Monday, May 21

  Recreation

  Mission: N/A

  20:00

  “You still wanna suspect Mikey?” Tisiah asked.

  I could tell he’d been thinking about it the same way I had been—turning it over in his head, replaying every word Mikey said, and probably questioning his own sanity in the process. Or maybe he just wasn’t ready to admit the guy made sense.

  Mari didn’t respond.

  That might’ve been because a group of girls was walking toward us—the kind of girls who looked like drama wasn’t something that happened to them, it was something they scheduled. Perfectly contoured, caked faces, shiny lip gloss, and the energy of people who could start an argument in a quiet room.

  “You’re Tisiah, right?” the one in front asked.

  She had dirty-blonde hair, a severe tan, and nails that looked like weapons—long acrylics, pink with tiny flowers at the tips. She pointed at the pamphlet in his hand with one of them.

  “They allow those…?” Nikki muttered under her breath, eyeing the nails like they were against academy policy.

  “I mean, looks like me, so it’s probably me,” Tisiah said. His voice was flatter than usual, but I couldn’t blame him.

  “So where is the game being hosted?” she asked. “Is it being hosted at CAMEO Stadium or—”

  “I don’t think we’re going to Canada to play football—” Nikki cut in.

  “You’d be surprised—” I added.

  “…anymore,” Tisiah finished, a bit darker.

  The girl lowered her brows but nodded anyway. Tisiah leaned closer to her to point at the pamphlet—since I was behind him, I couldn’t actually see what he was gesturing at.

  “It’s going to be at Vallant Stadium,” he explained. “It’s close to one of the YMPA branches.”

  “Thank you. Hope you win,” she said, and her hand slid over his shoulder in this slow, deliberate caress.

  Nikki shot to her feet so fast her chair scooted back with a squeak.

  Mari glanced at her, confused. “What happened in Canada?” she asked, narrowing her eyes slightly as if the country itself had done something wrong.

  “There was an attack,” Tisiah said. His voice dropped into that serious tone he rarely used. “A huge one. Multiple explosives nuked onto the field. A lot of junior spies died that day. A few officials and agents too. I think they said three planes flew low over the stadium, dropped their loads, then disappeared. The rest is just… unfortunate history—”

  “When did this happen?” Nikki asked.

  “1993.”

  “Oh,” I said quietly, letting out a deep breath. I tossed the football. That was also the last time I got to toss it.

  Because before the ball even arced back, three agents stormed onto the field.

  Mururs flared like wildfire. Heads turned. People slowed their conversations just enough to stare.

  “Connor Drails,” one of the agents called out. He had brown hair combed neatly to the side, a strong jaw made more obvious by the cleanest shave I’d ever seen. “White wants to speak with you.”

  I groaned internally and probably externally too.

  I scanned the crowd. I could see students already forming narratives in their heads, weaving little conspiracies to pass the time—each one starring me as the villain of their mental fanfic.

  That, somehow, wasn’t even the worst part.

  “You’re not going.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “You are a suspect. There is no reason you should be allowed to participate in the tryout game,” Principal Renner said.

  She sounded almost bored with the decision, which really helped.

  White was standing beside her, dressed in a gray-tan checkered suit, crisp white shirt, and a straight black tie that probably had more structure than my spine at the moment. Honestly, it was the freshest outfit I’d seen on him in all the painful hours I’d known the man.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The room was the same as last time—comfortable chairs, warm lighting, a nice view through the window. Everything about it was visually pleasant.

  Emotionally? Not so much.

  “Have I not given enough to prove I’m not the mole?” I asked.

  “A mole would do exactly that,” Renner replied. “Give enough to prove they’re not the mole. That is precisely how a mole stays a mole. If Mr. Drails—” she tilted her head toward White “—would let me do things my way, you’d be in a wheelchair.”

  “Why—what—did that really need to be said?” I asked.

  “To show that I’m not playing,” White said evenly.

  “So how come I can’t play?” I fired back.

  He blinked. “I didn’t mean playing like that.”

  “Still—how does any of this—”

  “Enough,” Principal Renner cut in, her voice sharp enough to slice through the conversation. “You are not playing. In fact, you will be held under necessary containment.”

  My heart dropped.

  My jaw dropped.

  My eyes didn’t drop—but they widened enough to be halfway there.

  “Co—co—containment?” I stammered.

  “You have failed to give us any lead for weeks,” Principal Renner said. “We’ll take control now and expose you for who you truly are.”

  “Okay, Principal,” I said, voice cracking under the weight of panic and frustration. “Instead of letting me go on the field and scout the exact person planning to crash the game and pin it on me—catch them in the act, get a new lead—you’d rather lock up a regular kid who’s being framed based on what someone else said? Someone you apparently believe over me? The superintendent’s son?”

  The title didn’t even feel good to say. I sounded desperate. Weak.

  They didn’t respond.

  Not angrily.

  Just… thoughtfully.

  White glanced at Principal Renner, and she glanced back. Some silent adult telepathy passed between them.

  Then White stood. “More interrogators will meet with you shortly,” he said.

  I groaned. Again.

  Tuesday

  At least the last week of school came to my rescue. Sort of. If “rescue” meant “final exams” and “no fun” and “a thousand multiple-choice questions about things I definitely didn’t review.”

  But it did mean one thing: I wouldn’t have to see Kirk again after this.

  Or so I thought—

  SLAP!

  My head rang like a church bell as Kirk’s meaty, dusty, sandpaper palm smacked the back of my neck. He walked away immediately, as if he’d just clocked out of a job.

  He threw a glance over his shoulder. I stared at him in disbelief.

  Where was Greg when you needed him?

  Normally, Greg was there making life more confusing and stressful in his own way, but now—when I actually needed someone on my side—this man was just… gone.

  I opened my locker, already emotionally finished with the entire day.

  But something inside caught my attention.

  Nestled on the top shelf was a small, sleek device. It looked like an AirPod, except it was black with a yellow circle around the outer edge.

  Carefully, I picked it up and put it in my ear.

  “Y-buds connected—”

  Principal Renner’s voice blasted directly into my skull.

  “Normally, I wouldn’t involve myself this directly,” she said. “But we’ve decided to accept your plan.”

  I straightened, heartbeat kicking into high gear.

  “Now, this does not mean you have control over the mission,” she continued. “You failed. All of you. Horribly. But you will be our eyes and ears. Whatever you see, you report. Understood?”

  “Alright,” I said slowly. “So how do I turn this off?”

  “Real funny, Connor—”

  “No, seriously. How? Do I put it back in the locker? Keep it in my ear and let you yap all day? Does it turn off by itself? Is there a case—”

  “It has a case, Connor,” she cut in, irritation squeezing each word. “Look in your locker. Closer, perhaps.”

  I leaned in. On the right side of the locker was a small case—black with two bold yellow stripes running vertically down the front.

  It felt soft and plushy, like it had a padded cover over a hard shell.

  As I moved the earbud toward its slot, I asked, “Why’d you guys take it out in the first place, then?”

  “Ask yourself that question,” she replied.

  “Fair enough.”

  I snapped the earbud into the case and shoved it into the smallest pocket of my backpack.

  I wasn’t sure how to feel about any of this. On one hand: I wasn’t being locked away. On the other: I had officially been branded as a failed operative whose mission was only being salvaged because the grown-ups needed disposable binoculars.

  My MP points? Ignored. My risks? Ignored. My life? Optional.

  Also—how did they even get into my locker?

  Before I could spiral too hard, a voice cut through my thoughts.

  “Hi, Connor.”

  I didn’t even have to look. “Greg.”

  “You’re supposed to be heading to the tryouts game on Thursday, right?” Greg asked, strolling up beside me. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”

  “Friday,” I corrected.

  “Oh.”

  “But I just got a pass from the principal,” I explained. “I think White convinced her. I doubt she agreed on her own, even with… you know. The look.”

  Greg shrugged. “Maybe they both agreed. It’s not a bad idea, honestly.”

  “Yeah, well, they also gave me this—ow.”

  A sudden burn shot through my left palm. I flinched, lifted my hand, and saw a red mark forming in the center.

  What the freak was that?

  Greg narrowed his eyes. “You… good, dude?”

  “Oh yeah. Just my pencil,” I said through gritted teeth. “Stabbed my hand. You’d understand.”

  Greg nodded, but his eyes said he absolutely did not.

  “Well, here’s what I’d suggest,” Greg said as we started walking down the hall. “Report everything.”

  “Yeah, you don’t say,” I replied.

  He shook his head. “No, I mean everything. Every conversation. Every movement. Who’s looking at you. Who isn’t. Who avoids you. Who suddenly wants to stand near you. All of it.”

  “I thought it was just about what Jamal and his crew were planning,” I said. “What they’re doing. What they’re trying to do.”

  “That’s your problem, Connor,” Greg said. “You won’t look anywhere else. I know Jamal’s been a punk to you, but the mole could be anyone. There are thousands of students at your school. If you focus only on one corner of the map, you’ll miss the person standing right behind you.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Report everything.”

  I sighed. “Alright, fine. I will.”

  “Good,” Greg said. “Because I’d actually like to spend summer playing something with my brother—not visiting him in a high-security prison.”

  He walked away, leaving me standing in the hall.

  And that’s when it really hit me:

  If we didn’t find this mole…

  If this mission failed…

  I wasn’t just going to be suspended.

  I was going to disappear.

  For a long, long time.