Friday, May 25

  Ventura Boulevard

  Mission: Intel Dump

  8:53

  “Why do you ask?” I said.

  Malachi started chuckling and covered his face with both hands like he already knew where this was going.

  “Is she bad?” Mikey blurted.

  “What?” Malachi, me, Tisiah, Jackson, and Mike said at the same time.

  “I’m just curious what Connor’s girlfriend looks like,” Mikey said, completely unfazed. “You got pictures?”

  “Mikey,” Mike groaned. “You do not ask anyone that.” He facepalmed and shook his head in disappointment.

  “Danne is the one who asked,” Mikey said defensively.

  “I was just wondering if it was his mom or something,” Danne replied, turning to him.

  “But why would that matter?” Jackson asked.

  Danne glanced up and down like his brain was rebooting. “I—Is it wrong for a young man to be curious?”

  “That’s not something you should be curious about,” Jackson said. “Is she, though?”

  “What?” Tisiah exclaimed. “Can we stop now… please?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Brother?” someone asked.

  “Brother,” came the confirmation.

  Everyone immediately connected the dots. This time, correctly: Tisiah was Nikki’s brother.

  “No wonder y’all are like this…” Danne muttered, fingers steepled like he’d solved a math problem.

  “You got a girlfriend?” Malachi asked him suddenly.

  Danne glanced at him, stared at the ground for a second, then nodded. “Well, I’m soon to.”

  “Talking stage, I’m guessing?” Mikey asked.

  Danne just laughed—not nervous laughter, but confident laughter. “No, no, no. She already has a boyfriend. I’m just working on stealing her.”

  “Huh?” We all reacted at once.

  “We’ve all tried that at some point,” Danne said, eyes widening as he scanned every single one of us. “Don’t lie.”

  Silence. Even Malachi was quiet, which was concerning.

  I couldn’t even say I was doing the same thing… but it made me rethink a couple of decisions.

  “In fact—look, look, look,” Danne said, whipping out his phone. He tapped furiously, then held it up to show us a few photos.

  On the screen was a girl with golden-brown hair, an oval-shaped face, defined cheekbones, and a fair-to-light complexion with natural blemishes. She was at the beach in a swimsuit, standing next to a friend who, objectively, was several tiers below her. Her smile was so bright it felt like it had a lens flare.

  “Lord have mercy…” Mikey breathed.

  He was kneeling in front of Danne, face practically pressed against the phone screen. It was… a lot.

  Mike yanked him back by the collar. “Back it up.”

  “Sorry, should’ve let y’all see properly,” Danne said as he turned the phone for everyone. “Now look. This is her boyfriend.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  He scrolled a few photos over and showed us the guy. We all winced—not because the guy was built like a literal juggernaut, but because comparing him to Danne was like comparing a skyscraper to a folding chair.

  “Delusion…” Jackson sighed.

  “How do you even plan to make this happen?” Malachi asked, brows knit, mouth slightly open. He looked genuinely lost.

  “By making it seem like he cheated on her,” Danne said proudly. “I stole some heels from Ross, and I’m gonna plant them in his room. Then, when he leaves, I’m gonna ‘happen’ to be talking to her near his door.”

  “What if he goes back to his room?” Jackson asked.

  “What’s he gonna do? Accuse her of cheating in his room?” Danne scoffed. “It’s foolproof. Once she sees the heels in his room, she’s gonna confront him. If they don’t break up, they’ll at least have tension.”

  “Something’s wrong with you,” Jackson said flatly.

  Danne sneered. “My intellect is simply above your paygrade.”

  “Whatever you say, bro…” Mike muttered.

  I leaned back and glanced over at Tisiah. His eyes were closed like he was trying to meditate his way out of existence.

  “You done with whatever you’re doing?” Nikki asked in my ear.

  “Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, still staring at Danne like he was a walking red flag.

  “Well, good luck on your game,” Nikki said. “Let us know if anything happens. That way we can report it to Mari. We’re going to the game tomorrow, but we don’t know if anything might happen today.”

  “There’s a possibility,” I replied. “Definitely.”

  She said her goodbyes and hung up.

  Then, like a mosquito buzzing in surround sound, D7 asked, “Is that your—”

  “No,” I cut in. “She’s the sister of my good friend I mentioned before.”

  “Gotcha,” D7 said. “Anyway, not sure if I should be telling you this, but you’re technically part of the mission, so— I ran a check on the people you mentioned. Based on their grades—”

  “Please tell me you found something.”

  “Well… no. They’re just pretty dumb people. But their classes, activities, and the info we have on them give them solid alibis.”

  “How?” I demanded.

  “First off, all of these people have been at the academy for over two years—unlike you,” D7 said. “That ‘Jackson’ you mentioned? He’s a three-year junior agent majoring in Cybersecurity and Digital Forensics. Based on his classes and who he’s trained with, he’s been around some of our most loyal junior agents. He even passed the annual retinal scan and has… special access to certain weapons.”

  “Sounds pretty suspicious to me.”

  “Just because he’s better than you’ve ever been.”

  “Your words,” I shot back. “He’s been here three years—unlike me.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “What about Andre? Or Danne? Or literally anyone else on the team?” I asked.

  “We’re still checking those,” D7 said. “So far, nothing alarming. Security footage with them in it doesn’t lead us anywhere. It does make sense to join the football team, though. High MP rewards, and Malachi’s on it.”

  “Except supposedly no one is suspicious,” I hissed.

  “I never said I was done,” D7 replied. “Piping down is your best bet. We’re putting a lot of hope in you here—”

  “Don’t give me that,” I snapped. “This is probably the most interesting case you’ve had in years.”

  “It is interesting,” he admitted. “But not the most. There was that attack on CAMEO Stadium in—”

  “1993,” I cut in. “Yeah. I know.”

  Silence.

  “Anything else you wanna say?” D7 asked sharply. “You seem very eager to interrupt me.”

  “Sorry,” I sighed. “I’m just a little antsy, considering I’m surrounded by fools and might end up spending the rest of my life in a prison cell or a grave.”

  D7 took a deep breath with me, like he was forcing himself not to yell.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he said finally, “I’ve never seen a mole work this hard to prove their innocence. Usually they abort the mission or go on a killing spree. The fact that you’re actually trying to help us? That’s pretty telling.”

  “Tell White that,” I muttered.

  “I think they know it too,” D7 said. “Why else would they let a possible mole stay on the case?”

  “I’m still technically a YMPA agent,” I replied.

  “Don’t be dumb,” D7 shot back. “No one has time for that.”

  “Whatever, man. Whatever,” I sighed. “Tell me when you get something.”

  “You tell me first,” D7 said.

  I didn’t bother responding. I just sank back into my seat and let the anxiety simmer. We’d been on the interstate for at least three hours, so when the bus finally took an exit, the entire atmosphere shifted.

  Every football player who had been asleep—so, every single football player—woke up at once and turned to look out the windows.

  Outside, looming in the distance, was a massive, worn-down stadium.

  “Is this—?” people murmured.

  “It looks abandoned so no MSTO organization can plan anything stupid,” Coach Wallaby said. “My career does not have time for that.”

  “So why not build, like, an underground stadium and use this as a decoy?” Andre asked. “Like a burger joint on top or something?”

  Coach Wallaby chuckled. “That’s a good idea. Now fetch us the money.”

  Andre went quiet. Danne snickered.

  We pulled into the parking lot of a towering hotel that had to be at least seventy floors tall. Our bus parked as close as possible to the front entrance.

  “This gotta be a Hyatt or somethin’,” Mikey said. “They’re the ones always being extra with hotels.”

  “I’d expect that peasantry behavior from you,” Danne sniffed.

  Mike shot him a look that shut him up instantly.

  Within seconds, the bus erupted into movement. Everyone stood, grabbed their luggage and carry-ons, and funneled toward the exit.

  As we stepped off the bus and toward the hotel doors, it hit me:

  Tomorrow wouldn’t just decide my football future.

  It might decide whether I walked out of this alive at all.