The Profile Match: Mission 4: Cambodia: The Mission League

By Jill Williamson

When Spencer Garmond's friend is kidnapped, the young Mission League agent-in-training decides he's had enough. Determined to stop the criminals he suspects are responsible, he petitions the Los Angeles Field Office to give him the lead on the case. Now he's investigating his favorite actress, the movie director who pretended to be his dad, and even his own uncle. Weird much?

As he struggles to find the connections between this unlikely group of suspects, he uncovers a clue that could create a worldwide scandal. When the Field Office steps in, Spencer realizes he's not really in control of the investigation at all. Can Spencer trust God to bring about justice, or will his need to be in control jeopardize the very people he's trying so hard to protect?

Don't miss this final installment in the award-winning Mission League series by author Jill Williamson.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jill Williamson
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386924876

Jill Williamson

Jill Williamson is a novelist, dreamer, and believer. Growing up in Alaska led to love books, and in 2010 her first novel, By Darkness Hid, won the Christy Award. She loves working with teenagers and gives writing workshops at libraries, schools, camps, and churches. Jill lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. Visit Jill online at www.jillwilliamson.com

Book preview

Mission 4: Cambodia

When Spencer Garmond’s friend is kidnapped, the young Mission League agent-in-training decides he’s had enough. Determined to stop the criminals he suspects are responsible, he petitions the Los Angeles Field Office to give him the lead on the case. Now he’s investigating his favorite actress, the movie director who pretended to be his dad, and even his own uncle. Weird much?

As he struggles to find the connections between this unlikely group of suspects, he uncovers a clue that could create a worldwide scandal. When the Field Office steps in, Spencer realizes he’s not really in control of the investigation at all. Can Spencer trust God to bring about justice, or will his need to be in control jeopardize the very people he's trying so hard to protect?

The Profile Match is the final installment in the award-winning Mission League series by author Jill Williamson.

To Janelle, Emily, and Heather

for being Spencer’s biggest fans,

And to Alice, Carol, Jane, and Sheila

for helping me make this

book the best it could be,

Thank you.

YOU HAVE ACCESSED THE INTERNATIONAL SERVER FOR THE MISSION LEAGUE. THESE FILES CONTAIN CLASSIFIED INFORMATION ON THE ORGANIZATION, AGENTS, CRIMINALS, PROCEDURES, TRAININGS, AND MISSIONS.

GOD HAS CALLED. YOU HAVE ANSWERED.

MISSION BACKGROUND REPORT

REPORT TITLE: It’s My Last One!

SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

WELL, THIS IS IT. MY FINAL REPORT. I CAN’T believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m actually going to miss writing these things.

High school has been a crazy ride—made more so by my involvement in the Agent Development Program of the Mission League, which is a secret branch of INTERPOL. It all started for me at the end of my freshman year with what looked to be a teen mission trip to Moscow. Really, it was my first training mission. There I ran into a woman named Anya, who recognized me as one of several people on some kind of watch list for a person called the Profile Match. And whoever this person was, he was supposed to identify someone called the First Twin.

It was all very hush, hush, filled with intrigue and code words that made no sense.

Anyway, Anya told her bosses about me, and they wanted to talk, a.k.a. kidnap and torture me for information about the First Twin—information I didn’t know. They sent goons after me, pretty girls after me, my own classmates after me . . . Turns out I was mostly hard to catch or had been lucky enough to get away on those rare occasions that they’d managed to grab me.

Two summers back they tried a new tactic. One of them pretended to be my long-lost father. I know what you’re thinking. How very Darth Vader. Don’t worry. Irving MacCormack, the famous movie director, was lying about being my old man. But since he was pretending, I pretended too, hoping to learn something helpful.

Then a couple months ago in Alaska some new goons tried to grab me. (This was the same trip in which Grace Thomas became my girlfriend. That’s right. I have a girlfriend now. You’re probably thinking, TMI, man. But the thing is, Grace is important. Because if she hadn’t been my girlfriend, they never would have taken her.) But I digress.

Just before the Alaska trip, the goons had kidnapped the sister of my (sort of) friend Nick’s to blackmail him into helping them catch me. Me and some of the other agents-in-training put a stop to that, though. The problem? The bad guys called my uncle Kimbal by name—only they used the name Liam, which wasn’t the name I knew him by.

Kimbal also lied to me. Erased some footage I had recorded of some people running a drug lab in Pilot Point. I was smart enough to make a back-up, though, and the drug makers got caught. Kimbal wasn’t incriminated with them, though. So I need to find out what my uncle is up to. Why did he erase my footage? How do those goons from Alaska know him? And why did they call him Liam?

I’ve included some of Grace’s reports in here to fill in some gaps with stuff she learned from Brittany Holmes, star of the Jolt movies. Brittany and Grace became pretty close through all of this so it made sense for Grace to interview Brittany and write those reports herself.

I forgot to say anything about basketball. I’ve been trying to earn myself an NCAA, D1 scholarship so I could play ball for one of the top colleges. I was close a few times, but accidents and stupid friends kept my dream just out of reach. I’m not giving up, though. This is my senior year, and our basketball team is top notch. There’s no reason I still couldn’t get a D1 offer before graduation. It’s not the norm, but it could still happen.

It could.

And I’ll prove it. But first you have to read this report.

Spencer Garmond

Agent-in-Training

Pilot Point Mission League

REPORT NUMBER: 1

REPORT TITLE: Homecoming, Round 1: Just Me and My Girl

SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

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

DATE AND TIME: Friday, October 26, 11:51 p.m.

On my knees at my locker, I stared at my iPhone. I’d pulled up my profile on the ESPN National Basketball webpage. Nothing new. I was still ranked a three. And it still said U of Arizona had offered me, even thought they’d pulled the offer after my arrest last spring and given my spot to someone else before I had a chance to prove my innocence.

I suppose the profile looked better this way. I just hoped the offer wouldn’t keep other schools from making contact. Because I was back. Fully. Mario, my physical therapist, had signed off on my knee. I could run again. And I was finally able to play ball with my team.

The open contact period for the NCAA Clearninghouse had ended on Wednesday. I’d done all I could on my end during that time to reach out to coaches, reminding them of my interest, that my knee had healed, that I was playing well. Oh, and that the arrest had been a mistake, charges dropped. So fun to have to bring that up again and again.

Still, so far no takers.

That’s a lie, actually. Truth is, several schools had offered me. Two D2 schools and one NAIA. But D1 was my dream. PAC12 was my dream. It made my chest tight to think that I was so close to achieving everything I’d always wanted yet could do nothing to make it happen.

Short of playing well. That should help. Right?

Our first game was a little over a month away, our team was playing like an actual team this year, not like five guys vying for the spotlight. Recruiting coaches would be watching. If we had a great season, surely someone would offer me.

The warning bell rang. I pushed my phone into my back pocket and reached for my calculus book. Movement behind me. Small hands covered my eyes. I flinched and fought the urge to grab whoever this was and roll them into a takedown.

Combat training, anyway. It was dangerous to be my friend.

Guess who? a girl said in a fake, lowing voice that made me grin.

No idea, I said.

"Guess!" The voice was normal this time, and very familiar.

Mair.

The hands slid away. I twisted around, and there was Mary Stopplecamp, beaming down. With me kneeling, she was finally taller than me—me who loomed over the rest of this school like Roald Dahl’s BFG.

Mary and Martha had been in the ninth grade for over a month now, but it was still weird to see Gabe’s little sisters on this end of the school.

Mary and I were pals now. Getting kidnapped by psychopaths will do that to people, which was what had happened the summer we’d gone to Okinawa. Plus, Mary and I both played basketball, and I’d been helping her with her outside shot.

Guess what? Mary asked.

I gripped the side of my locker and pulled myself up, suddenly the tallest person in the building again. You found out you had a long-lost identical triplet?

I made varsity swing.

Mair, that’s great! I gave her a brotherly side hug.

She shrugged like she’d lost out. I wanted straight varsity.

Give it time, I said. There are a lot of senior girls this year. Prove yourself, and next year when the seniors are gone, you’ll be starting.

Another shrug. I guess.

What class do you have next?

Geometry.

I have calc. I’ll walk you. I slammed my locker, and we headed for the math wing.

Mary trailed alongside me. How are you and Grace doing?

Awkward question to ask a guy. We’re good.

Last week was your two-month anniversary.

You had a prophecy about my anniversary? Which, seriously, is two months really worth celebrating? Don’t get me wrong, every day that Grace remained my girlfriend was a miracle in my book, but it seemed overkill to celebrate this fact weekly. And now monthly. And also unfair for a guy to get in trouble for forgetting such ridiculous milestones.

Mary gave me a look that said: You’re an idiot. She paused at the door to Mr. Cash’s classroom. I heard Grace tell Arianna at youth group. She was showing us all pictures of her homecoming dress.

The white one? I asked. The white one was my favorite.

White and very short, Mary said.

Yasss. That was the one.

Well, the next few months are going to be a little crazy for you, Mary said. So just . . . hang in there. Okay?

I stared at her, amazed how someone so much smaller than me could wind me with a few words. I knew from experience to listen when Mary gave advice. We had the spiritual gift of prophecy in common, though she knew how to use hers far better than I had ever used mine.

Before I could reply, she walked into her class, leaving me standing in the doorway, clogging up the entrance. Several underclassmen had clustered behind me, too afraid, perhaps, to tell the six-foot-four senior to move over. Luke Williamson, who I called El McWilly, was one of them. The kid had all but saved my life last summer in Alaska, and still he barely talked to me.

Hey, I said to him.

Hello, he said. A grin materialized and vanished in the space of a quarter of a second.

I stepped aside, and the underclassmen poured into the geometry class like they actually wanted to be there. How odd.

I drifted across the hallway and into the calculus classroom just as the final bell rang, weirded out by Mary’s warning. Just what was the girl’s definition of crazy?

● ● ●

At lunch I checked my phone, and a text from Grace came through.

Grace: Wat time u pikn me up?

I texted back: 6

Grace: kk *kissy emoji*

I sighed, my soul shriveling inside. I hated dances. So. Much. And Grace was insisting that we go to both her homecoming dance and mine. That was two formal dances in back-to-back weekends. Hers was tonight and would be the worst of the two since I didn’t know many people at Pilot Point High. To make matters worse, Grandma had forbidden me to drive Grace anywhere until I turned eighteen, which wouldn’t happen until the end of February, five months away. March 1, technically, since my birthday was Feb 29, and this wasn’t a leap year.

This meant Grace and I constantly had to beg rides, which was pathetic. We were going to ride with Lukas when we went to my homecoming next weekend, but tonight we had to ride with my security detail, which were the agents that followed me everywhere to make sure the bad guys didn’t nab me again.

It was better than Grandma driving us.

As I saw it, only two good things would come out of tonight: spending time with Grace and seeing her in that white dress.

● ● ●

That afternoon, I stood in the bathroom and stared at my face in the mirror, having just shaved off the rogue red hairs on my upper lip and chin. Grace had made some comment last week about how much she liked guys with facial hair, but I didn’t seem to have what it took to grow anything more than chin weeds.

I crossed the hall to my room. But before I put on my swanky rental suit, I recorded another video for my YouTube channel, gave my 1812 basketball fans/subscribers an update about the condition of my knee and the state of our team. I was optimistic.

I also showed my followers the suit I’d rented as per Grace’s instructions and asked their opinion on formal high school dances. Last month, Isabel had told me I’d get more followers if I told them what was happening in my life and encouraged people to comment. I’d given it a try, and turned out she was right.

I set the video uploading and got dressed. Grace had picked out two different suits to match her two dresses. She was the junior class princesses and had been freaking out about how everything had to be just perfect. She’d warned me I might not like her choices, but that I should trust her—that we would look good. I didn’t see what was so bad about this suit—a black jacket and slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a Bulldogs blue necktie. It was James Bond-ish enough.

The third time I messed up the knot on the necktie, I went looking for Grandma. I found her in the living room, crocheting yellow yarn into a blanket.

Can you help me? I asked, holding up the tie.

She peered over the top of her black wire glasses. Her eyes ran me up and down, then landed on the necktie in my fist. Certainly, she said. She set aside her yarn and stood.

Grandma had been a bit of a punk rocker in the 80s, and she’d never fully given up the glam. Her black T-shirt had a picture of a tiger on the front that was made out of sequins. Her pants were tiger print, and she was wearing black, dangly earrings made out of feathers. Her hair was white, short, and spiky. Her fingernails were bright pink.

She took the tie, flipped up the collar of my shirt, and threaded the blue fabric behind my neck. You sure you can afford all these fancy dates? she asked.

Nope, I said. Just trying to keep my girl happy.

For Grace and my second anniversary, I’d taken her to the Olive Garden to celebrate, because that’s where she’d wanted to go. That and the two homecoming dances would eventually set me back about three hundred dollars when you added in the dinners, two sets of homecoming tickets, flowers, pictures, and suit rentals.

Lucas said I was whipped.

At least I had a girlfriend.

Well, you look very nice, Grandma said.

Grandmas had to say those kinds of things, but as I glanced at myself in the hallway mirror, I had to admit that I cleaned up good.

I left the house and found the black sedan parked at the curb behind my car. As I passed the Banana—which was what I called the rusty old yellow 1984 Dodge Colt Mrs. Daggett had given me—I patted the hood. Not tonight, my friend, I said.

I climbed in the back of the sedan. It was occupied by two undercover Mission League agents: the guy I called Nose—because of his crooked nose—whose real name was Alec Bridges, and Jean Sasquatch Sloan—or his identical twin brother Christophe. The twins were part of the Project Gemini program and shared one identity.

I called these agents my security detail, since it was their job to follow me everywhere and make sure I didn’t get kidnapped or murdered. After two and a half years, I’d gotten used to them. My uncle, Dave Kimbal, used to head up the team, but I hadn’t seen him around much lately. The other day Prière, the intercessor for the Pilot Point Mission League, had told me to be careful around my uncle, which only increased my suspicions that he was up to no good.

Whichever Sloan it was tonight whistled. Looking sharp, Spencer. He had a thick British accent.

I’m going to need to take some pictures, Bridges said.

Nobody’s taking pictures, I said.

The men chuckled, and Mystery Sloan started the car.

Still no Kimbal? I asked.

Not for another week, Bridges said. He took some time off.

I perked up at this news. I’d been itching to sneak into Kimbal’s place and snoop around, investigate the man myself to see what I could find. Now I finally had a chance.

● ● ●

When Grace opened her apartment door, at first I thought she was wearing a towel. A closer look proved it was actually the white dress. Man. It had looked different on the hanger.

I liked it even better on the girl.

It was super short and made her golden skin look darker. The top had no sleeves and hugged her body, while the skirt part was all flowy. The thick, royal blue waistband matched the color of my necktie. Her hair was down—I loved it down—and she’d made it all curly and draping over her shoulders.

My mouth went dry. You look amazing.

Is it too tight? Too low cut?

You look like a movie star. Like a goddess of clouds.

Her eyebrows pinched. I don’t want other guys staring at me.

Since when? That’s not something you can control when you look like you do, I said.

Maybe I should wear something else.

What? Why? She’d planned these outfits long ago. What else would we wear?

Do you really want other guys staring at me, Spencer?

Yes, I said. So they can be jealous I have such a hot girlfriend.

She swatted my arm. Be serious.

I grabbed her hand and tugged her out the still-open door. We don’t want to be late for dinner. Because then we’ll be late for the dance, and you don’t want to miss the crowning.

Coronation. She pulled the door shut behind her. I might need to borrow your jacket.

All that I have is yours, I said.

Grace stepped slowly down the three steps that led to the sidewalk, which brought my attention to the black, spikey heeled shoes she was wearing. Dang.

We started down the driveway, me enthralled by how gorgeous she was, yet slightly annoyed how often she sabotaged things by being so critical. Why did she do that? I mean (1) if Grace wasn’t so short, she could be a supermodel; she was that gorgeous; and (2) she wasn’t a shy girl. I’d seen her use her beauty before to manipulate guys—me, for one.

Was all this worrying just another game? And how could I ever know? I wanted to trust Grace fully, but something wouldn’t let me. Perhaps we just needed more time.

Maybe by our three-month anniversary I’d have it all figured out.

● ● ●

I abhorred fast dancing. On the other hand, holding a girl’s waist and swaying from one foot to the other? That I could do. But I had no ability to get jiggy with anything but a basketball. Unfortunately, Grace and her friends were die-hard about dancing. Every. Single. Song.

Shoot me now.

And this was the Pilot Point High School cheer team I was hanging with, so they were all amazing dancers who could hold their own with the Laker Girls. Now don’t get me wrong. I loved watching Grace dance, especially in that dress. And fortunately, most of these girls were dating football players, who fast-danced as poorly as I did. There was one exception.

Eli, one of the two guys on Grace’s cheer team. Grace talked about Eli nonstop. He was a senior, like me, but unlike me, he had a nice, short, boxed beard. He’d come with a brunette named Chelsea, but his eyes were on my date far more than they were on his own.

It was getting on my nerves.

The night dragged on, with me praying for slow songs and continually placing myself strategically between Eli and Grace. The school finally got around to crowning their king and queen, which was the star quarterback and some girl I’d never met. Grace seemed to agree with this decision, then dragged me over with her friends to get a picture taken.

I was happy when all the cheerleaders said they were leaving, but Grace insisted on staying a little longer. Exactly until Eli and his date left.

I was not making this up.

She must have some kind of dormant thing for that guy. I just didn’t get it.

We left the school, Grace wearing my suit jacket, which was so big on her it was kind of adorable.

That’s when I told her about Kimbal being on vacation.

Do you want to sneak into his place with me? Look around? Maybe set up some surveillance?

Isn’t that illegal? she asked.

Technically, yes. But since he’s my uncle, I doubt any judge would press charges.

Sure, I’ll come, she said. When?

I shrugged. Tomorrow? We’ll have to lose my detail.

She grinned. Okay.

We walked in silence toward the sedan, hand-in-hand, me making a mental list of the supplies I’d need to gather for tomorrow’s mission.

Why do you think they choose the king and queen only from the seniors? she asked. I don’t think Kelly Russel is that pretty.

Did you want that crown, Grace, I asked, tugging her hand.

She grinned but wouldn’t meet my eyes. Maybe, she said.

Princesses are better than queens, I said.

This time she looked at me. Why?

First, because queens are moms. Second, because princesses get all the fun without having to rule.

But I like ruling.

I stopped on the sidewalk and took both her hands in mine. You can rule me.

She grinned. I already do.

Is that a fact?

Please. Everyone knows I rule the kingdom of Spencer.

She did, but I wasn’t about to admit it. A princess can’t rule a kingdom, I said. "A kingdom is ruled by a king."

Oh yeah? She grabbed my necktie and yanked it down. I played along and let her kiss me, until some guy yelled, Goodnight, Grace! and she pulled away.

Grace waved. Bye!

I narrowed my eyes at Eli as he and his date crossed the street. I pulled Grace close and leaned down to kiss her again. Where were we?

She pushed against my stomach. Not here, Spencer.

Fire shot through me. Right here was fine ten seconds ago.

Your detail will be watching. She looked both ways and started across the street.

I followed. You didn’t care about them when you were showing me how well you ruled the kingdom of Spencer.

She said nothing, her spiky heels stabbing the pavement as she approached the sedan.

Do you like Eli, or something? I asked. Is that it?

She looked back, rolling her eyes in the process. Don’t be stupid. Then she got in the sedan, leaving me standing on the street.

Great.

I went around and got in the other side. I wanted to finish this, but I certainly wasn’t going to say anything with Nose and Mystery Sloan listening.

How was the dance? Nose asked.

Neither of us answered.

Where to now? This from Mystery Sloan, who met my eyes in the rearview mirror.

Elm Street, I said, at the same time as Grace said, My house.

Grace, come on, I said. We’re supposed to meet your friends at the party.

My feet hurt, she said.

So take off your shoes.

I’m not going barefoot in a house I don’t know.

I fell back against the seat, defeated. I swear, one in every three dates with Grace ended in a fight. You really want to go home? I asked.

I have a headache. It’s making me queasy.

I did not believe her. And this wasn’t fair. I hated dances. But I’d gone. For her. But now she was mad about something. Why couldn’t I do anything right with this girl?

When Nose parked at the curb across from her house, Grace turned her big blue eyes on me. Walk me inside?

Oh-kay. I got out rounded the back of the car. Grace’s door was still shut. I got the hint and opened it. She climbed out. Watching her in that dress lifted my spirits some.

I’ll be right back, I told the guys.

Grace took my hand, and we headed across the street.

I was happy to see the driveway empty. Her dad wasn’t drinking anymore, but he and I were not on the best of terms. It was better if we stayed out of each other’s way.

Grace climbed the steps and opened the door, glanced back. You coming in?

I was still standing at the bottom of the steps. I looked to the sedan. With them waiting right there?

They can wait five minutes. She batted those thick, black eyelashes at me.

Yeah, I was coming in.

Until the headlights swept the driveway.

Daddy was home.

Grace groaned and rolled her eyes.

I should go, I said.

Grace released the door, walked down two steps, grabbed my necktie, and yanked me toward her. I made it a quick kiss in front of her dad, but she hung on to my tie.

I’m sorry, she whispered. We should have gone to the party. Then she kissed me again.

Did the girl not understand the situation here? Was she trying to provoke the man who had a history of beating her?

I pulled my tie from her hands, then stepped back out of reach. Goodnight, Grace, I said, pretending I didn’t know her dad was probably standing right behind me.

Text me when you get home? she asked.

’Kay.

She turned and climbed the remaining steps, super slowly, playing games again. The question was, was it for me? Or to tick off her dad? Standing there with the man three steps away, the thought crossed my mind that I should have made her change into a different dress.

Too late now.

I started back down the driveway, but Mr. Thomas intercepted me. The man was five feet ten to my six four, but he put his hand up on my shoulder anyway.

Have a nice time tonight?

Yes, sir, I said.

Good. He squeezed my shoulder. I wanted to shrug out of his grip but decided to play the role of the intimidated boyfriend. I’m glad to hear it.

He left me there and headed inside.

This time, I wasn’t sticking around for the view.

Nose and Mystery Sloan were kind enough to remain silent on the drive home. I dwelled on how Grace got away with doing whatever she wanted. Things always had to be her way. Maybe she did rule the kingdom of Spencer and every other kingdom in her world.

I wasn’t sure I liked that.

As the sedan headed for my house, I couldn’t help but wonder about Mary’s cryptic warning that the next few months were going to be a little crazy. Crazy because my girlfriend was crazy? Or crazy because of something else?

REPORT NUMBER: 2

REPORT TITLE: My Girlfriend and I Give Breaking and Entering a Try

SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

LOCATION: Grace’s Residence, 780 S. Pine Street, #107, Pilot Point, California, USA

DATE AND TIME: Monday, October 29, 4:38 p.m.

Homecoming week at Pilot Point Christian School was everyone’s favorite, and not because our football team would cream our crosstown rival. This was the only week all year that we got out of wearing school uniforms. Today’s theme was sports day, so when Mystery Sloan stopped the sedan in front of Grace’s house Monday after school, I was still wearing my Laker’s jersey and hat. I texted her to come out.

She replied: not redy yet

Be right back, I said, then got out of the car, keeping my backpack with me. It was filled with some equipment I intended to use at Kimbal’s place, and I couldn’t risk anyone looking inside—especially my detail.

I crossed the street and walked down the side of Grace’s house to her window in the back. I tapped on the glass with my knuckles. A moment later the curtain moved aside. Grace rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she opened the window.

I’m almost done, she said.

I couldn’t wait, I said. I just wanted to see you.

Well, now you’re seeing me.

Yep, I said.

She stared harder. And?

I grinned. The view is breathtaking.

A smirk. Wait in the car, Spencer.

I didn’t move.

This time she smiled and leaned out. Come here.

I stepped up to the window to receive her kiss. I breathed in her smell, coconut and vanilla and something flowery. It made my gut churn in a very pleasant way.

How are we going to lose your detail? she asked.

We need a cohort, I said. It has to be Lukas. He’s the only one I trust.

She wrinkled her nose and groaned. Fine.

She sent me packing, and I waited for her outside the sedan, so I wouldn’t have to make awkward chitchat with my babysitters.

When she finally came out, I said, Hey, Shorty.

She smirked up at me. You know you’re not Black, right?

I feel our height difference is a legit reason to borrow the epithet, I said, opening the back door so she could get in.

Wow, she said. Then who’d you borrow ‘epithet’ from?

I leaned on the car door, so she could see me. I happen to have an extensive vocabulary. I shut the door, ran around to the other side, and got in beside her, tucking my backpack between my sneakers.

Where to? Nose asked.

Lukas’s place, I said.

Car rides with my detail and Grace were often filled with awkward silences, and this ride was no different. Mystery Sloan asked about basketball. Nose asked about school.

And then we were at Lukas’s place.

We’ll be here a few hours, I told them as I got out.

Then so will we, Nose said.

Perfect.

I swung my backpack over one shoulder, and Grace took hold of my other hand. We walked up to the front door and rang the bell. Footsteps inside, then the door opened.

Lukas hung on the side of the door and stared at Grace. "Hola, Graciela."

Shut up, she said.

Hey, be nice, I told her as I pushed inside past Lukas.

"Lo siento, Lukas," Grace said in a nasty tone.

We had to make small talk with Lukas’s mom, who fed us empanadas, which made the delay totally worthwhile. Isabel was working at the salon, so we didn’t see her. I was glad. She’d been trying to talk me into taking a second trip to Venezuela, after our regular summer trip, this time with a branch of the Mission League that rescued victims of human trafficking. She seemed to think I’d be great at this.

I happened to disagree.

When we finally managed to ditch Mrs. Rodriguez, Lukas walked us to the back door.

Text me if they leave, I told him. We only need a half hour.

Yeah, yeah, I’m on it, Lukas said, pushing me out the back. Go already.

We crossed Lukas’s back yard, then snuck between the houses lining the next street over until we reached the sidewalk. Grace took hold of my hand as we walked along Maple. Kimbal’s place was only two blocks from here.

It was a cool October afternoon. The sky was bright and clear. Breeze rustled the dying leaves of the trees that lined the street on both sides, and our feet