Project Gemini (Mission 2 Read online

  Beth got up and came after me. “Hey. It’s okay, Tiger. It’s me, Beth.” She snapped her fingers in front of my face, like I was having some kind of psychotic episode. “You there?”

  “I’m fine.” I spit out my mouth guard and licked blood from my lip.

  “You saw something, didn’t you? Like the dream you had in Russia? Tell me.”

  I shook my head. “Prière said—”

  “It involved me, didn’t it? I know they can be like that ’cause my dad gets them. Glimpses, right?”

  She sat down beside me. Her eyes studied mine. My stomach lurched. I didn’t want to like her anymore. I didn’t. Why was I so pathetic?

  “Come on, spill it,” she said.

  I swallowed, needed a drink. “A fight in … in Japan, I think.” But I was only guessing because of the Asian guy and the straw mats and since Japan was where we were headed that summer.

  “What kind of fight?” Beth asked. “Was I in it? Were you?”

  “Karate, I think. Just you and some Asian guy.” But I shouldn’t have said that. Prière would flip out. Why couldn’t I say no to Beth? It wasn’t fair: The girl made me weak.

  “Be right back.” I cleaned myself up in the locker room, making sure to get off all Mary’s lipstick too. By the time I came out again, people were starting to arrive for LCT. Time to step it up. If there was going to be karate trouble in Japan, I’d be ready.

  League Combat Training was the Mission League’s combined martial arts. It had two goals: Subdue without harm and/or protect yourself enough to escape. The biggest thing to remember was the strike points. The system taught us to number strikes based on where they came from. This could help us stay calm during an attack, remove the emotional factor.

  Numbers one and two were high hits from the left or right. Threes and fours came from the sides. Five was anything in the middle from the face to the groin. Six was straight down on the head. Seven and eight were low hits from the ground. A nine, between the legs. Most attacks were one through five. Beth had taught all this to me with a stick-man drawing.

  I fought like a machine for the rest of the hour. When it came time to pair up, Beth grabbed a pair of focus mitts, and I delivered my offensive strikes in the same mechanical rhythm, hitting so hard she stumbled back a few times.

  She kept trying to talk about my glimpse, to get more information out of me, but I was done falling for the feminine charms of Beth Watkins. Hopefully.

  REPORT NUMBER: 3

  REPORT TITLE: An NCAA College Coach Asks About Me

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

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

  DATE AND TIME: Saturday, March 21, 7:00 p.m.

  THE NEXT THREE WEEKS WERE INTENSE, despite one of them being spring break. First we won our quarterfinal game against Mission Prep, 59–56. Then on Tuesday night we beat Renaissance Academy 75–65. That put us up against Rock Academy at home. Winner would go to state.

  The entire school and half the town showed up for the Regional Finals. By the end of the first quarter, Rock Academy had a three-point lead. They were scrappy as usual but on their best behavior. The point guard hadn’t scratched me even once.

  Their defense was tight, though, and so was ours. Neither team reached double figures until the second quarter. We took the lead for a while, but they took it back before halftime. Adam Davis, their shooting guard, was on fire. In the end, he scored only fifteen points in the game, but he’d shot only three-pointers. Hit all five.

  Sadly, they beat us, 42–38. We’d worked hard, but they’d always been a tough team. Won the So-Cal Regional Finals for the past five years. Won state twice. The cool thing? Their starting five were all seniors. Next year, I figured we’d take state. So I was okay that we hadn’t won.

  I was so full of it. I’d really wanted to go to the championship game.

  When I came out of the locker room, a couple of reporters asked to talk to me, Desh, and Coach Van Buren. I’d talked to reporters before, so it wasn’t all that surprising.

  “Your team played well,” the L.A. Times guy said to Coach.

  “Thanks.” Coach gripped my shoulder and squeezed. “Can’t say enough about these young men, how much they’ve grown. Knew it was going to be a street fight with Rock. But we went to work and did our best.”

  We totally had. “Davis and those back-to-back threes,” I said. “They’ve got some nice players.” Players I wouldn’t be missing next year. Buh-bye.

  “Yeah.” Desh chortled. “Davis hurt us out there. Not even Garmond could keep up.”

  True that.

  The reporter turned to me. “Spencer, eighteen points, five rebounds, seven assists, and four steals. Are you disappointed in the outcome of the game?”

  “Sure,” I said. “But we gave it our all. I mean, this isn’t Hollywood, so you can’t always have that Disney ending.”

  Though that would have been nice.

  We also talked to the reporter for the Pilot Point Leader. I saw some ESPN guy talking to Rock Academy, but he didn’t come talk to us. Ah, well. There was always next year. In fact, I bet we’d take state back-to-back in my junior and senior years. I kept thinking about that so I wouldn’t have to think about the fact that we’d lost.

  I gathered my stuff and waited for Kip, then he and I headed for the exit together.

  In the lobby, Coach was waiting by the trophy case. “Garmond!” He grabbed my shoulder. “I just talked to a guy named Mick Gilbert. He’s a recruiting coach at Fresno State. And he wanted to talk about you.” Coach shook my shoulder and slapped my chest with his other hand.

  Don’t faint, man. Act cool. I looked around the lobby. “Is he gone?”

  “Yeah, I told him you’d be right out, but he said it was against NCAA recruiting rules for him to meet you right now. Just so happens that his nephew plays for Rock Academy. That’s why he was here.”

  Coach’s words rang in my head. “Wait. There are rules?”

  “He said he liked what he’s seen from you this year and that he looked forward to watching where you’d take the team next season. He asked if you were looking to play college ball.”

  Yes, yes, yes, I was! “What did you say?”

  “I told him you were.”

  Oh-kay. I nodded, not knowing what else to do. A coach. An NCAA coach had asked about me. But Fresno? Play for the Mountain West Conference? Still, I could do far worse coming from such a Podunk school. “So what should I do? Nothing?”

  “I’m going to look into this,” Coach said. “I’ve never had a D1 player before. But I’m not going to let you down. I’ll get this figured out.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” I wanted to add that he should see about talking to some schools in power conferences, but right then some reporter started talking to him, and he waved goodbye.

  NCAA basketball. Could my dreams really come true? Would I really get to play D1 ball? Please say yes.

  Kip and I went outside and Kip punched my arm. “You dog!”

  I punched him back and couldn’t stop grinning.

  ● ● ●

  I’d really wanted to make the state game. But as I zombied my way around school on Monday, I realized I was glad basketball was over for a while. I’d exerted too much energy over the past five months and hadn’t gotten enough sleep. I was beat. And sick. I hated being sick. I felt weak, like I was going to puke. Everything ached. My head was warm. I wanted to sleep for a month.

  I marked Sasquatch in the hallway before Biology class. I’d nicknamed him Sasquatch because he was the hairiest man I’d ever seen and because I didn’t know his real name. Prière hadn’t replaced his partner, Gardener, after the arrest last December. So Sasquatch, my lone protector, roamed the halls of Pilot Point Christian School posing as a security guard. I put up my hand to wave, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was talking to a girl. I slammed my locker and headed his way, curious.

  I recognized the fluffy long skirt
before I saw Arianna’s face. Sasquatch had his wallet out. He handed Arianna some money and she hugged him.

  What the Kobe Bryant was going on there?

  I slipped into Biology class to wait for Arianna, eager to ask about the loan from Sasquatch. She entered the room and went straight to the shelf to collect our frog, which I’d named Kermit. She set the pan on our table, and the smell of the formaldehyde-soaked amphibian and the wax in the pan made me wish I’d stayed in bed.

  But then I’d dream. And I didn’t want to dream anymore.

  I’d had that same one a dozen more times. The one where I was hanging from the ceiling and Anya was holding the knife. I’d logged an official report each time, but it had been three months since I’d last met with Prière. Maybe I should email him. Ask if the whole reoccurring dream thing was normal. Not that I’d admit it out loud, but it was freaking me out. I mean, I just really wanted to avoid the whole thing coming to life, you know?

  “We need to remove the stomach,” Arianna said.

  “Miss Piggy is going to be mad at us.” I held back Kermit’s rubbery flesh with the needle-like probe and pushed a pin into the wax to get a better look at his guts. “Hey! So that’s what Nick looks like on the inside.”

  Arianna pursed her lips but didn’t look at me. “Once we remove the stomach, we need to cut it open and describe the contents.”

  “I think he eats whatever bugs him.” I poked his stomach with the probe.

  Arianna took the probe from my hand and pulled the tray toward her. “Don’t be juvenile.”

  “But I am a juvenile. I like being juvenile.” I lifted the pan and held it upright so that Kermit’s face was looking at Arianna “Look, Kermit’s croaking up at my hilarity. See his smile?”

  “Spencer! He’s going to fall out!” She grabbed the pan.

  I let go and she set the pan back on the table. “Have you been getting enough rest?” she asked me. “You have circles under your eyes.”

  “I’m tired. Might be getting a cold.” Or dying of some kind of athletic plague.

  “Well, I’m not a bit surprised. You’re exhausted. Between basketball and LCT, it’s a wonder you can stand.” She reached out and grabbed my fist, which I’d been mindlessly pounding on my forearm. “And stop banging yourself up. It drives me mad!”

  “I’m just trying to get strong.” Besides teaching me some LCT, Beth had taught me body conditioning. Arianna thought it was self-abuse.

  “Look in the mirror, Spencer. You’re an ox. Plenty strong for a sixteen-year-old.”

  Maybe an average sixteen-year-old, but not a guy who was looking to play NCAA basketball in a power conference.

  “Well, if you can stay out of mischief this summer, you should have a nice, relaxing time. That’s just a hunch, of course.”

  Arianna’s dad was an agent, so she knew more than most about Mission League stuff, like Gabe and Mary and Martha did. Wait. Arianna had said they’d moved here for her dad’s new assignment. Could his assignment be me? “Is Sasquatch your dad?”

  Her unibrow sank over her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “The guy in the hall. The new security guard?” I gave her the air quotes.

  She blew out a breath, her cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what you—”

  “It’s okay.” I couldn’t believe this. I was right. No way, no way! “I won’t tell anyone that he was assigned to guard me.”

  “Really, Spencer. You’re making no sense at all.” Her eyes fluttered and she tucked her hair behind her knobby ears.

  I’d had enough lie detection lectures from Mr. S to know that Arianna was a big fat liar. “I saw him give you money in the hallway. And you hugged him.”

  She turned her gaze on me, eyes glossy, chin trembling. “You call him a sasquatch?”

  I chuckled. “Just ’cause I didn’t know his real name and he’s a hairy dude.” Which totally explained Arianna’s unibrow. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. Your dad is amazing, Arianna. You should have seen him take down this guy who was built like a sumo wrestler. I’ve never seen anything like that. Ever.”

  Her eyes widened. “Something happened?”

  I waved it off. “Last fall, after homecoming. It was no big deal. Not with your dad there.” I couldn’t believe Sasquatch was Arianna’s dad. Man!

  Arianna lifted her chin and glanced at me. “Dad is really strong.”

  “That’s an understatement.” The dude was a beast.

  “It’s been hard for me, knowing my dad was in Moscow, knowing he’ll be in Japan, and not being able to say anything if I see him.”

  “Wait. Your dad was in Moscow? I never saw him, even after …” I stabbed Kermit. “Hold on. That’s why you know where we’re going in Japan.”

  “Dad didn’t say anything. But from what I’ve overheard, I think it will be tropical.”

  In Japan? “I thought it snowed there.”

  “In some places. But not in the summer. I think we’re going somewhere more akin to Hawaii.”

  I wanted to mock her use of the word “akin,” but Hawaii trumped it. “You’re serious?”

  “Please, keep your voice down, Spencer. If you say anything to anyone, I’ll only deny it. And I’ll never tell you any of my theories again.”

  “I won’t tell. I promise.” I was going to Japan-Hawaii. Sah-weet. I fought a sudden urge to stand up and rock the Gangnam Style dance.

  “Yes, well, let’s get back to the stomach, shall we?” Arianna said.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Had to keep this girl on my good side now that I knew who her padre was. I cleared my throat and sat up straight, but one look at Kermit and I couldn’t help it. “You know … Kermit looks a little big to fit in someone’s throat, don’t you think?”

  ● ● ●

  After lunch, Kip, Megan, and I all had Algebra II. We went to their lockers first, then mine. I kept my locker about as tidy as my bedroom, so of course I couldn’t find squat. While I searched for my textbook, Kip and Megan started making out against my neighbor’s locker.

  “Room for the Bible, Kip,” Coach Van Buren said from behind me.

  Kip and Megan peeled themselves apart like two strips of Velcro.

  “Garmond.” Coach’s familiar grip pressed down on my left shoulder. “Been looking for you all day. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Yeah, we’ll see you in class.” Kip took Megan’s hand, and they walked away.

  I pushed up to my feet but left my locker open. Still needed to find that book.

  “I’ve been reading up on the NCAA rules,” Coach said. “We need to get you registered for the NCAA Clearinghouse. It’s the program that gets you eligible to be recruited by schools. I’ll wait until the school year is over to get your transcripts sent in. But you’re going to need to take your SATs early.”

  “Now?”

  “Sometime this fall is fine. That way, if you do poorly, you’ll have time to retake them.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” Ugh. Those tests did not sound fun.

  Coach slapped my back. “Good. So we’ll see you at conditioning and summer camp, right?”

  “Uh …” Time to face the music. “When I’m back, sure. But I’m going to Japan on a mission trip, remember?” As if Coach could remember something I never told him …

  Coach’s face flushed. “Garmond, you want to play college ball. You need to get your priorities straight.”

  Hold up. “My priorities are fine.”

  “Really? Well, coaches can’t see you play if you’re not on the team.”

  Whoa. “Why wouldn’t I be on the team, Coach?”

  He looked down the hall and sighed. “I didn’t mean that. You’ll be on the team, sure. But if you miss camp, you’ll be behind.”

  “I’ll practice every chance I get. I promise.”

  “Not good enough. Most of the top NCAA prospects play AAU ball.”

  “But you hate AAU.” Plus it cost a fortune that my Grandma didn’t have.

  “I’m t
rying to help you, kid. I believe you’ve got the talent to play Division 1 ball, but you’ve got to work with me here.”

  I set my jaw. What if he was right? What if going to Japan messed up my chances of getting a scholarship? It was only eight weeks, though. “Coach, I’m sorry, but … This mission trip. This is something I have to do.” I couldn’t very well add that I kept having prophecies about swimming with an Asian girl. So I left it at that.

  “Okay, you do what you have to do. But you haven’t left the country yet. There’s still time to make the right choice.” Coach walked away just as the bell rang, leaving me alone in the hallway with no pass to class.

  I blew out a long breath. That was so unfair. There would still be lots of time to talk to coaches when I got back from Japan. And I still had my junior and senior year. Coach had to be messing with me. Bluffing.

  I hoped.

  ● ● ●

  Days and weeks rolled by, and it was suddenly the end of April. One month until we left for our mysterious tropical adventure, and time for new recruits to join The Mission League. Friday morning, Mr. S told us he’d have the names of the new recruits written on the whiteboard when we got to Room 401 that afternoon. We were supposed to pray for them and Prière and whoever else was involved in the whole recruitment thing.

  I was late getting to class that afternoon because Coach cornered me outside the gym and took me on another guilt trip—this one so big I almost had jet lag by the time he walked away.

  When I walked through the door to Room 401, no one was praying. Everyone was talking. No sign of Mr. S, either. Maybe he was off riding in Kimbal’s squad car like last year. I glanced at the whiteboard and read the three names.

  Alpha—Wally Parks

  Alpha—Grace Thomas

  Diakonos—Lukas Rodriguez

  “We get two noobs on Alpha?” I said. “Sweet!” That would finally even things up. Bummer about Lukas being on Diakonos, though. I’d met Isabel’s little brother only twice, but the kid was fearless. Took down the Incredible Tattooed Hulk with a can of hairspray.