Jensina volunteered to drive our team.
“Group one gets first pick of their gnome,” Pastor Scott said.
The garden gnomes had been re-painted in various ways. There was a ninja gnome dressed all in black, a zombie gnome whose face looked all rotted, a glittery show choir gnome, a cyborg gnome, a chipped and faded high school musical gnome, and my personal favorite, a pirate gnome with a peg leg and an eye patch.
By the time we got to pick, the zombie and ninja gnomes were gone.
“Let’s get the pirate,” Mary said.
“Yes!” I said. “We want the pirate.”
Sherry ran up to the table.
“Get the pirate!” El McWilly, Mary, Grace, and I yelled.
Sherry came back with the show choir gnome. Wally walked over to examine it—without touching it, of course. The rest of us groaned.
I took a picture of three of the gnomes. I didn’t bother taking a close-up of the show choir gnome because that would mean walking over to Sherry, and I was trying to keep my distance.
Once all the gnomes had been claimed, Pastor Scott sent us off. We had to be back on time to win, and we would earn extra points for creative pictures. We made plans as we ran to Jensina’s van. Actually, we argued. I wanted to go by DQ and the fire station first. Sherry wanted to go to the drugstore.
Sherry won.
There were no pickup trucks in the drugstore’s parking lot, so we ran inside and got a picture with a box of hair dye. Then we took a shot with a clerk, who was wearing black slacks. El McWilly found a display of mood rings and we all gathered around him as he knelt and pretended to propose to Mary—who, in true Stopplecamp form said she had to pray about it. After that, I found a woman with a toddler on the toy row, but Sherry refused to pose with them.
“A toddler isn’t a baby,” she said.
“Toddlers wear diapers,” I said, noting the package in the woman’s cart. “Anything that wears diapers is a baby.”
“In that case, we’ll just get a picture with you,” she said.
“Be nice,” Mary said. “Let’s just get a picture with them. That way at least we have one in case we don’t see an infant.”
“I’m with Mary,” El McWilly said, sidling up beside her.
“Me too,” I said.
Sherry took off for the exit. “We don’t have time to waste taking useless pictures. Let’s go to the park for the slide.”
Jensina stomped after her, and we all followed slowly behind.
“We could go to Mrs. Martin’s house,” I said. “Canyon Creek goes right past her back yard. Plus she’s got a kiddy playground with a slide, trees to climb, and a pet bird.”
“Good idea,” Grace said.
That’s right it was. But once we were all loaded back into the van, Sherry vetoed.
“I’m not allowed to go to people’s houses I don’t know,” she said. “We can find a bird at the pet store and go to the creek at the park. There are trees there too.”
And that’s a sampling of how I spent the next hour and fifteen minutes of my life. Anything I said, Sherry contradicted, which Grace oddly seemed to find hysterical. Jensina was too busy signing for her brother to, you know, be the adult of our group. Wally refused to do any of the fun poses for various OCD reasons. And El McWilly seemed to have a thing for Mary, which shouldn’t have bothered me, yet I found myself completely annoyed by it.
To make matters worse, we ran into Nick at the park. He was wearing a pair of gray coveralls, standing beside a hand truck loaded with cardboard boxes, and was filling an opened vending machine with candy bars.
Since when did the little rich boy need a job? Pastor Muren had bought him a Lexus back when all he had was a driver’s permit.
“Person holding a candy bar!” Sherry yelled, running toward Nick.
Oh, man… Wally and I took our time catching up. It wasn’t like we stood a chance of winning at this point, anyway.
When we got there, Nick’s gaze met mine and he grinned. “Let me get this straight,” he said, chomping on his gum. “You need me to pose in a picture with all of you, holding a candy bar?”
“Yes!” Grace said.
“Please?” Sherry crooned.
I caught El McWilly poking a flower into Mary’s hair without her knowledge and shot him a glare that he unfortunately didn’t see.
Nick shrugged. “Sure.”
The girls cheered.
“But only if Garmond asks me very nicely.”
Grace sucked in a breath, and everyone stared at me.
And here I’d been trying to think of a way to warn this jerk wad about Kimatra’s pregnancy, but maybe I’d just warn her instead. She could do way better than Nick.
I faked a smile and spoke in stilted monotone. “Please, oh please, Nick, will you let us take a picture of you with a candy bar?”
Nick beamed and pulled a Twix out of the top box on his hand truck. “Why, yes I will. But only because Garmond begged.”
Grace and Sherry stood on either side of Nick. He put his arms around them, holding the Twix up to Grace’s mouth. He whispered in her ear. She giggled, then opened her mouth like she might take a bite.
I wanted to destroy him.
The rest of us crowded around and Jensina took our picture. After that we went to the slide and got another. All of us continually submitting to Sherry’s every order. See now? This was why I only dated her for six days.
We were the last group back to the gym. Jensina had been texting our pictures to Pastor Scott, who’d been compiling each group’s shots into slideshows. I sat alone on the back couch, eager to get as far away from Sherry as I could. When Pastor Scott finally rolled our slides, it pained me to have to live through the harrowing adventure again. I pacified myself by finding Grace in each image. The girl couldn’t take a bad picture. Neither could Mary. And why did I care that Mary was next to El McWilly in every single picture?
Why?
****
I didn’t stick around long enough to see if Grace wanted a ride home. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I drove to physical therapy, moping about the whole thing.
It was all single leg work tonight at PT. Single leg bike, single leg squats, single leg lifts to keep me from relying on my good leg. I put my earbuds in, cranked up the volume, and fell back on a strategy I’d developed long ago. I stopped thinking, let my vision blur, and traveled to the basketball court in my mind where my leg was strong and recruiting coaches were watching.
I’d just walked out the door of C Camp to head home when Grace texted me.
pick me up at ariannas tomorro morn 4 wrk?
Seriously? She’d practically ignored me during the scavenger hunt to giggle with my ex and now she wanted a ride? Why did she torture me?
Well, maybe I didn’t see this text. Maybe my cell was dead. I mean, I wasn’t her personal chauffeur. I had my own life to live.
Yet not sixty seconds passed before I texted back: What time?
5:54
How very precise.
That’s how I role
That’s right. She spelled it: r – o – l – e.
Just… wow. I had no comeback for that one.
REPORT NUMBER: 6
REPORT TITLE: Kimatra’s Visit
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Nicolas Muren
LOCATION: Muren Residence, 1052 N. Elm Street, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Wednesday, June 3, 6:08 p.m.
Nick parked his Lexus on the street in front of his house, exhausted. Who knew that refilling vending machines would be so tiring? If it wasn’t for Kimatra, he would never have taken such a boring job. He hadn’t seen anyone from the Mission League around the park except for Garmond, Grace, Wally, and Luke the day of the gnome scavenger hunt. And that probably didn’t count. If only he knew what Kimatra’s friends wanted to know.
He texted her that he was home, thumbed through the sexy selfies she’d sent him, then got out of the car. It was a Wednesday eveni
ng, so his mother’s Bible study group had taken over the driveway. They’d be packed into the living room, talking incessantly. He walked around to the back of the house, hoping to avoid them.
He grabbed a Coke from the fridge and was about to take the back stairs when he heard his name. He strained to listen.
“Yes, how is he?” someone asked.
“Eric can’t manage more than a five word conversation with him without it becoming a fight,” Mom said. “Nick is just so angry about everything. We’ve caught him drinking, caught him with his girlfriend, caught him in so many lies. He only stayed a half hour at his grad party yesterday, then took off with his girlfriend. He refused to apply to any colleges. I know he’s in God’s hands, but I just wish there was something I could do to fix this.”
Fix. As if he was the broken one. Whatever.
Nick took his Coke upstairs and heard singing from Faith’s room. He stopped at her open door and looked inside. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, earbuds in, doing a puzzle and bopping her head to whatever music was pouring through the wires. Nick would bet his car it was T Swift.
“Hey, Faith,” he said, reaching down and tugging out one of her earbuds. His fifteen-year-old sister had blond hair and brown eyes like the rest of the family, but her Down syndrome had given her a round face, small chin, and slanted eyes.
She looked up, surprised, then grinned like she’d won the lottery. “Nicky! Good day?”
He nodded. “The best. I got to put candy bars in vending machines all day.” He held up his bottle. “Want a Coke?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross. Only root beer for me.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
She shoved him. “Hey! You bad! Kissing girlfriend, Mom said. You…” She shoved him again and gave him that incredulous smile of hers, the one that said she admired his rebellion.
Nick shrugged. “She’s pretty.”
“Like me?”
“Naw. No one’s as pretty as you, Faith.”
“You…” She shoved him. “You gonna marry her?”
“I’m too young to get married.”
“Why? Kimmy’s my friend.”
Nick’s cell vibrated. He checked it. Kimatra. She’d sent a selfie of her standing on the kitchen porch, eyes big, lips pursed and pouty. Let me in? was texted beneath it. He grinned and pocketed his phone. He didn’t want Faith to know Kimatra was here, or they’d spend her whole visit in Faith’s room doing puzzles. “Hey, I’m going to take a nap. I’m tired.”
“Work too hard,” Faith said. “Why?”
Nick shrugged. “Someone has to, I guess.” He offered her the soda again. “Sure you don’t want this?”
“No!” She shoved him. “Coke is gross. Only root beer.”
“Okay, okay. No Coke for you.” He tucked her earbud back into her ear and closed the door behind him so he could sneak Kimatra into his room. Then he ran downstairs and opened the kitchen door.
Kimatra slipped inside. “Hey.”
He wanted to kiss her, but it was better to get upstairs before anyone realized she was here. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the stairs. Up they went, then down the hall. A quick dash past Faith’s room and into his.
He shut the door and locked it. Then kissed his girlfriend.
She stopped things before they got carried away, tugged on his coveralls. “Working hard, I see.”
“Yeah. Lucky me.”
“Baby, this is perfect.”
“I don’t see why. I haven’t seen anyone poking around the park. What exactly do those guys want me to look for?” Kimatra and her weird friends only ever got Nick into trouble.
She unzipped the front of his coveralls. “Don’t stress over it. Just keep an eye out and tell me if you see anything weird. The longer you help out, the longer we can be together.”
Nick’s cheeks flushed. He didn’t like it when she talked like that, as if their relationship was a temporary thing. She pushed the coveralls off his shoulders. Underneath, his T-shirt and shorts clung to his sweaty body. He needed a shower. And some gum.
“How long do you need me to do this?” he asked.
“Just through the summer, I think.”
The job was only twenty hours a week, but Nick had never worked before and didn’t appreciate giving up his free time—especially free time with Kimmy.
“I’m not sure I want to work that much,” he said.
“Baby, we need you.” She slid her arms around his waist and kissed him. “I need you. Please?”
“I don’t know… I’ll think about it.”
She blinked slowly and gave him that sexy smile. “Let me help you make up your mind.”
REPORT NUMBER: 7
REPORT TITLE: I Have a Reoccurring Nightmare
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Sayle Real Estate Agency, 240 Adams Street, Suite D, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Monday, June 4, 8:49 a.m.
I dropped off Grace at Grandma’s preschool and drove to the Sayle Real Estate Agency. Occupational Training Mission: day one.
According to the dossier I’d read, Ron and Anita Sayle had been in real estate for ten years. They’d worked most of that time for a company in Glendale. Two years ago, they started their own business here in Pilot Point, and it was growing fast. Jessica Wells, their twenty-six-year-old administrative assistant, had concerns about the ever-increasing workload, so Ron had come up with the brilliant idea of getting her some free help in the form of a student slave.
That’s where I came in.
I’d be responsible for setting up a website and a blog, for writing all the blog posts, for creating something called “sell sheets” for property listings, for starting Facebook and Twitter accounts for the Sayle Real Estate Agency, for posting things on those social media outlets, and for whatever else Jessica threw my way.
Seemed like a lot.
I showed up at nine in the morning, as per Prière’s instructions. The place was located at the end of a mini mall off Adams Street. The building was a dusty, mauvy maroon color that reminded me of a quilt Grandma and Mrs. Daggett made two summers ago for a church auction. I knocked on a white, paneled door. No one answered. I stood outside for a few minutes, knocking and thinking perhaps someone was in the back or something. Eventually, I returned to my car and played Clash of Clans on my iPhone while I waited.
At 9:26, a white Honda Accord parked beside me. It was so covered in road grime, it almost looked gray. A woman got out, carrying a box, two purses, and a potted plant. She was average height, a bit overweight, had curly black hair, and was wearing a poufy shirt tucked into a too-tight knee-length skirt. I recognized her from the dossier—Jessica Wells, the overworked administrative assistant. She inched toward the door, fumbling everything she was holding as she dug in one of the purses.
I went to help. “Hey,” I said, taking the plant from her, “I can hold that.”
She screamed, jumped back, and dropped the box. Papers went everywhere.
And I mean ev-ery-where.
Like it was raining papers.
“Sorry,” I said, feeling stupid. I set the plant on the pavement and started gathering papers.
“Oh, no, no, it’s my fault.” Jessica kept fumbling through the larger of her two purses. “You’re Spencer, yeah? I’m so glad you’re here. I was going to quit if they didn’t get me some help.”
She finally found her keys and opened the door, motioned me inside, then went back for the potted plant. I stepped into a maroon and black room with beige furniture and wooden floors. Very modern. Jessica set the potted plant on a podium inside the front door and staggered toward a desk, carrying the box, which was now overflowing with a heap of messy papers.
Behind the podium, a fancy beige couch and a low table topped with magazines made a little waiting area in front of the desk that was as messy as the box of papers Jessica sat on top of it. The desk seemed to act as guard to the entrance of a shor
t hallway that divided twin offices. Both had windows looking out into the main room.
“There’s a table behind the couch,” Jessica said. “Did you bring your laptop? They said you had a laptop.”
“Yeah, I brought it.” I wanted to tell this lady to calm down.
“Go ahead and set up your table on one of the walls, wherever you’d like.” She wandered down the little hall.
Oh-kay. I found a collapsed table and a folding chair leaning against the back of the waiting-room couch. I set up the table against the wall in the right-hand corner of the lobby, put the chair in front of it, then went to my car for my MacBook.
When I came back, Jessica was pulling papers from the messy box, one at a time, and squinting at them. I put my laptop on my new “desk” and turned it on.
“Think you can help me sort all this?” She motioned to the box of papers.
And that was how I started my new job. I sorted the papers, watered the plant, then did whatever Jessica told me to do. There was so much work thrown my way, I felt like someone had picked a fight with me, and I wasn’t allowed to fight back.
By eleven I had set up a WordPress blog, written posts for six property listings—complete with pictures and lists of features from emails Jessica sent me—and created QR codes for each property. I was also supposed to make flyers for the lock boxes outside each property, but I figured I could just print each blog page.
“Hey, Jessica?” I said. “Can I have the password to the printer?”
She got up and came to stand beside my chair. “What are you printing?”
“You wanted twenty fliers for each property.” I held up the list she’d given me.
She snatched it away. “How did you make the flyers so fast?”
“I’m just going to print the blog page from each.”
Broken Trust Page 7