The girl texted to a friend, “Sittin next 2 skankula,” and never once turned to her left to look Amber in the eye or say a thing to her.
A boy and girl seated in front of her alternately held hands and hugged and giggled through the ceremony. When names of fellow students were called, they frequently shouted out “I love you” or cheered or whistled with great affection.
One of them had asked Amber in class, point blank and in front of everyone as if it wasn’t an insult, if she was a dyke and that was why she never had a boyfriend. The other had literally pushed Amber down a flight of stairs between classes and only barely acted like it was an accident.
None of the obvious explanations for the petty, pointless cruelty of children applied. Amber was not at all ugly, or overweight, or queer or disabled. She did not have low social skills. She didn’t smell bad or dress funny. Nothing aside from academic achievement set her apart from her peers, and surely others who’d achieved more suffered less derision. Sometimes students would treat her decently, or at least with indifference, but it seemed only because they sometimes forgot to be mean. Teenagers couldn’t be asked to be consistent. Amber never knew why her classmates shut her out.
The cheers continued. Amber’s row was called. They walked to the front of the field as they had during rehearsal, many of them waving and receiving call-outs from the stands. Amber looked up to the bleachers, wondering if Dad had his camera ready. The only reason she had to go through with this whole ceremony was to get pictures for her grandmother. Otherwise, she’d have skipped it, just like she skipped the end-of-the-year carnival for four years running, and the homecoming game, and the prom. It wasn’t like she’d ever been asked to any dances, except once on account of a dare.
The boy with the candy lei got a huge pop of cheers and applause from both the stands and the assembled graduates when his name was called. Amber waited, and heard her name, and then heard nothing. Her father was doubtlessly too focused on getting the picture to shout out anything.
Running Start had cut her time in that hellhole in half for her last two years. She traded three hours of her day with snotty teenagers to instead be with older students-adults-who had more important things to do than socialize with a teen. She made no real connections, but never regretted the choice. At least nobody at the community college used her as the butt of a joke.
Amber accepted her diploma without a smile, and wondered-not for the last time-what it was like to have friends.
“Joe, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to say. I haven’t been sure how to bring it up, but I figure I’d better just come out with it.”
Hauser didn’t look away from the road. He merely continued up 45th, trapped between an overly-optimistic bicyclist and a bus as they crawled up the short hill. “So come out with it,” he grunted.
It was more or less the response she’d expected. Amber felt less like an FBI agent and more like the daughter of an irritable father. It was a ridiculous comparison, of course; Hauser hardly resembled either of her parents with his strict, almost military demeanor. He was demanding and firm like they were, but the flavor was all different.
She had to suck it up. This wasn’t about daddy issues; this was about her job.
“I think Jason-Cohen-is attracted to me.”
Again, Hauser grunted. “Figured he would be. You’re a girl and you’re into all the same nerd stuff. He probably doesn’t find much of that.”
Muscles in her jaw clenched up. Her hand balled into a fist. Something in her stomach rolled around, wanting to get out, and it wasn’t her breakfast. She stomped on her instinct to retaliate. He’s a goon, she thought. He doesn’t even realize how many ways he just insulted me. Don’t let this turn into a thing.
“I’m pretty sure I can keep it to ‘just friends’ and he’ll still want to hang out with me,” she continued, “so I don’t think it’ll blow the connection-“
“But you probably won’t get as much info that way, and not as quickly,” Hauser finished for her.
“Yeah,” she muttered.
“Agent Maddox, we’ve already gone to a lot of trouble and expense to establish this cover. You didn’t see this as a potential problem in the beginning?”
“Before I made contact, we thought he was seeing those girls in all his pictures on Face-“
“But he’s not anymore. He’s a nineteen-year-old guy. What do you think he’s interested in more than anything else? It damn sure doesn’t seem to me like it’s football. Like I said before, we don’t have much of a rulebook for this task force. We need every edge we can get. Do you think you can do this job?”
Amber tried not to seethe. Bad enough that he wouldn’t give her a straight answer, but being interrupted just made her angrier. “That’s not what I’m saying, I just wanted to know what I’m supposed to do if-“
“You don’t commit any felonies. You don’t commit any other crimes that aren’t necessary to maintain your cover. Past that, the only question is how much you can handle.” He turned into the north entrance to the university campus, steering for the first available parking lot. “This is an inherently dangerous assignment, Agent Maddox. We’re all exposing ourselves to worse things than bullets here, and you most of all. Every one of us knows that. But we’re here and we’re on the job, and we’re all gonna have to take some risks and make some sacrifices.
“This is the real deal, Amber. This is what we do. The question is whether or not you’re up for that?”
He pulled around a section of parked cars, making no effort to find a space for himself. This was only a drop-off. Amber would have to walk the rest of the way across campus in the rain.
It was only then that he looked at her. “You made contact ahead of anyone’s expectations. You’ve already dug up matters worth investigation, and you held your cover together even after that woman monkeyed with your brain. That’s all outstanding work. But we’re gonna need more and we’re gonna need it soon. Are you ready to do what it takes?”
Once again, Amber instinctively bit down on her first reply. She didn’t know which made her angrier: that Hauser clearly considered a fake romantic entanglement to be well within the bounds of reasonable expectations-regardless of how Amber felt about being the one involved-or that Hauser pointedly didn’t give explicit instructions one way or the other. Or his passive-aggressive way of daring her to accept whatever came her way.
She could ask him point blank, she knew, but she had no reason to expect anything more than another non-answer. “I’ll handle it,” she said, hoisting her backpack as she stepped out of the car. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Page us with updates when you can,” Hauser reminded as he drove away.
“It’s called ‘texting,’ asshole,” muttered Amber.
The walk to the lecture hall didn’t do much to lift her spirits. She trudged through the constant drizzle, thinking back to earlier years on this same campus, in this same weather, and wondered if it was just her lot in life to be here. That she would always love her alma mater was never in doubt, but there were reasons why she left her hometown. LA wasn’t like this; when it rained, it rained, and then the sun came out again. Morning clouds usually all burned away by the afternoon. Hell, it was still warm down there, too.