The Profile Match Read online

  “If anyone asks about friends back home,” Watkins said, “stick to first names and talk about your real friends. The fewer lies you tell, the fewer there will be to remember. Keep your interests the same. Likes and dislikes too. You’re you, just using a different name.

  “You’ll fly out together and arrive on the same flight. Since you’ll be wearing T-shirts that promote the event, you can officially meet on the plane. You’ll each be met at the airport by different drivers. Once you arrive at the hotel, you’ll register like any other attendee or chaperone and keep to the schedule they give you. Observe. Don’t do anything to make yourselves stick out. Use your cell phones to record anything you think will help us. Check in with us each night via Facetime. Those interviews will be recorded as well.”

  “You’ll each be rooming with an agent,” Moreland said. “Agent Rachel Dominguez is lead on this case, and she’ll be your roommate, Agent Thomas. Agent Schwarz will be rooming with you, Agent Garmond.”

  Isaac grinned at me.

  Also in my folder was a flyer for the FLY Summit. I noticed the dates. “We’re going to miss three days of school.”

  “Agent Stopplecamp will get you excused,” Moreland said.

  “In Cambodia, the currency is the riel,” Watkins said, “but locals prefer getting paid in dollars since they get more value from it than the riel. Don’t make the mistake of exchanging a bunch of cash. You’ll just lose money. Pretty much anywhere will accept American dollars. We’ll give you some money, and a great deal of it will be ones and fives. No one will give you change, so if you need to buy something, do your best to come close with the dollars. The language is Khmer,” which sounded like kah-mer. “Though if you want to be respectful to the Cambodian people, the language is actually called Khmi,” which sounded like kah-my.

  “Why two ways to say it?” I asked.

  “It’s a history thing,” Watkins said. “It used to be Khmi, but in the mid-1800s, the French came in and took over, started calling it Khmer. How would you feel if some foreign country came to the US to ‘save us,’ took over everything, stole from us, and told us we no longer spoke English but Anglash, or something like that? What language would you say you spoke?”

  “English,” I said.

  “That’s what I’m saying. Now, Cambodia has had a rough time of it. After decades of turmoil, hunger, poor education and healthcare, and unemployment, Cambodia is still arguably the poorest country in Asia. They’re a nation still recovering from the genocide Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge committed in the 1970s. You’ll find that some people want to talk about it. They need to. It’s their way of trying to heal and let the world know the truth. So if anyone starts talking about this and you have time, listen.”

  “But this isn’t a training mission trip,” Moreland added. “We send plenty of teams in to do mission work, and we aren’t the only ones. So don’t compromise your mission for that reason.”

  The meeting went on for a while, as Mrs. Thomas and my grandma asked a bunch of logistical questions. Finally, Moreland excused Grace and her mom to go with Watkins to meet Agent Dominguez and to get supplies for the trip. Once she was gone, Moreland addressed me.

  “As Agent Watkins said, when you are in Cambodia, while it’s fine for you two to have official met on the airplane, you are not to spend time together. She has her mission, and you have yours.”

  “And that is . . . ?” I asked.

  “Pretend to enjoy the conference. Keep your eyes and ears open. Record anything you think will help build a case against the FLF. Mostly, I want you there in case the location triggers a prophecy. And stay away from Agent Thomas.”

  “But what if she’s in trouble?” I asked.

  “I’m sending six agents along,” Moreland said. “Two are assigned to you. Four are assigned to her, so don’t worry. No one suspects that Agent Thomas is the First Twin, so there’s no reason anyone should even notice her.”

  Why didn’t that make me feel any better?

  “Can I count on you to stick to your assignment, Agent Garmond?”

  “Yeah,” I said, though inside, I wasn’t at all sure.

  ● ● ●

  Moreland dismissed me, and Isaac took me to what I can only describe as the gadget room. If Grace had been there, she was gone now. Isaac led me to a table covered in gear.

  “First, this.” Isaac held up a T-shirt that said “Hollywood, California, FLY” on it. “You wear this on the plane. You need to be wearing it when you register, Capiche?” He tossed it to me.

  I caught it. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Let’s see, you get an envelope with three hundred dollars, a fake passport, a couple extra passport photos you’ll need at customs in Phnom Penh, some standard field ops kits, a Pilot Point Christian School class ring, a Pop Socket with a Lakers logo, and an Apple Watch.”

  I picked up the watch. “Are you kidding me? An Apple Watch?”

  Isaac grinned. “I saw you eyeballing mine and thought you’d like one. This baby is waterproof. It also has a built-in flashlight and strobe light. And it carries two darts.”

  My jaw dropped. “What kind of darts?”

  “Incapacitating. They’ll knock out a grown man for about twenty minutes. A child for an hour. Please don’t shoot any kids, though.”

  “Can I shoot Grace?”

  “Ha ha. And no. Don’t shoot Grace. We’ve remotely installed some special apps on your phone and the watch. There’s the TrackMe app, which will let you see all our agents’ locations. That includes you and Grace. As long as everyone is wearing their GPS gear, which for you, is your necklace and for Grace, it’s her earrings.

  “SpyVid lets you take covert video.

  “SlyScan lets you scan someone else’s phone or computer and share the screen. It doesn’t always work, but it’s pretty reliable for getting into email and social media accounts.

  “There’s also a schematics app that can display the floorplan of the building around you. It’s got a radius range of about fifty feet.”

  “That could come in handy,” I said.

  “We thought so. Now for the other fun stuff.” He picked up the class ring. “This has been rebuilt into an electric shock ring. It has a thin, plastic film over the stone right now, but if you peel it off, there are two electrodes on the sides of the stone and a capacitor inside. Whenever you touch someone squarely with the ring, they’ll get a nice shock. It won’t knock them out or anything, but it will give you time to distract them or get away.”

  “I like that,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, be careful not to shock yourself. It happens more than you might think.”

  I examined the ring. “Why a purple stone? For the Lakers?”

  “Your birthday is in February, and February’s stone is amethyst. That’s how they do these things.”

  “Oh, right.” How was I supposed to know there were gemstones for certain months?

  “This here is my favorite.” Isaac picked up the Pop Socket. “Keep this on your phone, but if you remove the outer lid, it’s a suction cup. Once the cap is off, you have to click in the buttons on both sides, and once they’re engaged, you push the cup onto any surface, then bring up the PopLaser app, and you can cut a hole in pretty much anything, including your body, so be careful. It’s made to cut around the locks on doors, but it also works on glass.”

  “That’s sweet,” I said. “How wide a hole can it cut?”

  “Ten inches in diameter is the max on the circle. Or you can do straight lines. Pull up the app and check it out before you go.”

  “Got it.”

  “You might not need any of this, but we like to send our people out prepared. Go home and play with those apps. Text me if you have any questions.”

  “Sir, yes, sir.”

  He eyed me, smirking. “You and me, we’re going to do just fine,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not worried,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. But having all this spy gear—and
knowing Grace had it too—sure made me feel a lot better.

  ● ● ●

  When I got home, I messed with all the apps—used the laser to cut in half an old board I found in the backyard. Grandma and Prière had gone out for dinner. She’d told me I had to do my laundry and that there was leftover spaghetti in the fridge.

  I was taking a load out of the dryer when I heard my phone ringing from my room. I ran back and picked it up, saw the call was from Arizona State and answered.

  “Hey, Spencer. Coach Greer.”

  “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

  “You know, I’m sorry, but I’m calling with some bad news.”

  It felt like my stomach slid down into my sneakers.

  Greer went on. “Two of our players believed to be first-round NBA draft picks opted to stay in school another year. We’re glad to keep them on the team, of course, but that leaves no room for you, unfortunately.”

  No room.

  “We feel terrible about this,” Greer said. “The whole team does. We want you, Spencer. We really do. We just don’t have the spot anymore. You’re still welcome on the team, if you’d be willing to walk on, but I know that’s not what you need. So we understand if you need to take another offer.”

  Another offer. As if I had ten more to choose from.

  “Spencer? You there?”

  “Yeah,” I croaked.

  “I’m really sorry about this. We try hard to make sure these types of things don’t happen, but sometimes circumstances are just outside our control.”

  “Yeah, I hear you.”

  “You let me know if you decide to walk on, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Crickets.

  “Okay,” Greer said. “Take care, man. Bye.” The line went dead.

  “Bye.”

  I’d like to say that I handled the next ten minutes of my life like a man. I’d like to tell you that I got down on my knees and praised God that I’d ever had the opportunity in the first place. Or that I called my coach and calmly asked what my options were.

  I didn’t.

  I just stood there, staring at the pitchfork on my Arizona State phone cover. One call had ended all my dreams. No Pac 12. No D1 offer.

  I pried off the phone cover, bent it until it snapped, and threw the pieces across the room. Then I beat up a cardboard Amazon box that had been sitting in my room since Christmas.

  I didn’t feel any better.

  I didn’t know what to do—was there anything I could do?

  I called Coach, who said he’d make some calls and see what he could dig up. He called back an hour later and said Point Loma wanted me to come down the same time I’d be in Cambodia. I told him I couldn’t go then. The calls went back and forth, between me and Coach and Point Loma and Coach, but ultimately, Point Loma said it had to be then or never.

  I picked Cambodia.

  Then I did something stupid.

  I called Kip.

  REPORT NUMBER: 27

  REPORT TITLE: My Dark Night of the—I’m an Idiot--Soul

  SUBMITTED BY: I did not submit this report. Just couldn’t do it.

  LOCATION: Kip Johnson’s House at 733 Elm Street, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Friday, April 26, 7:24 p.m.

  I texted Grandma that I was going to Lukas’s for the night, then I texted Lukas to cover for me. He wanted to know why, but I didn’t answer.

  I was angry.

  So angry.

  I left my cross necklace and cell phone on my desk, then snuck out back and walked to Kip’s house so my detail wouldn’t see me leave and so they couldn’t track me. I told Kip about Arizona State. He didn’t have a filter, and I knew that by telling him, the world would know. But they’d know soon enough anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

  “What are you going to do, man?” Kip asked me.

  “Dunno yet. Coach is making some calls.” I also told him Grace and I were over, which may have been a mistake because he instantly starting texting girls that I was single again.

  “Dude, Trella is going to flip,” Kip said. “She pines for you, man. You have no idea. She just goes on and on like you’re Chris Pratt or something.”

  “Can you blame her?” I said, but honestly, this did nothing to lighten my mood.

  I stayed the night at Kip’s house for the first time in over a year. Crashed on the couch, eager to hide from the world. Without my necklace, cell phone, or car, no one would think to look for me here.

  The sounds of Mr. Johnson making coffee in the kitchen woke me the next morning. I sat up on the couch and rubbed my eyes, reached for my phone to check the time, then remembered I’d left it at home. I found a wall clock. It wasn’t even seven yet.

  “Got to work this morning?” I asked.

  Mr. Johnson jumped. “Hey, Spencer! Sorry to wake you. It’s nice to see you again. Kip has missed having you around.”

  I doubted that very much.

  Mr. Johnson poured himself a cup of coffee. “Kip told me about Arizona State. I know it’s no help at all, but I’m sorry.”

  The reminder brought it all back. Why I was really here. “Thanks, Mr. Johnson.”

  “It’s Doug, Spencer. Doug.”

  “Right,” I said.

  Mr. Johnson went to work, and I went back to sleep. When I next woke up, it was to the sound of someone laughing way too loudly. Only one idiot laughed that loud.

  Desh.

  He was playing the Xbox with Kip and Chaz. Trella was here too and some other girls from school. Also a couple people I recognized from PPH but didn’t know.

  “Nice of you to finally wake up, man,” Kip said. “I thought maybe you’d died.”

  The guys laughed.

  Someone passed me an Xbox controller, and I joined in the game. Hours passed. Kip ordered pizzas. Beers arrived from who knew where. Someone started passing around a vaper.

  I helped myself to all of it. I didn’t care anymore because it just didn’t matter. I was tired of doing the right thing and losing. I’d tried so hard to make my dreams happen. And I’d lost. It wasn’t fair. And, yeah, I knew life wasn’t fair, but this was really not fair. So many bad coincidences, each against me. Arianna would say there was no such things as coincidences. That God’s timing was always perfect. Didn’t seem all that perfect to me.

  So I was taking a break from the straight-laced life for one night. I’d gone AWOL. Tomorrow I’d put on my big boy pants again and do another two thousand things right. But right now . . . this was for me.

  I did a bunch of things I’d never be proud of. But it felt good to hang with a bunch of people who just wanted to have fun—people who didn’t judge me for wanting that.

  Trella hung on me for hours, but I ignored her. I pretty much stayed put on Kip’s couch, drinking beer, playing video games with the guys, and when it wasn’t my turn, kissing some redheaded girl whose name I didn’t know. I was doing just that when another girl pulled the redhead off me. A girl with dark curly hair and chocolate brown eyes.

  I lit up. “Hey, it’s my wife!” I grabbed Mary around the waist and pulled her onto my knee. “How you doing, ball and chain?”

  The redhead stomped away, but I didn’t care. Mary was so much prettier. I dug my fingers into her hair and watched the curls wrap around my fingers.

  “Spencer, you can’t be here,” she said.

  I looked at her, really looked into those eyes that seemed to know me better than anyone even though they couldn’t possibly know me at all. “Mair Bear, you’re adorable.”

  “Spencer, knock it off.” She pushed against my arms. “Let’s go.”

  I hugged her tighter. She smelled good. “You stay. Bet we have pizza.” I looked around. Spotted the pizza box across the room. “Hey, Chaz! Any pizza in that box?”

  Chaz frisbeed the pizza box my way. I adjusted my grip to one arm, making sure Mary couldn’t escape, then opened the box and found one congealed piece of pepperoni. “Perfect.” I picked up the piece and po
ked the end against Mary’s lips, but she wouldn’t open her month.

  “Open wide, Mair Bear.”

  She grabbed the pizza and threw it on the floor. “You’re drunk and acting stupid, Spencer, but I need you to listen. If you stay here, your life will be ruined.”

  Dumb. “My life’s already ruined.”

  “It is not.” She punched my arm.

  “Ow! Why’d you hit me?”

  “Because you’re a selfish idiot. Now let go of me.” She shoved her fist in my face.

  I let go.

  “Now, stand up.” She grabbed my arm and squeezed. “Let’s go. Move it!”

  I stood, but instead of leaving, I grabbed her face and kissed her.

  An elbow to my solar plexus ended that in a hurry. “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  A dopey chuckle as I massaged my gut. “Kissing my wife.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Spencer, I have a boyfriend.”

  “So? You’re not gonna marry him, right?”

  This time she punched me in the gut, but it only made me laugh harder. Then she twisted my arm in a jujitsu hold that would have made Boss Schwarz proud. The pain sobered me long enough for her to drag me outside. It was dark out. I wondered what time it was.

  “Give me your keys,” she said.

  I grinned down on her. “Don’t remember where I put ’em.”

  She scowled, then patted my jacket pockets.

  “Maybe try my back pockets,” I said, turning a hip her way.

  She rolled her eyes, looked me over, then patted my front left pants pocket.

  I turned. “Don’t forget the other side.”

  She glared at me but checked the right side.

  This amused me to no end. “See? Can’t keep your hands off me, can you?”

  “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to put my fist in your face.” She scanned the cars along the street. “We can at least sit in your car since you never lock it. Where did you park?”

  “The Banana’s not here, wifey-poo,” I said. “Left it at home so no one would find me.” I frowned. “How’d you find me?”

  “Sit, there.” She pointed at the lawn. “Now!”