Free Citrus County by John Brandon Page B

again. The twins looked at each other. “Coach?” one said.
    “Don’t call me coach. Call me Mr. Hibma.”
    “Mr. Himba?”
    “Not Him-ba. Hib ma.”
    “Do we really have to get our hair and nails done?”
    “If you want to start.”
    There was a murmur and then it died down.
    “Now,” said Mr. Hibma. “Important business.”
    He explained that it was all of the girls’ personal responsibilities to get the two huge girls who threw the shot and the discus to try out for the team. Rosa, the Mexican one, and Sherrie, the other one, had to try out. This was vital.
    “Befriend them,” ordered Mr. Hibma. “Pressure them. Bribe them. Just get them the hell out here.”
    Walking onto the school grounds, right up the main drag near the sign that said CITRUS MIDDLE SCHOOL in concrete letters, Toby was called over by two women in a shiny blue car. They were the FBI agents. Their car looked like it had been washed about five minutes ago. The hood was dazzling in the morning sun. They didn’t bother to get out. The one talking to Toby was in the driver’s seat. She had very short hair.
    She said, “Don’t worry, sport, we won’t make you late. We won’t make you tardy.”
    Toby felt hot. He didn’t know if it was because of the agents or because the sun had found him. Toby did not feel worried, in general, about the cops or these agents, but maybe he was just telling himself that. He stood there and partook of quiet deep breaths while the woman asked him questions, mostly about Shelby. Toby answered them honestly. He told them Shelby had come to see him during PE class a couple times before she officially returned to school. He told her they had geography class together. The other agent, the one in the passenger seat, didn’t even look over. She squinted out her window.
    “Want a bagel?” the agent in the driver’s seat said. “Apparently my partner’s lost her appetite.”
    Toby shook his head. He didn’t fidget. This FBI agent had no accusation in her eyes. She wasn’t trying to make Toby nervous. She was underestimating him, like everyone did. She was questioning him only because she didn’t have any good leads, only because he was a friend of Shelby’s and she was casting a wide net.
    She adjusted her mirror and put on some lip balm. “Is it fair to say you’re in tight with all the troublemakers around here?”
    “No,” said Toby.
    “Don’t you all run together?”
    “I don’t run with anyone.”
    “A lone wolf, huh?” said the agent. “Here’s the thing. A lot of these cases crack because people can’t keep secrets. There’s certain secrets that get heavy and people can’t take it anymore and they tell someone. Then that person tells someone.”
    The agent stopped talking. She didn’t start again until Toby nodded.
    “I want you to be my ears. If any of your buddies say anything I’d be interested in, you let me know.”
    Toby told her he would and she gave him a staged smile.
    “What do you kids do for fun around here?” she asked.
    “Fun?” Toby said.
    “You’ve heard of it, right?”
    Toby took a broad look around the parking lot, at all the kids getting dropped off by their parents, bags being jerked out of trunks. “I don’t know what they do,” Toby said. “I walk around. I get the lay of the land.”
    Toby’s eyes had adjusted to the gleaming of the car’s paint job. He could see into the back seat. There weren’t any guns or high-tech equipment. There was a case of bottled water.
    “Is she your girlfriend?” The agent leaned out the window. Now there was something in her eyes. “Is Shelby your girlfriend?”
    “No,” said Toby.
    “How about this: Are you her boyfriend?”
    Toby took a step back.
    “I can see it, the whole goody-goody with the bad boy thing. It’s a time-honored tradition.”
    “Shelby’s not a goody-goody,” Toby said.
    “It’s okay to be a goody-goody. I’m a goody-goody and I do all right.”
    The agent grinned like she’d made a