Project Gemini (Mission 2

by Jill Williamson

  “Really?” I had a fangirl. It was actually kind of endearing.

  Mary yelled, “Let’s run five!” and passed the ball to the right. She jogged through the key with her hand in the air. The gangly guard lobbed a pass to her, but it was too short. A stick of a girl from Glendale Middle School intercepted and took off for the other end. But the stick was slow. Mary caught up and swiped the ball back.

  “Way to go, Mary!” I yelled.

  Mary sped back to her end, dribbling through the disoriented players who still thought the stick had the ball. She went all the way to the hoop and scored. The scattered fans cheered, myself included.

  Hey, she was pretty good.

  By halftime, Mary had scored twelve points, had five assists—would have had ten if her teammates could make their shots. She also had four rebounds, two fouls, and three steals. At least that’s what I’d tallied in my head.

  I was smitten and ready to adopt her as my kid sister.

  “Thanks for coming, Spencer,” Kerri said. “She’s good at basketball, don’t you think?”

  “She’s awesome! She’ll play varsity in high school for sure—I mean, if she wants.”

  Kerri giggled. “Oh, I think she’ll want.”

  “Mom! Do you have my other kneepad?” Mary was suddenly standing on the bleachers one row down from Kerri, her cheeks flushed from the exercise. The rest of her team was out on the court warming up for the second half.

  “Oh, honey. You had it in your bag, didn’t you?”

  “I gave you my bag to …” Mary spotted me and her eyes went wide.

  I smiled, not wanting to ruin her game by existing. “Hey, Mary,” I said. “You’re doing great out there.” She looked like she might pass out, so I kept talking. “Watch number 43, the chick with the skunk hair. She can’t go left. Force her that way and you can steal.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was nearly a whisper. “Okay.”

  “Here it is, sweetie. Your kneepad?” Kerri held out a black kneepad to Mary, who snatched it and fled back to the bench.

  I looked at Gabe and winced. “Should I go? I don’t want to mess up her game.” I’d had trouble playing when Beth had been watching me, and I was practically an expert.

  “It will be worse if you leave now,” a voice said from behind me.

  I turned around. Martha was sitting against the wall on the top row of the bleachers. She held a book—The Grapes of Wrath—in her hand. “She’ll think you left on purpose. Like maybe you got bored with a middle school game, or maybe you thought she stinks, or maybe you thought her hair looked bad and couldn’t stand to look at it.”

  I wrinkled my nose and glanced at Gabe.

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”

  The second half started, but when Mary fumbled the ball out of bounds, then accidentally threw the ball to skunk hair, I felt responsible.

  “Let’s go, Mair Bear,” Mr. S hollered.

  Mair Bear? “Come on, Mary!” I yelled, hoping the girl could get her head in the game.

  The next time skunk girl brought down the ball, Mary rocked the defense, forcing her to dribble to the left side of the court. Skunk girl used her right hand, of course, and Mary swiped the ball and scored on the fast break.

  “Whoo!” She’d taken my advice. How cool was that? Maybe I could coach basketball someday.

  After the game, Martha rode home with her dad. Since Gabe was driving the minivan, his mom sat in the passenger’s seat, so I sat next to Mary in the middle row of the van. No way was I going to ask her about her prophetic dreams with her mom right there. I hoped to get a chance later.

  “My outside shot isn’t very good, huh?” Mary said to me.

  “It’s a little flat. But it goes in, and that’s what counts. Work to get a little more arc in your shot. Shoot up, not straight. Make it pretty. Make a rainbow.”

  “A rainbow? Really?” Gabe said, his voice monotone.

  “Yeah.” I tried to show Mary, but my hand hit the roof of the van.

  “You’re almost too tall for the van,” she said, giggling. “Hey, do you think Myra is good?”

  I slouched and leaned closer to Mary, trying to hear over the sound of the van’s engine. “Which one is Myra?”

  “The tall blonde with the pink glasses. She doesn’t like to run, and I told her she has to.”

  “A lot of forwards are slow, but if she wants to be good, she’s got to run. At least she makes her lay-ups, though. My coach would make you guys run for all the missed shots in that game.”

  Mary sighed and took out her ponytail. Her frizzy black hair exploded out and framed her face. “Most of the girls are just playing for fun or whatever, not to win. I know it’s important to have fun and everything, and I do have fun, but I really want to win. I can’t wait until I’m in high school. Will I get to go on the same basketball trips as you?”

  The mere idea of Mary in the same vicinity as guys like Desh and Chaz made me sick. “You think you’ll make varsity your freshman year?”

  She crossed her arms. “I know I will.”

  I raised my eyebrows. The girl was confident, I’d give her that. “It’s hard to make varsity as a freshman. Not many people do.”

  “I will, and I’ll get game time too.”

  “If you want it bad enough, work hard, and don’t give up.”

  “So that’s how you got so good. I just know you’ll get a basketball scholarship.”

  “Thanks.” How could Gabe find this annoying? I’d love to have a little sister like Mary who played basketball and hung on my every word. But then I caught Gabe glaring at me in the rearview mirror, and I recalled one of his Prude Patrol lectures about playing with a girl’s heart.

  Was it wrong for me to be nice to Mary? Because I really didn’t want to hurt her. Ever.

  ● ● ●

  When I got home it was 9:37 p.m. Grandma Alice fed me sandwiches, then I went to my room and crashed on my bed with my MacBook. I was so tired, but I needed a social media fix.

  Kip had sent me three messages trying to get me on Planet of Peril. I shot off a quick apology email about Mary’s game. I should really make some time for him before I left for Japan, but I couldn’t stomach him and Megan together. And if by some miracle she wasn’t there, she’d be texting him constantly. It stunk hanging out with someone who was only half paying attention to you.

  I had a friend request and a message from Mary Stopplecamp. Aww. I accepted and clicked open her message.

  Hi, Spencer!

  I’m not supposed to talk about it, but I had another dream about you. My dreams are always of three guys with sunglasses beating you up. If you have to tell this to Prière or my dad or whatever, I understand. I don’t mind getting in trouble for you. But all I know is that you get hurt in my dream and you’re in Japan.

  So please, please, please, please, please, don’t go on the trip this summer. Stay home and do basketball conditioning and then show me what you learned when I get back because I have to go to Japan since both my parents are going and I don’t have a choice.

  Your friend, Mair

  PS. If you insist on going, which you probably will since you’re so brave, I have a sub-warning. This will probably sound stupid, but I don’t know how else to say it, so here goes: Beware of foreign girls. Beauty can be misleading.

  Yeah. Sounds crazy, right? Like there wouldn’t be any foreign girls in Japan . . . Sorry.

  I read her message twice. Three guys beating me up, huh? I knew how it felt to have intense dreams about people. And it was nice that she wanted to warn me. But if her dad knew, he’d probably told Prière. So it couldn’t be that bad, right?

  I could still back out of the trip. Stay home, do basketball conditioning, make Coach happy. But this summer I’d get my first test mission, though it would probably be something lame like helping Gabe run VBS or following Grace around.

  Grace. Now there was a reason to stay home. If she and I got paired up, things could get ugly fast. But if I sta
yed home, I’d be forced to play third wheel to Kip and Megan all summer or sit alone in my room. Both options sounded pretty miserable.

  The second part of Mary’s message, the PS … I scratched the back of my neck. Girls, she’d said. Plural. Wow. If that was a real prophesy, it was too much of a temptation to pass up.

  Sweet. I was going to meet me some foreign girls in Okinawa.

  I’d better make up some homemade field ops kits, just in case.

  REPORT NUMBER: 6

  REPORT TITLE: Change of Plans

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Jun Uehara

  LOCATION: Mission League Safe House, 2-11-10

  Tsuboya, Naha, Okinawa, Japan

  DATE AND TIME: Thursday, May 28, 8:08 p.m.

  “THERE HAS BEEN A CHANGE IN your assignment,” Toda-san said.

  “Again?” Jun studied the somber face of his Mission League instructor. His assignment had already changed once due to the information in his reports. When his superiors had discovered Jun had made a connection with Bushi Kogawa, they’d wanted him to get as deep into the Abaku-kai gang as possible. What did International want now?

  “Your parents have signed up to host some of the American agents-in-training,” Toda-san said.

  Jun knew this. He had been worried that it might interfere with his assignment.

  “One of the young men we placed in your home is of special interest to International.” Toda-san slid a photo across the table.

  A pale, freckled boy with orange hair stared back at Jun. He wondered how someone with such hair could ever be inconspicuous—unless he was permanently stationed in Scotland or something. “What must I do?”

  “He’s important. International is sending an adult agent to monitor him, but there will be times when the adult agent can’t see him. Do your best to keep an eye on him. Watch who pays attention to him.”

  “He is good, then?” Jun had been working with delinquents for so long, it would be a nice to spend time with a good guy.

  “Hai. But we have reason to believe the Abaku-kai may take an interest in him.”

  “If that happens, should I reveal myself?” Jun asked. “Blow my cover?”

  “I realize that this isn’t an ideal situation,” Toda-san said. “Your connection to the Abaku-kai is important. If at all possible, do not blow your cover. Simply report.”

  “And if I cannot?”

  “This boy’s life, and your life, is the priority.”

  “I understand.” Jun looked back to the picture of the American with the smug expression and blue eyes. “I will do my best, sensei.”

  REPORT NUMBER: 7

  REPORT TITLE: I Go to Japan and Meet an Asian Princess Times Two

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean

  DATE AND TIME: Monday or Tuesday, June 1 or 2. Who knew what time?

  THE NEXT FEW WEEKS FLEW BY. We’d tied with Diakonos, points-wise, on the initiation abduction. Lukas had given us plenty of trouble, and we were late getting him to Mr. S’s house. But Grace saved us by being the one to guess it was a test.

  Mary and I had become buddies. I’d gone to her last few games, and she was always asking me questions about what she should work on to improve as an athlete.

  Grace still hated me, and I still didn’t know why.

  When we all showed up at LAX for the trip to Japan, one of us was missing. Nick. His dad had yanked him out of the trip at the last minute. Shocked the tar out of me.

  Now to his credit, Nick hadn’t bothered me much lately. I attributed this to two things: 1) I’d been too busy to even hear any sarcastic insults he might have thrown my way, and 2) Isabel might have turned him sorta-nice during their time “dating.”

  I really hoped to get a chance to ask Isabel about her assignment and if she had any clue what Nick had done to miss out on the summer mission. But Mr. S had warned us that things would be different this year. We weren’t staying in the same place. They’d divvied us up into host families. Boys with boys, girls with girls. So I wouldn’t be in the same house as Isabel.

  I had one more bit of excitement before getting on the plane. When we were going through security, the guards pulled me aside and confiscated the homemade field ops kits I’d put in my backpack and wallet. All of them. The kits consisted of a flat razor blade and a paperclip hidden in a little box of gum. They might look a little pathetic, but I’d used the razor blade to get free when Blaine and Tito had guy-napped me last year. Ever since, I’ve had one on me at all times.

  But yes, packing two razor blades in my backpack to get on an airplane had been dumb.

  The flight from Los Angeles to Tokyo was a half hour longer than the trip to Moscow had taken last year. And Tokyo wasn’t even our final destination. After a quick layover, we took another two-and-a-half-hour flight to Okinawa. Total flight time: twelve hours fifty-three minutes. And we’d soared into the future too. It was 6:41 p.m. when we landed in Okinawa, but back home in LA it was 1:41 a.m. last night.

  I was a time lord. I was Doctor Who.

  As we stood in the aisle waiting for the flight attendant to open the door, I found myself behind Lukas and in front of Gabe. Being so tall, I could see over everyone’s heads. A few rows up, Grace and Isabel were laughing at something Arianna had said. This struck me as odd. I couldn’t remember Arianna ever saying anything funny. Not intentionally, anyway.

  “You should go for her this summer, Spencer,” Lukas said. “Grace.”

  Excuse me? I choked out a laugh. “Yeah … she hates me.”

  “It’s a game.” Lukas jutted his chin my way. “She said she likes gingers.”

  “When?” I fought the urge to look at Grace but could still hear her laughter.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Gabe said. “He’ll have a much better trip if he stays away from girls.”

  That got a rise out of me. “So you’re going to stay away from Isabel, then?”

  Gabe looked down at his loafers.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” I nudged Lukas. “When did Grace say that about gingers?”

  “Last night. Before we left. She texted me.”

  Sure. “She just randomly texted you, ‘I like gingers.’”

  “No. I texted her to see if we could try and work things out this summer. And she texted back that I’m not her type. So I asked, ‘What’s your type, Graciela?’ and she says ‘I like gingers.’ Three words.” Lukas raised one eyebrow. “I only know one ginger, man.”

  I shook my head. “You’re lying.”

  “Why would I lie?” Lukas said.

  “Well, then she’s lying.” She had to be. “She probably means some guy with orange hair from Pilot Point High. Someone from her own school.” Right?

  Lukas smoothed up his faux-hawk. “If you say so.”

  The line started to move. Slowly. Lukas pulled his carry-on from the overhead bin.

  “Is her name really Graciela?” I asked.

  “Nah,” Lukas said. “Graciela is a Spanish version of the name Grace. She used to like me calling her that. Funny how girls change.”

  Psychotic fit better for my experiences with girls. We reached the front of the line, and I stepped out of the airplane door and into a sauna. I was standing at the top of a portable metal staircase that led down to the tarmac. It was still light out, even thought it was almost seven at night. Above me, the sky was cloudy, but bits of turquoise poked through. On the horizon, the blue turned to purple and grey and yellow and orange. Almost sunset. I’d seen the ocean from the plane just before we landed, but I couldn’t see it from here. The other passengers ahead of me were snaking their way to a one-story section of the terminal.

  This was what outside felt like here? I’d never imagined the weather could feel so … thick. I followed the crowd, and when I stepped into the terminal, I was hit with a gust of air conditioning. Big difference.

  A cheer went up from a crowd of Japanese teenagers holding necklaces m
ade of fresh flowers. They were all wearing school uniforms with white shirts and navy blue pants or skirts. The boys had navy neckties. The girls had little navy blue bows at their necks.

  A Japanese guy with black flat-topped hair tried to put a lei over my head. I leaned down to help him out. The purple petals were cool against my neck and smelled sweet. “Am named Jun Uehara,” the guy said, patting his chest. “Am your host brother.” He grinned, flashing a smile that revealed a chipped front tooth. Owzers.

  Jun also put flowers over Gabe’s and Wally’s heads and claimed them as host bros. I frowned as a different Japanese guy put flowers over Lukas’s head. Bummer.

  An itch twinged my scalp. I scratched my head and felt someone’s finger. I spun around and caught two Japanese girls with their hands in the air. They slapped their hands over their mouths and giggled.

  The one with a bad case of acne—like I could talk—reached back toward my hair. “Sugoi ne?”

  Her friend batted her eyelashes at me. I took a small step backward, a little freaked out. Someone elbowed me in the side. Mary.

  “I told you,” she said, flashing her teal green smile. “It’s your hair.”

  “What about my hair?”

  “There are no natural redheads or blonds in Japan,” Mary said. “Look at Grace.”

  I glanced around the gate and found Grace surrounded by a mob of students. At least three people were touching her hair. “Dude. That’s messed up.” I dug out my Lakers cap from my backpack and put it on.

  Another thing that was messed up: I was like a lighthouse in this place. I didn’t see one guy over six feet tall. I knew my height was above average, but in LA and even Moscow there had been enough men who were close enough to my height that I didn’t feel like a freak. But here? Grace would never quit with the tall jokes.

  I followed Jun to the luggage area. While we waited for our suitcases, I ran into the bathroom and was dismayed to discover a toilet in the floor of the stall. An actual porcelain hole right there in the tile with a handle to flush and everything.