Playing with Fire by Melody Carlson Page B

task-force meeting after school. So I ask him if it's okay if I call him tonight or maybe meet him for coffee.
    He brightens a little, and we agree to meet at seven at the Starbucks not too far from his house. Hopefully, Olivia will give me a ride.
    “I have band practice this afternoon,” she says as she takes me to the police station. “So I can't pick you up by five.”
    “I can call Mom and catch a ride with her.” I mention meeting Garrett for coffee and ask Olivia if she wants to join us.
    “I'd like to. But let me get back to you on that, okay?” Then I get out, wave good-bye, and go into my first methamphetamine task-force meeting. I'm not that surprised to find I'm the only teenager here. Mostly it's cops, a fewcity officials, a doctor, and a couple of rehab counselors. Ebony is chairing the committee and handles the introductions. To my relief, she doesn't mention anything about my “gift” but instead describes my role with her as a “consultant from the teen sector,” explaining how my dad used to be her partner and how I've been helpful in solving some cases that involved teens.
    This first meeting is mostly educational. The experts share what they know about addiction, manufacturing of the drug, how it impacts the crime rate, and things like that. I listen carefully, like I think there might be an exam later, but it's somewhat redundant with the information in the packet Ebony gave me last week. Probably the best thing about this meeting is the reassurance that people are very concerned. And this group wants to do everything possible to educate our community about the problem and put a lid on it.
    After the meeting, Ebony asks me to meet with her privately in her office. First she asks if I've read any of the book she gave me.
    “As a matter of fact, I'm almost halfway through it,” I tell her. “It's actually pretty interesting…and informative.”
    She nods. “Good.”
    “Did you talk to the chief?”
    “I did.”
    “And?”
    “He has agreed to a trial period, Sam. He asked me to put together some guidelines, which I did last night. And I've agreed to be responsible for your training.”
    “Really?” I feel excited now. “I really get to do this?”
    “Yes.” She hands me a large yellow envelope. “I wantyou to read through this material, and we'll meet a couple times weekly to go over the basics.”
    “Cool.”
    “And you need to promise me that you'll be very careful, Samantha, that you will take this very seriously.”
    “Of course, I will.” I nod. “You can trust me, Ebony.”
    “No risk taking, no playing hero.”
    “Absolutely.”
    Then she reaches into her desk drawer and pulls out a set of keys and grins. “And, we've decided to let you use a department car.”
    “A cruiser?” I tease, knowing full well they would never allow me to drive one of their prized black and whites. Still, I'm slightly shocked they're actually letting me use any of their cars. But I try to act natural.
    She laughs. “Not quite.”
    Then I imagine a car like hers, a conservative-looking, dark gray Chevy sedan, and I hope I can appear appropriately grateful. I mean, who am I to complain about getting a set of wheels?
    “I already talked to your mom about it,” she says. “We needed her complete approval. Plus, she needed to sign the insurance papers since you're a juvenile.”
    “And she was okay with it?”
    “She was happy about it.”
    “Cool.”
    “Want to see it?”
    I nod. “Yeah, sure.”
    “I've got the insurance papers and some other agreement forms here,” she says, “but maybe you'd like to actually see the car before you sign them.”
    Is she worried that if I don't like the car I won't sign the papers? I don't care how ugly the car is. I will like it. I will like it. I will like it. Ebony's guiding me down a. hallway that leads out to the garage. I'm mentally preparing myself for my “new” car. I'm telling myself to smile and look excited when she shows it to me. I