“No,” Gabe said with a shy glance at Isabel.
The girls shrieked. One with pigtails reached over the acne girl’s arm and nudged me. “You have? Girlfriend?”
I shook my head. The girls squealed and leaned against one another, hysterical. I looked at Gabe and laughed. Crazy.
The evening passed in a blur of shrieks and giggles from the Japanese girls on the bed. Keiko talked quietly to Isabel. Kozue, the twin in red sitting with Jun on the floor between the beds, spent most of the night kissing Jun. I hoped they weren’t going to make a habit of that. I’d been glad to leave the Kip-Megan creature back in LA and had no desire to spend time with its Okinawan counterpart.
Keiko, however, according to the acne girl, was single. Oh, yeah.
Keroppi Frog Girl, Pigtails, and Acne—I didn’t catch their names—asked me and Gabe hundreds of questions. Pigtail girl asked me about KitKats and my favorite Brittany Holmes movie—Jolt II, of course. Keroppi Frog Girl kept asking about Star Trek. She really liked the re-launch movies and squealed at the mention of Chris Pine. Acne girl asked if she could touch my hair, so I let her. Hey, at least she’d asked. She said it was soft too. So there.
Wally went on and on to Arianna about which Japanese foods were healthiest. She must have been practicing her word of the year—listen—because she was letting the guy prattle on like Jun’s mom. And Grace stayed in her corner of the bed, silent and glaring at me like a Goomba from Super Mario Brothers.
I ignored her. What else could I do? I wasn’t going to let her spoil my trip. I had big plans for this summer and all the foreign girls that Mary had warned me about. As if Princess Keiko could be dangerous.
Grace, however … I had a feeling that girl could cause me plenty of trouble.
REPORT NUMBER: 8
REPORT TITLE: I Get My First Real Spy Mission and a Spicy Lunch
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Oroku High School, 1-5-3 Kanagusuku, Naha, Okinawa, Japan
DATE AND TIME: Wednesday, June 3, 7:49 a.m.
HIGH SCHOOL WENT YEAR-ROUND for Okinawans, the poor saps. Jun had given us guys navy slacks, white polo shirts, and neckties: the school’s uniform. Whee. I looked like a moron with pants three inches too short. And can I just say, long pants in this heat? Really? You’d think some Asian Arianna would have protested for shorter garments to keep everyone from suffering heat strokes. Because it was hot here. Not hot like, “Oh, let me find some shade.” But humid hot, like a sauna, like Satan’s lair. The heat clung to me like sweat and smoked down my throat with every breath.
When we left the house that morning, a cheer of children’s voices went up. Across the alley road a dozen Japanese children pressed up against a long black gate, their arms and legs flailing between the bars.
“A-me-ri-kan! A-me-ri-kan!”
“My parents’ preschool,” Jun said.
I waved at the kids, which made them scream and laugh.
Crazy.
We walked to school, which wasn’t far—maybe five minutes, but that just made the heat worse. Oroku High School was four wings of four stories of stone with one wall of each classroom open to the hallway and the outdoor courtyard on the first floor of each wing. It must feel strange to see people walking by your desk during class. And what if it rained? Water probably wouldn’t get into the classrooms with the overhang in the hallways, but wouldn’t it be distracting?
Jun showed us a map of the school painted on a sign. He said we should meet him by the gym after our last class of the day. I snapped a picture on My Precious in case I got lost.
Jun led us up some concrete stairs. Japanese guys stared and said things I didn’t understand. Japanese girls gawked and giggled. Clearly I was a freak here. But at least I was a cool freak.
Just as my eyes crested the floor of level three, I saw Mary Stopplecamp dressed in a school uniform, walking away from us. Those curls in that ponytail were unmistakable.
I pointed. “Gabe, isn’t that—”
“Mary!” Gabe yelled, running ahead of us. He grabbed Mary’s arm and pulled her around.
It wasn’t Mary. It was Keiko. Or Kozue. I’d never know which.
“Sorry,” Gabe said, backing away.
“Ohayo, Keiko,” Jun said as the rest of us reached them.
Now that I was standing beside her, Keiko wasn’t quite as
short as Mary, but she was close. I couldn’t believe both Gabe and I had thought she was his sister. Weird.
“What happened to your hair?” Gabe asked.
Keiko turned her head from side to side. “Imomoko hair sponge. Isabel did our hair today. Was too bushy so I put ponytail. Is cute, you think?”
Very. But not because it resembled Mary’s hair. Because Mary was thirteen.
I’m just making that clear.
“Well, I go to class. Ja ne.” And she turned and jogged away, curls bouncing.
“How can you tell them apart?” I asked Jun. Such intel might help me figure out which one was in my dream. And which one I could hit on without making Jun mad.
“Keiko has little mole,” Jun said, tapping his left cheek. “But also, Kozue doesn’t go to school here.”
Convenient for me. “Where does Kozue go to school?”
“Shogaku. Is private school. Kozue wants study in America, so Shogaku is better. Ikuzo.”
We followed Jun to his homeroom class. I smiled politely when the teacher introduced us. Couldn’t understand a word she said except for our names. Then, she went on with her teaching—whatever subject it was—and ignored us.
I sat in back with Gabe and Wally.
Guys and girls were fanning themselves with sheets of plastic covered in Anime, Hello Kitty, Keroppi Frog, or Japanese rock stars. I needed to get me one of those.
I wrote a note to Gabe on my schedule.
Me: Where are the others?
Gabe: ?
So we sat, doing nothing, until class ended. Then we followed Jun to another class. Another awkward introduction. And we sat in the back again. At least I could tell that this was a math class. Even I could recognize the writing on the whiteboard. It looked harder than any math I’d taken so far, though. Glad I didn’t live here.
During third period, Jun dropped us off in the school library, which just about made my day.
Because the library was air conditioned.
The librarian sent us to a private study room in the back. It had four skinny tables with three chairs each. The girls had already taken over the front row: Jensina and Beth at one table—Isabel, Grace, and Arianna at the other. Jake and Lukas sat at the table behind Jensina and Beth. So Gabe, Wally, and I claimed the only empty one, me on the end, right behind Grace.
Great. I was looking at that blasted ponytail again.
Mr. S was standing up front with Prière, who must get massive frequent flyer miles as much as that guy traveled. He reminded me of the Where’s Waldo guy, only he also had a thick, black moustache.
I draped my arms over the cool Formica and moaned. It felt so good. “How do people live in this heat?” I laid one cheek against the tabletop. My eyes drooped. I wondered how much time I had before Mr. S got this party started, because sleep would be perfect right now.
“Live in it?” Beth’s voice came from my left. “How do they work out in it? We’re supposed to practice LCT here, right?”
“The dojo is likely air conditioned,” Mr. S said. “But if you all crack under a little heat, I’m not sure how I can recommend you for adult posts.”
This was more than a little heat. I opened my eyes and looked to Mr. S, who was holding a stack of blue cards. Prière had a stack of red cards. My stomach did a back flip at the thought of getting a real assignment.
“You’re going to pass out assignments, Mr. S?” I asked.
“‘Time brings roses,’ Agent Garmond.”
Whatever. “Mr. S, are we really going to spend all day, every day in school here? The teachers talk so fast I can’t understand what t
hey’re saying.” Seemed like a big waste of time.
“You will each have four classes a day. The other two class periods and lunch will be spent in here. Some of the classes, like calligraphy, sewing, and cooking, should be fun for you. The others, you are meant to learn the language, so do your best to follow along.”
Calligraphy? Sewing? Was he serious?
I turned my head, putting my other cheek on the cool surface, and looked out the floor-to-ceiling window beside the door. I could see the rows of bookshelves. A Japanese man was walking this way. I expected him to turn when he reached the back wall. Instead, the door opened, and he came inside. I recognized him from the airport.
“Good Wednesday to you,” the man said, nodding to us as he walked around to the front of the room. He was slender with thin black hair and patchy eyebrows and was wearing a rumpled beige suit.
I flipped my head on the table to see where he went. He greeted Prière with a nod and stood beside Mr. S. They mumbled to each other, then Mr. S cleared his throat.
“This is Hiroshi Toda-san,” Mr. S said. “He is the League instructor for Oroku High School and all of Naha. My family is staying with his while we’re here.”
“Hajimemashite, Toda-san,” Arianna said.
Toda-san nodded to her. All this nodding made me glad I had my head down.
“Toda-san would like to tell you a little about Okinawa,” Mr. S said.
“Hai, so desu. Okinawa Prefecture is made up of the Ryukyu Islands. Long ago these islands were separate from Japan, but in 1879, Japan took control of Ryukyu Kingdom and this land became Okinawa Prefecture. Because Okinawa was a separate nation for so long, many people speak languages different from traditional Japanese. If your host family speaks words you cannot understand, could be they are speaking Okinawan.
“Okinawan people are independent and embrace a distinct culture. This shows in music and foods and language and even our mindsets. We are considered to be the healthiest people in the world. We have a low fat diet of fish, pork, seaweed, and vegetables. Our diet and good attitude of not worrying or getting angry, this is the medicine for a long life.
“Since World War II, the United States have had a military presence in Okinawa. There is an ongoing struggle between Okinawans and the Japanese government about the US bases. Okinawans frequently feel they are not cared for by the Japanese government. There is often much protesting, though it is always peaceful. Okinawa is a peaceful nation. Many don’t mind the US bases here, but they would like the land back. I’ve found this is more an issue for the older generations. Okinawan youth have never known life on Okinawa without the US bases.
“It is the poorest region in Japan. Okinawa buildings are made of concrete with cement roof tiles and covered windows. This is because of frequency of tropical storms and typhoons. Okinawa relies on tourism and is famous for tropical beaches. Many come here to vacation.
“Okinawa is to Japan what Hawaii is to United States,” Mr. S added.
“Hai, so desu,” Toda-san nodded to Mr. S. “As to faith, Okinawa’s indigenous religion is animistic, and there are also aspects of Shinto and Buddhism. While most don’t practice any religion, they still believe in sacred spirits and that pleasing these spirits will ward off misfortune and bring blessings. Many also believe that spirits of their ancestors are always near, observing the life of their descendants.”
“What about Christianity?” Jensina asked.
“Less than one percent of the Okinawan population is Christian. Please pray for the people of Okinawa to come to know of God’s love and grace.”
“What are the differences for students?” Arianna asked. “I noticed that students don’t ask many questions of the teacher.”
“Students are used to the teacher always being the master,” Toda-san said. “And politeness and respect are very important in our culture. Most classes are lecture-oriented. Students in Japan face incredible pressure for academic success. They take very difficult tests to determine what high school and college they can enter. Because of this, they study very much after school and on weekends. Because of this pressure to succeed in school and later in life, suicide rates are very high.”
“Is crime bad here?” Jake asked.
“We sometimes have problems with American soldiers,” Toda-san said. “Also, there are four organized crime groups in Naha. Yamaguchi-gumi, Sumiyoshi-kai, and Inagawa-kai operate throughout Japan. But the Abaku-kai is the group which causes the most difficulty for Naha. Many teenagers are recruited to join. Even some students here at Oroku High School are members of Abaku-kai.”
Organized crime. I wondered how C-Rok would do if we had a mob in LA. Scary.
“You will be volunteering at two places where we suspect Abaku-kai’s involvement,” Toda-san said. “Kimura Fitness and Kimura Bank of Naha. Please be very careful.” He nodded to Mr. S then, and I gathered he was done.
“Thank you, Toda-san,” Mr. S said. “We appreciate your time.”
“Kite kurete arigato,” Arianna said. All I caught of that mouthful was thanks.
“Iie.” Toda-san nodded again, like some kind of bobble head that couldn’t help it. “I must go to my classroom now. Enjoy the lunch.”
“Ja mata ne,” Arianna called after him. Show off.
Mr. S took Toda-san’s place up front and tapped his little stack of blue cards on the surface of Arianna’s desk. “I want you to observe this summer. Try and understand what it’s like to live here. Look for the things Toda-san mentioned so that we can talk about it when we get together.”
“Which is when?” Jake asked.
“We’ll meet weekdays in this room during the third hour class period and through lunch,” Mr. S said.
Excellent. I would relish my daily dose of air conditioning. And the food too. My stomach had that hollow ache going on. I needed sustenance. Hopefully I’d get more of it here than at Jun’s place.
“Before we eat, we’re going to hand out assignments,” Mr. S said. “Prière will pass out red cards, and I’ll pass out blue cards. You may talk quietly until your name is called.”
I eyed the much smaller stack of red cards Prière was holding, wishing they weren’t for seniors only. How sweet would it be to get a real assignment?
“Elizabeth Watkins,” Prière said.
Of course Beth would get a coolio assignment. I flipped my head and put my first cheek on the table, but the surface was no longer cool. I scooted to the left and found a fresh cold patch of desk and moaned again.
Arianna turned around in her seat. “How was breakfast at your place?”
I was facing away from her, so I finally sat up. Arianna must have brought her collection of floor-length skirts to Japan, because she was wearing a floofy one instead of the pleated skirts the other girls had on. “We had some nasty soup that smelled like dirty towels. I chugged it but almost hurled. Hopefully my host mom will make something else tomorrow.”
“Most Japanese homes have miso soup as part of their breakfast each day,” Arianna said. “Didn’t you have anything with it?”
“Tea,” I said. “Jun’s mom serves mostly a liquid diet. I think our host family might be poor.”
“She served rice too,” Gabe said.
I leaned back so I could see Gabe around Wally. “Yeah, but I can’t use the stupid chopsticks,” I said. “Can’t I use my fingers?”
“That’s India, Spencer,” Arianna said. “Please don’t eat rice with your fingers here.”
“And don’t pass food with your chopsticks, either,” Wally said. “It reminds people of the ancient ritual of passing bones.”
Eww. “I can’t even use them to feed myself, why would I try to pass food?”
Gabe slapped the tabletop. “Oh, and don’t stick your chopsticks upright in your bowl of rice.”
“Stop telling me what not to do. What can I do?”
“Miso soup is very healthy,” Wally said. “I’m thankful it will be served daily. Seaweed is high in essential amino acids an
d a valuable source of vegetable protein. Plus it contains virtually no fat.”
I was well aware that Japanese people ate seaweed, but all I could think of was that green stuff that washed up on the beaches in LA, tangled around trash. Disgusting. “Look at me!” I said to Wally. “You think I can maintain this awesome physique on nothing but seaweed, water, and rice? I need my fat.”
“Spencer?” Mr. S called.
I jumped, ready to apologize for talking too loudly, but Mr. S waved me over. Right. Time for the phony quest that would likely take me all summer to complete. I joined Mr. S in the corner adjacent to Prière and sat on the empty chair next to him. He handed me a blue card.
SOLO
FIELD: PROFILING: FACILITY SKETCH
Measure and draw the structure at 3-18-57 Jinan, Naha, Okinawa
I looked at Mr. S. “Where is this?”
He shrugged, a guilty grin on his face. “It’s your assignment, Agent Garmond. You’ve got to find it.”
Oh-kay. I stood up and tucked the card into my back pocket. “No problem.” My eyes met Grace’s at the table in front of me, looking up like I was the US Bank Tower. I hurried back to my seat before she could start another skirmish.
I’d barely sat down at the table beside Wally when Prière said, “Spence?”
A little thrill ran through me. “Seriously? A red card?” Sah-weet. I jogged to the empty chair beside Prière.
The Frenchman’s dark eyes studied me, and his moustache twitched. “How have you been, Spence? Getting sleep enough?”
“Sure,” I lied. Why did he always have to ask important stuff when other people were around? I wasn’t going to complain about my widdle baby nightmares with Beth and Grace within earshot.
“You have not yet had a red card, is this correct?” Prière asked.
“Yeah.” I eyed the little red business card in Prière’s hand. “I thought they were only for seniors.”
“God will do what He thinks best, Spence. Now, you must understand that red cards are confidentiel between us unless I say otherwise. It this clear?”
I nodded. Gimme gimme.
Prière handed me the red card.
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