal scraped on the concrete floor, and every head turned at the hideous sound. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  “There are four types of interrogation an enemy might use on a captive.” Mr. S walked toward Lukas’s desk. “Agent Rodriguez, do you think you can name one?”

  “Bribes,” Isabel said.

  Mr. S looked from Lukas to Isabel. “Um … yes, Agent Isabel, that’s correct. Agent Lukas. Do you have a guess?”

  “Pull off a guy’s toenails one by one?”

  “Eww, Lukas,” Isabel said.

  “Torture, yes. But torture is often unnecessary. Sometimes simply pointing a gun at a captive might be enough to coerce them to speak. What might that be called, Agent Thomas?”

  “Scaring them?” Grace said.

  I grinned. Involuntarily, I might add.

  “Close. We call that a threat, Agent Thomas. The fourth method is drugs, though this is rare, as most transgressors don’t have access to such pharmaceuticals.”

  Yeah, right. A few months ago I’d been held at gunpoint and drugged. I guess I was just lucky that way.

  Mr. S smirked at me, as if reading the look on my face. “Agent Garmond, would you care to come to the front of the class?”

  I stiffened in my seat. “Now?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  I trudged forward and grabbed the empty chair in the corner. I pulled it in front of the chalkboard, flipped it around backward, and straddled it, resting one arm on the back.

  “Spencer is an average student at PPCS. Agent Lukas, if he were to be abducted, what methods do you think might be used to coerce information from him?”

  If? Sometimes I hated the whole confidential side of the Mission League. I’d love for Mr. S to tell everyone what had happened to me, what I’d survived—mostly on my own. Don’t get me wrong, being alive and still getting to live in Pilot Point was good enough for me, but it would be nice to see these people look at me with a little respect. I think I’d earned it.

  Instead, Lukas looked at me like I was a frog in a wax pan, his bleached hair almost white next to his dark, Cuban skin. He suddenly reminded me of Chaz. “Threaten his mom or sister?”

  “That’s the right idea …” Mr. S said. “Why won’t that work, Agent Watkins?”

  “Because Spencer doesn’t have a sister, and his mom died when he was little,” Beth said.

  “Correct. Your captors will make it their business to know everything they can about you. Agent Thomas, what might you suggest as a tactic to coerce information from Agent Garmond?”

  “Threaten to bash in his kneecaps,” Grace said with a little too much enthusiasm, “or cut off the fingers on his right hand.”

  What the … ? Yikes!

  “You believe physical threats would make him talk?” Mr. S asked.

  “Not the pain,” Grace said, flashing the “dark eyes” my way. “I’m sure he’s tough enough to live through that. But he’s a jock. So losing the ability to play basketball would be like death to someone like him.”

  Mr. S chuckled. He actually thought that was funny?

  “Yes, I think that would be a logical assumption for an enemy of Agent Garmond. But we’re the good guys, right, Agent Garmond?”

  “Right, sir.” I raised my eyebrows at Grace. See, chickadee? We’re on the same team. So, why can’t we be friends?

  “And for us, as agents,” Mr. S said, “interrogation isn’t about torture, beating information out of people, or shining bright lights in their eyes. For us, interrogation is the strategy of asking questions.” He paused in front of Isabel’s desk in the front row and turned to face me. “Know your subject. Desire. Ambition. Pride. Basketball is important to Agent Garmond. And when your subject is passionate about something, you can use that against him.”

  It took all of my effort to keep from looking at Grace. “Maybe. But assumptions are dangerous too. What Agent Thomas doesn’t know is that I’m equally talented with my left hand.”

  Jake hooted.

  “Well said, Agent Garmond.” Mr. S turned to the class. “In this program you’ll learn to be a quick thinker, to look beyond your first impressions, to observe and dig deep as you study potential targets. Hopefully for Agents Garmond and Thomas, first impressions aren’t everything.”

  Amen to that.

  The door swung open, and Arianna and a guy entered. The guy was carrying a broom.

  Wait a second. This guy had been Arianna’s homecoming date. Seriously? The chubby chess club guy was going to be a spy? Come on.

  Wally began to air sweep, his broom not touching the floor. He had big lips and a bowl cut of thick brown hair. He was wearing Levi’s, the high-waisted farmer kind, and a short-sleeved dress shirt that was tucked in, like he worked at the Office Depot. And this was not a school uniform, either. He chose to look like that.

  “Thank you, Agent Parks,” Mr. S said, taking the broom from Wally.

  Wally’s posture relaxed and he nodded.

  “Twenty points to Diakonos for getting us a real janitor down here.” Mr. S smiled at Arianna. “And twenty points to Alpha for Agent Garmond’s willingness to sit in the hot seat. Now that we’re all here, let’s split into groups. Wally and Grace, join Alpha group. Lukas, you’re in Diakonos.”

  I returned the chair to the corner, then walked to the Alpha table in the back of the room, passing Grace on the way. Her head came up to my chest—she was shorter than Isabel. But where Isabel had lots of curves, Grace had a small muscular frame. I remembered her nice legs from the dance and glanced down, but she was wearing jeans. Shame. Guys didn’t forget legs like those. At least not t
his guy.

  Jensina was already sitting at the Alpha table, Wally beside her. I sat across from them. Wally had his eyes closed and was mumbling. Praying, it sounded like. Grace sat primly beside Wally and avoided eye contact with me. Gabe sat next to me. It felt nice to have a full table again. All year there had been only three of us on Alpha team. Now we had five. I glanced over at the Diakonos table and did a quick count. They had six! Still unfair. But Jake, Beth, and Jensina would be graduating soon, and then things would be even Stephen.

  “Hey,” Gabe said. “Now that basketball’s over, want to try the bass guitar?”

  “I’m not joining your band,” I said.

  “Bass is easy. All you really have to do is count to four.”

  “Yeah? Well, I can only count to three.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Grace mumbled.

  I raised my eyebrows at Grace, who was looking at her notebook. No way was I going to let that comment slide. “I’m sorry, did you just step out of my nightmare?”

  “So we meet here in the mornings?” Grace said to Jensina, her girly voice louder than need be. “Then in room 401 in the afternoons?”

  “That’s right,” Jensina said.

  “Real nice,” I mumbled, then said to Gabe, “Did you see that?”

  Gabe scrawled on his notebook: Grace is a grouch. Don’t take it personal.

  I took Gabe’s pen and wrote: Why?

  Gabe: Don’t know. Bass guitar? Please?

  I pushed his notebook aside and gave him a dirty look. Thank you, no. I was not joining Gabe’s rock band.

  “Wally? Did you get that?” Jensina said.

  “There’s only one exit in this room,” Wally said. “It’s not up to fire code. We should find a new location in which to meet in the mornings. This one is unsafe.”

  “Oh.” Jensina tucked a wisp of bright orange bangs behind her ear. “So, I’m supposed to tell the new recruits about how things work. But first let’s all introduce ourselves so we can get to know each other. I’m Jensina Hicks. I’m a senior at Pilot Point High. I’m adopted. And I’d like to—”

  “I never knew you were adopted,” I said.

  “You never asked,” Jensina said, as if I was an idiot.