Monday, June 18

  YMPA

  Mission: N/A

  15:38

  “What class?” Mike asked, blinking. “School’s ending next week.”

  “It’s nothing you’re supposed to worry about,” I said.

  “But the topic is literally in your class,” Danne pushed. “I’m pretty sure that concerns us.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Malachi said, calm and sharp. “At least not to you.”

  He threw a long stare at me after that—like a viper staring at a meal that just wandered too close.

  Danne huffed. “Who are you to tell me what matters to me?”

  “Either way,” Jackson cut in, steering the conversation back before it turned into a demolition derby, “Connor said she’s in his class. That means he can be the wingman.”

  “Him?” Andre scoffed, then turned to Mikey and shook his head like he was at a funeral. “It’s over.”

  “What do you mean it’s over?” Tisiah snapped. “Connor’s probably talked to more girls than you have.”

  Andre’s eyebrows lifted. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

  Tisiah opened his mouth—

  “Regardless,” Jackson said, raising a hand to stop the chaos, “no one else is going to spend more time around her than Connor will.” He nodded like he was building a case. “Here’s my thought process.”

  He turned to me.

  And just like that, everyone else turned too.

  It felt like being pinned under a spotlight… if the spotlight had twenty eyes and was the size of a McDonald’s.

  “When does the first class start?” Jackson asked.

  “Uh… I don’t know,” I admitted. “Probably at camp. Maybe the day after we arrive.”

  Jackson nodded. “Okay. Once it starts, just talk to her. Don’t mention Mikey at all—”

  “Are we hooking Mikey up,” Danne cut in, “or him?”

  Jackson gestured for Danne to shut up without even looking at him.

  “This way,” Jackson continued, “we figure out what kind of person she is. And whether she’s the same with everyone… or different with Mikey.”

  A chorus of hums followed. Approving. Thoughtful. Suspicious.

  “We also need a location for meetings,” Mikey said, suddenly serious. “Is there a way we can get the same cabin?”

  “I’m positive there isn’t,” Andre replied. “We’ll figure it out when we get there. Classes start soon.”

  “Why not?” Malachi asked, brows furrowed. “We’ve got two minutes.”

  “I care about my classes, Malachi,” Andre said. “If you want to be the best of the best, you can’t work against the system and expect to succeed.”

  “Who’s working against the system?” Malachi argued. “Nobody’s trying to show up late.”

  “But you probably do, don’t you?” Danne said, smirking.

  “How about you shut—” Malachi barked, stepping forward—

  —and Mike immediately slid between them like he’d done it a hundred times.

  “Hey, hey, hey.” Mike lifted both hands. “We should just get to our classes. I’ll let you all know when we meet again, alright?”

  Everyone mumbled agreement and started peeling away from the circle.

  As I headed toward the door, Tisiah moved in and stopped me. The others filed past us and exited.

  “Tess is in your class?” he asked quietly.

  “I’m pretty sure we just made that known,” I replied, because… yeah. That was the entire meeting.

  Tisiah ignored the sarcasm. “Yeah, yeah. Does Greg know?”

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  “Yeah,” I said. “We looked over the roster together. But for some reason, they didn’t even record what Perks anyone has.”

  Tisiah blinked fast. “Oh. Well… that’s not great.” He shrugged, trying to sound confident anyway. “But it shouldn’t be bad. As long as you don’t do too much, you’ll probably breeze through the class. I think.”

  “That’s what Greg said,” I muttered, scratching my head. “It just makes it harder now, because we’re helping Mikey too.”

  “Doesn’t change the plan,” Tisiah said with a small chuckle. He held up one finger. “It’s one person. How much can possibly blow up from one person?”

  He leaned closer. “You might wanna call Greg before class starts.”

  “Why?”

  Tisiah tilted his head. “You wanna get eradicated by Principal Renner because Mr. Robbs caught us fooling around?”

  “Fair,” I sighed.

  Then the door opened.

  Tisiah and I turned toward the sound, and my stomach—especially mine—dropped like an anchor.

  “What are y’all doing here?” Elf asked.

  Goku-haired goon. Of course.

  Jamal stood dead center, dreads swept to the side like every movie cliché that somehow still looks threatening in real life. And beside him were Maddie and Elf—wands already at the ready like they’d rehearsed this scene.

  “Are you skipping with us now or something?” Jamal asked, voice lazy, dangerous.

  “No one said that,” Tisiah replied.

  “Then how come you’re in our spot?” Maddie asked. White hair. Slightly lighter skin than Jamal. Expression like she’d already decided she hated us.

  I looked around at the training center—bright fluorescent lights, equipment everywhere—and then back at them.

  Spot?

  “This whole place is your spot?” Tisiah asked. “Says who?”

  “I… literally just said it,” Maddie muttered, glancing at her fellow buffoons like she couldn’t believe she had to explain language.

  Tisiah—because Tisiah apparently wakes up and chooses chaos—walked closer.

  Each step carried an ominous intention. His posture was fearless… and completely incomprehensible.

  “Let’s make something clear,” he said. “We’re not just some randoms you can talk down to.” His eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I’m scared of a bunch of pansies like you?”

  I facepalmed.

  “Do me a favor,” Tisiah continued. “Jump off a bridge. Make sure it’s the highest one you can find.”

  And then—like the universe immediately punished him for speaking—

  Tisiah got launched.

  He flew across the training center like he’d been hit by an invisible truck, slammed into the lockers, and collapsed with a sickening thud.

  I stared, horror freezing me in place.

  I spun back to the goons. All three had their wands up, expressions bored—like this was just routine.

  “Okay—wait, wait,” I stammered, hands halfway raised. “How about we—”

  “Don’t pretend you’re innocent,” Jamal cut in. He tapped the orb of his wand against his palm, tap… tap… tap. “You think I forgot when you slammed me into those bleachers? My back hurt for days.”

  I slowly unsheathed my wand.

  Three older junior agents versus one freshman who usually couldn’t even use his Perk.

  Yeah. That equation screamed humiliating defeat.

  “Uh—Tisiah?” I called, glancing back.

  He was still on the floor.

  “Look,” I said, forcing calm into my voice, “you really don’t wanna do this. We’re gonna get in trouble, you’ll be in crutches, I’ll be in crutches—nobody wins.”

  Jamal shook his head slowly, like I’d offered him vegetables.

  “Trouble isn’t what I’m worried about, Connor,” he said.

  Then the door opened again.

  All of us turned.

  And my diaphragm finally unclenched in pure relief.

  September stood there.

  She wore a black zip-up jacket that looked practically glued to her, uniform cargo pants, and shoes that barely made a sound on the floor. Her hair was tied into a messy bun, black and blond blending in that weird, perfect harmony. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the scene—confusion written all over her face, because honestly… how do you even process this?

  “Hey, September,” Jamal said, instantly switching to friendly. “Just training a little bit.”

  September’s face didn’t move.

  “Uh-huh,” she said.

  “As you can imagine,” Jamal continued, “Connor kinda needed help with his punching form—placement, deliverance, all that.”

  “Uh-huh,” September repeated.

  “But nothing crazy,” Elf added quickly. “We wouldn’t do that.”

  September didn’t respond. She just focused on the “crime scene” behind me.

  The three goons followed her gaze.

  “He was always there,” Maddie said, like that explained the human cannonball situation.

  September looked around, almost amused now. “Uh-huh.” Then she turned her eyes to me. “Connor. Principal Renner needs you.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or terrified.

  I just followed September out of the room without even daring to look at Jamal’s face. She closed the door behind us, and we walked through the hallway—quiet, mostly empty.

  “So… um,” I started carefully, “what does she want me for?”

  “She didn’t say,” September replied. “I assumed it only concerned you and her.” She glanced at me sideways. “I can only imagine how great your relationship is.”

  “It’s not that great,” I muttered.

  “I know that, Connor,” she said, shaking her head with a small chuckle. “You don’t have great relationships with many people. It’s almost impressive.”

  “Okay…” I said, offended on principle.

  But then my eyes flicked to her legs.

  She moved smoother than before.

  I blinked. “Physical therapy must be working.”

  September gave me a wide look, then glanced down and laughed under her breath. She tugged up her pant legs, revealing two devices—black rings, like thick bracelets—wrapped around her calves.

  I nodded slowly. Oh.

  “It kind of pushes my legs to move correctly with each step,” she said. “Feels way weirder than it looks.”

  “I can imagine,” I said. “You excited for camp?”

  “I should be asking you,” she replied. “This is your first time, right?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “I didn’t even know about it until last week.”

  September smiled and patted my shoulder. “You make me worry about you way too often,” she said.

  We reached Renner’s office, and just before we stopped, I asked, “Why did she tell you to get me? Why not just call me over the PA system?”

  September’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If I had to guess? Mr. Drails.” She shrugged. “Connor D. might give people too much of a clue.”

  I exhaled. “Sometimes I wonder why I even have to hide that he’s my dad.”

  September glanced around. The hallway was empty.

  Then she leaned in and lowered her voice.

  “No one usually knows who the superintendent’s child is,” she whispered. “That way nobody tries to take advantage of them… when they take over.”

  “Take over what?” I asked, frowning.

  September patted my shoulder again—like she’d just handed me a puzzle and walked away with the answer key.

  “Gotta get back to class,” she said.

  I just stood there, staring after her, confused as ever.