Life As A Spy

Chapter 2

~Sage's Pov~

Always early is the motto I live my life by. Early is on time. On time is late. Late means you're either dead, fired, or both.

Not many students share my belief, since I seem to be one of the few here.

Same rusting locker, same crumbling hallways, same molding classrooms, same tiring teachers, and, worst, infuriating classmates.

It seems boring. Why aren't things more exciting? I'm in high school. Shouldn't I be having fun, going to parties, and spending time with friends? Sounds reasonable except that I hate parties, don't have time for many friends, and am too busy to do any normal teenage things. TSA keeps me busy. A top agent always has work to do it seems.

The deserted hallway is a little refreshing. Ever since Clara and Morgan moved in, I haven't been able to accomplish any alone time.

Contrary to popular belief, introverts actually do need to time to do nothing. It helps me recharge, so I can deal with extroverts and other introverts.

Oh, locker #115, you look worse than last year. Maybe a little sprucing up won't hurt. With a wave of my hand, ice makes snowflake patterns on the inside. A thin layer of cottony snow covers the bottom and top. A beautiful little home away from home.

"I saw that." A masculine figure looms next to me. Isaac Frost, whatever will I do with you? You seem to show up wherever you're not wanted.

Another snowflake lands on his forehead, freezing the memory. He won't know what happened until I thaw it, which won't ever happen.

He stumbles backwards for a few seconds before springing back to his old idiotic self. I slam the locker shut, so he can't glimpse the ice and snow again.

Isaac is lucky that he still has any memories left. I've erased his memory more than anyone else. I have no remorse for him. He knows exactly what he did and deserves everything coming to him.

"I get the honor of sharing the tiny locker space I'm allowed for four years with you for yet another semester, Winters. How lucky." 

"The honor is all yours as usual."

As he opens the locker next to mine, an awful odor slips out. What did he leave in there this time? He holds his nose while pulling an old, moldy gym sock out.

"You've got to me kidding me. Now my locker is going to smell like your feet!"

"Would you rather it smell like my cologne? You're friends might be jealous then." His smirk crawls on my last nerve. If only he knew I could kick his butt in over twenty forms of hand to hand combat.

Every year we start off this way: cordial, polite even, that turns into bickering.

"Or you could just clean out your locker like you're supposed to, and this wouldn't happen." My nose wrinkles from the smell. How does he live like this?

"Then I wouldn't get to have this lovely conversation with you every week, milady."

A big whiff of his cologne hits my nose. He needs to learn a little bit goes a long way. At least it smells nice, like the Greek coastline, unlike the guy's locker room, which reeks of Axe body spray. It doesn't take the place of a shower, people!