The Second Ship by Richard Phillips Page B

really hope so.”
     

Chapter 17
     
    Inconspicuous.
    Mark Smythe moved down the hallway of Los Alamos High School with unnatural grace, slightly shifting his weight so that the stream of students flowed past without touching him, a feat that would have been regarded as phenomenal had anyone else been aware of it.
    He wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t blow their cover—but he wasn’t about to hide his talents either. He didn’t have a problem with continuing to get imperfect grades, but at least one should jump to an A. The rest could remain Bs.
    Jennifer was not going to like the rest of what he had planned for the year. Not one little bit.
    Hopefully Heather would be cool with it, but if not, then the girls would just have to get over it together. Maybe he should have told Jennifer that he had already asked Dad for permission to go out for the basketball team, and Dad had enthusiastically signed the permission slip.
    “You know, at five-eleven, you’re going to have to work a lot harder than the bigger guys,” his dad had said. “Also, your schoolwork better not suffer. You sure you’re willing to make that commitment?”
    Mark grinned. Oh, he would practice all right, and keeping up with schoolwork wasn’t going to be a problem anymore.
    The gymnasium was empty when Mark walked in, something that wasn’t surprising since tryouts weren't going to start until next week.
    Mark grabbed a basketball from the rack against the wall and began dribbling it out onto the court, feeling the ball’s responsiveness to the movements of his hands. Like most of his friends, Mark had played sports since grade school. Basketball had been his favorite of the team sports. He had been good, but not the best. That was about to change.
    The ball felt different. Mark could feel every dimple in the ball’s skin, the lines where the sections joined, how the rotation changed as it struck the gym floor and returned to his hand.
    Left hand, right hand. Back and forth he worked the ball, adding different English to the spin, causing the ball to weave about crazily, but always bouncing to the spot he anticipated. Between his legs. Behind his back. Between his legs as he walked. Between his legs as he ran. He moved around the court—whirling, spinning—and always the ball bounced flawlessly from one hand to the other.
    Mark moved back to the free-throw line at one end of the court, bounced the ball twice, and then shot. The ball passed through the basket so smoothly that the strings at the bottom of the net made a gentle popping sound. Retrieving the basketball, Mark shot again and again. Ten in a row. Twenty. Fifty.
    He began moving around the court and launching jump shots. The first of these missed, although he immediately knew why. He had surprised himself with the height of his jump, his new muscle efficiency propelling him far higher than ever before.
    The next shot didn’t miss. Neither did the one after that. Left hand, right hand: it made absolutely no difference.
    He spun the ball up onto the middle finger of his left hand and then caught it and launched a shot, which landed the ball back in the rack right beside its fellows. He made his way out through the double gymnasium doors, giving one a flat-handed smack as he left. A broad smile spread across his face.
    Inconspicuous.
     

Chapter 18
     
    Heather had never studied so hard in her life. Considering she was ahead in all her schoolwork and had no tests coming up, her study load was nothing short of miraculous. But compared to the work Jennifer was doing, Heather felt like a slacker.
    Sometimes life drives you to do entirely new things, things you never believed you could do. Heather remembered when she first started skiing, midway through fifth grade. That was when she had met Bobby Jones. It had been forever since she had thought of him, but in fifth grade she thought Bobby Jones hung the moon.
    He and his family had arrived from Steamboat Springs, Colorado. Bobby had asked