The Profile Match

by Jill Williamson

  Sunday afternoon I met with Mr. S and Grace to report on the progress of my investigation. I didn’t have all that much to say. “I’ve been busy with practice these past few weeks. Had a bunch of games,” I told them. “The only time I did any investigating was at MacCormack’s New Year’s Eve party.”

  “And Brittany’s after party,” Mr. S added.

  “Right,” I said.

  “I still say you should have invited me,” Grace said.

  “It wasn’t my party to be inviting people,” I said.

  “You can always bring a date to a New Year’s party, Spencer,” she said. “Everybody knows that.”

  “Says who?”

  “It’s a thing.”

  “You’re a thing.” Why did she always have to be so bossy?

  “Let’s focus on the report, shall we?” Mr. S said.

  But Grace wasn’t done. “We used to do everything together.”

  “That was before your mom told me to stay away from you.”

  “I told you my mom said I could come back to the Mission League.”

  “Back to the Mission League or back to me?”

  Grace folded her arms. “I don’t have to tell you what she said.”

  “Then I don’t have to tell you what I do,” I shot back.

  “Spencer and Grace,” Mr. S said, “can we focus on what we’re here to talk about?”

  “You should have taken me to the New Year’s party, Spencer.”

  “Who takes their ex to a party?”

  “I’m not your ex.”

  “Could have fooled me. And why would you ever step foot in MacCormack’s place after he kidnapped you? It would look totally crazy.”

  “No more than you going there after he kidnapped me.”

  “He believes my story.”

  “So you think.”

  I looked to Mr. S. “A little help here?”

  He sighed heavily. “Agent Thomas, why don’t we take a few deep breaths and read Spencer’s written report? Then he can answer any questions we might have.”

  “Fine.” Grace snatched the report off the table.

  I froze. “You guys never read my reports before,” I said. “I always just tell you.”

  “I always read your reports,” Mr. S said.

  “Yeah, but not her. Not at these meetings.” I watched Grace’s eyes shift as they read over the text. She was using her finger as a guide. Two more paragraphs and she’d read what had happened with Meg. I’d reported that she’d kissed me and that I stopped it, so that wasn’t too bad. And what I’d said about Grace was in there too. But if Grace was going to be reading my reports from now on, I needed to stop being so thorough.

  I watched her red-painted fingernail trace under the words in that paragraph, but it kept right on going. She didn’t speak or even falter. Just kept reading. When she finished the first page, she passed it to Mr. S, who’d been reading over her shoulder. He continued reading the first page while she read the second.

  I just sat there, feeling stupid.

  When Grace finished, she handed the second page to Mr. S and said, “I don’t think Spencer should be hanging out with these girls.”

  There it was. “Yeah? Well, I think you should have to give reports too since you’re”—I made air quotes—“back in the game.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “I don’t have to report to you.”

  “Mr. S, she’s been investigating on her own. You saw what Meg said about Grace being at Kip’s party.”

  “I can go to any party I want to,” she said.

  “But you’re not going for fun. You’re going to investigate the FLYs, and it’s not safe.”

  “I’m the First Twin,” Grace said. “I should be involved in this investigation. But since you won’t take me with you, yes, I’ve been doing it on my own.”

  “Is your mother aware of this, Agent Thomas?” Mr. S asked.

  “She knows where I go,” Grace said.

  “But not that you’re investigating, I bet,” I said.

  “It was just a stupid party, Mr. S, and Mom said I could go. Nothing much happened. I wrote down everything, so I can prove it.”

  “You show me what you wrote down, and I’ll decide for myself, okay?” Mr. S said.

  Grace pulled out her cell phone. “I have it on my phone. I’ll text it to you now.”

  “Email it, please,” Mr. S said. “I prefer to read on a bigger screen.”

  “Email, sure,” Grace said. “Hold on.”

  We sat there watching as Grace fiddled with her phone

  “I’m not comfortable with this,” I said. “With Grace investigating.”

  She shot me a dirty look. “Why not?”

  “I’m jumping through, like, fifteen hoops of accountability, and I’ve been doing it all by the book. But Grace is off on her own, going rogue, and no one knows where she is and what she’s doing. She could get seriously hurt.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Your concern is noted,” Mr. S said. “I’ll be having a talk with her parents about this.”

  “Mr. S!” Grace said.

  “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t?” he asked her.

  She folded her arms. “I just want to help. If I’m supposed to do something important, I need to be a part of all this.”

  “I understand,” Mr. S said. “Will you trust me to try and help your parents understand?”

  She shrugged.

  Mr. S smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Thankfully, Mr. S drove Grace home, negating the issue of me again having to refuse her a ride.

  Back at my house, I continued working on my dad’s journal. Two nights ago, I’d uncovered a list of prophecies about the Profile Match. I found it ironic that the field office was still keeping this information from me, and here I’d figured it out on my own. Ha! Take that, protocol.

  My dad had added these to his journal because he’d been contacted about Jonas—me—being a possible match. These weren’t his prophecies. Another thing, my dad didn’t have prophecies like I did. I dreamed dreams. He’d received words. Weird, huh?

  So far I only had the first two prophecies decoded, but after putting in a couple hours of solid work, I finished the full list.

  A male descendant of Freidrich Lange will identify the First Twin. He will hereby be referred to as the Profile Match and will align with all of the following:

  He will be born in North America.

  He will have no siblings.

  He will be gifted in prophecy.

  He will prophesy to a council of believers.

  He will protect the First Twin from danger.

  He will bear the mark of his faith.

  He will betray the Mission League.

  That was it. Weird that they were still keeping it from me because there was nothing on that list that I didn’t already know with the exception of protecting the First Twin from danger. I’d done that already by getting Grace’s dad help with his drinking, though I saw this as a good reason to keep Grace away from the investigation. Of course, my dad had written this a long time ago. Many more prophecies could have come through since then.

  I felt bad that Grace and I had fought. Again. I decided to text her and see how it went with Mr. S and her mom. An hour later, she hadn’t texted back, so I wrote her again.

  Are you mad?

  Nothing.

  That night at about 10:30, she answered.

  im not mad

  Me: What happened? What did your mom say? Are you in?

  Ten minutes passed before she texted back.

  Grace: yas

  Yas, in? Why couldn’t the girl give me a straight answer.

  Me: You coming to League tomorrow morning?

  Grace: im skipng. jaz is takng me 2 skool

  On her first day back?

  Me: You mad at me?

  Grace: nah im ok

  Me: You sure?

  Grace: <3

  I wasn’t convinced. />
  REPORT NUMBER: 20

  REPORT TITLE: I Win the Basketball Lottery

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

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

  DATE AND TIME: Monday, January 14, 7:04 a.m.

  “Where was Grace this morning?” Lukas asked as we walked across the field from Harris Hall to the school after morning League.

  I shrugged.

  He went on. “Isabel said her mom is letting her come again.”

  “Yeah,” I said. Mr. S had pulled me aside this morning with a quick update. Grace’s mom really had relented—was allowing her to be part of the Mission League again. But she’d demanded Grace have her own detail, like I had, and Director Moreland had agreed.

  I was glad for that, actually. Now if Grace got herself into trouble, at least there would be some agents there to rescue her.

  No word on what, if anything, her mom had said about me. Maybe Grace hadn’t asked because she was too mad at me for narking about her side investigation.

  “Gee, Spencer, tell me more,” Lukas said. “Don’t hold back.”

  “There’s nothing to tell, man. Leave it,” I said.

  “She’s mad at you,” he said.

  I scoffed. “What makes you say that?”

  “I dated her, remember? I’ve been you.”

  “That was two years ago. It’s not the same.”

  “Sure it is. Grace gets to make all the rules. That’s how things work with her. You try to make a decision, try to have a say in something, she gets mad. Sound about right?”

  Figs. I didn’t want to admit that it did.

  “She has to be in control,” Lukas said. “It’s her way. At the same time, she doesn’t know what she wants. Like ever.”

  Huh. Yeah, he had her pegged, all right. The girl changed her mind more than she changed clothes.

  It was probably because of everything with her dad. When I’d researched alcoholics, I’d read that their kids either followed in their footsteps or went the opposite. Tried to make life perfect, the way things hadn’t been growing up.

  Was that what Grace was doing? Was she trying to keep herself safe in her own misguided way?

  ● ● ●

  That night over a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs, I asked Prière for an update on the Kimbal investigation. “Isaac doesn’t know, but I wondered if you’d heard anything about where Kimbal was the night my mom died.”

  “No, Spence,” Prière said. “I have not yet heard.”

  “Did they get the footage from the bank, at least?”

  “That is a question for Agent Schwarz,” Prière said.

  And last time I’d asked Isaac, he’d said they were “working on it.” I stabbed a meatball. “What about the journal? Did they get it translated yet?”

  “I am sorry, Spence,” Prière said. “We all must be patient.”

  “It’s been almost two months,” I said. “You can’t seriously expect me to believe nothing has happened in all that time.”

  “Spencer,” Grandma said, “watch your tone.”

  “What would you do if you were me, Grandma?” I asked.

  “I would be patient, like Prière is—”

  My phone rang.

  “Don’t answer that,” Grandma said. “We’re having dinner.”

  But I’d already pulled it out of my pocket and saw the screen. My heart leapt in my chest. “It’s Coach Greer,” I said. The recruiting coach from Arizona State.

  Grandma’s eyes widened. She shook her hands at me, her bracelets jangling. “Answer it. Answer it. Quick!”

  I pressed the icon and put the phone to my ear, my pulse throbbing. I swallowed. “Hello?”

  “Spencer! How you doing, man? It’s Coach Greer from Arizona State.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I’m good. Um . . . How are you?” I winced, clueless what I should or shouldn’t say.

  “Hopeful, Spencer. I’ve got a bit of a problem, and I’m hoping you can help me out.”

  The saliva in my mouth had turned to paste. I eyed my glass of iced tea on the table, but I couldn’t move. “I will if I can,” I said.

  “We had some changes in our roster. There’s a spot open for you, if you’re still interested.”

  “A walk on?” I asked, meeting Grandma’s gaze. She leaned closer, eyebrows arching.

  “Nope. We’re re-extending our original offer. Coach Sendek has wanted you since he met you, and he’s been very impressed at how you’ve handled your injury, your recovery, and the allegations against you. Your YouTube channel in particular is one of the reasons. We like how you aren’t afraid to share who you really are, mistakes and all. How you use that to help others. We want you to be a Sun Devil, Spencer. Will you consider playing ball for us?”

  I stood up, knocking my chair over. It smacked against the floor and I nearly tripped as I tried to untangle my feet from the chair legs. “Yes,” I said, then remembered my coach’s advice. “I mean, I’d like to. How soon do you need a definite answer?”

  “The sooner the better, Spencer,” Greer said. “Coach Sendek is anxious to finalize next year’s roster. We could give you a week. Probably stretch it to two, if you need the time.”

  “A week is fine,” I said. “I’ll call you before next Friday.”

  “That would be great! I look forward to hearing an official ‘yes’ from you.”

  I laughed. “I look forward to saying it.”

  We ended the call, and I punched my fists into the air like a champion. “Arizona State offered!”

  “A walk on?” Grandma asked.

  I shook my head. “The same offer they gave me before. A full ride.”

  Grandma squealed and leapt out of her seat. I wrapped her in a bear hug and lifted her off the floor. I felt like I was going to explode from all the happy inside. I put Grandma down and kissed the top of her head.

  “Felicitations, Spence,” Prière said, shaking my hand.

  “Tell me everything he said. Every word.” Grandma righted my chair, and I sat down.

  So I told all.

  “I’m proud of you, Spencer,” Grandma said. “They see your character just as much as they see your skill with a basketball. I like how much that matters to them.”

  While I was happy that Grandma felt good about such things, all I could think about was running onto that basketball court wearing a Sun Devils uniform.

  “I’ve got to call Grace,” I said, looking for where I’d set my phone.

  I picked it up off the table and brought up Grace from my favorites. But then I remembered she wasn’t talking to me. Again.

  “It’s all right, Spencer,” Grandma said. “Go ahead and call. Dinner can wait.”

  “Thanks.” I wandered down the hallway to my bedroom, feeling suddenly cold. Grace’s back-and-forth weirdness had put a strange chasm between us. I didn’t know how to talk to her anymore. And to call her felt like I was desperate or something.

  I settled on a text.

  Arizona State just called and re-extended their original offer. I’m gonna be a SUN DEVIL!

  Then I called Coach.

  I was still on the phone with him when the doorbell rang, and Grandma called my name. I walked out into the living room, and there was Grace, standing by the door.

  “Coach, I got to go,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Come see me during lunch, and we’ll go over the last offer to see if we can find some new questions to ask.”

  “Okay. I’ll be there.” I ended the call, then greeted Grace. “Hey.”

  She walked toward me. We met in the middle of the living room. Grace climbed on the coffee table and kissed me. I froze for a second, both happy with her affection and confused by it.

  Grandma’s “Off my table!” broke the moment.

  I swept Grace into my arms like a hero saving a damsel in distress, then set her on the floor. “Let’s go to my room,” I said, needing to say some
things I didn’t want Grandma to hear.

  “Door open,” Grandma called after us as I led Grace by the hand down the hall.

  I left the door open and sat in the chair by my desk, where I would be safe from her games, but she came right over and sat on my knee, leaned her face toward mine.

  This time I twisted my head aside. “Grace, what are you doing?”

  “Celebrating.”

  I heaved a sigh. “Does your mom know you’re here?”

  “I want to be with you.”

  “What would your mom say to that?”

  She scowled. “She doesn’t have to know.”

  I couldn’t help but think about what Lukas had said. That Grace had to be in control of everything.

  I pushed her off my lap. “I told you before, Grace. I’m not sneaking around behind your mom’s back. She’ll find out. Grandma will probably tell her.”

  “Oh, you’re an Arizona Sun Devil now, so you think you get to start calling the shots?”

  What? “That doesn’t even make sense. I don’t think either of us should get to call all the shots. There are two people in this room. We both get a say.”

  “And what’s your say?” she asked, her tone nasty.

  “I just . . . I need to be all in. Or all out. I can’t yo-yo.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  Why did she do this kind of thing? It was maddening. “Won’t,” I said. “Until your mom changes her mind.”

  She huffed and shot me a dirty look, but it quickly faded. Her face crumpled and she started to cry. “I’m sorry, Spencer. It’s hard for me when people tell me no.”

  Wow. Grace apologizing. This was a rare occurrence. “Yeah, I don’t much like it either.”

  She sniffled, wiped tears off her cheek. “It was a big fight with my mom, to get back in the Mission League. I was scared to push my luck, so I didn’t ask about you.”

  “Okay . . . Everybody’s got to pick their battles.”

  “I’ll ask her when I get home. I promise.”

  “All right,” I said.

  She wiped her cheeks again, then rubbed her hands on her pants. “I’m going to go.”

  “Okay.”

  She walked past me, and I looked down on her blonde hair. She was so short. My Shorty. Or not.