Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Four

“Do it,” said my best friend as we walked down the grand steps of the Gallagher Academy.  So far, our first day of classes had been pretty standard.  Mr. Klein had given us a refresher on basic html and how it can be used to infiltrate the pentagon.  Madame Baudin had reminded us how important a smile could be, especially when dealing with belligerent dictators.  Even Professor Woods had taken it easy, driving us out to Roseville and making us run brush passes.  Again.

But now, as we approached our last class of the day, Alice was more than ready to end it all and that is because our last class of the day is with her mother.

“Kill me Maggie,” she said, throwing her hand over her forehead like the damsel in distress she’d never be.  “I know you know how to kill a man.”

It was true.  I did know how to kill a man, but for some strange reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to kill my best friend.  Go figure.  “It’s just your mom.”

“Exactly!” she yelled, calling the attention of some very tired looking freshmen.  “My mom is a teacher.  This is a nightmare, Mags.  A total nightmare.”

“Oh no,” I said, but I assure you that there was no sign of tragedy in my voice.  “Getting taught by your parent.  What could that be like?”

Alice pulled a signature eye roll, seeing my point and refusing to confirm it.  “This is different.  We see your dad—what?  Once a week?  Maybe?  We’re going to see my mom every. single. day.”  Her eyes widened like she was stuck in the headlights of whatever thought was about to hit her.  “Oh god.  What if she calls on me in class?”

“You know,” I said, trying to pull her away from her oncoming strand of what-ifs.  “There’s worse things than seeing your mom every day.”

Her voice was a dare as we turned down a slightly less crowded hallway, challenging me to come up with something that was more atrocious than seeing someone you loved every day of your life.  “Like what?”

She could be dead, I wanted to tell her.  Except I didn’t, because that wasn’t fair.  It wasn’t her fault she had a mom and I didn’t, so I just said, “Having to shave your legs every day would be pretty awful.”

She nodded firmly, accepting my response.  “Okay, yes.  Shaving every day would be tragic.  I’ll give you that one.”

In order to get to our next classroom, we had to buy a snack.  Or, well, more specifically we had to punch a code into the vending machines that sat buzzing against the wall of the Southwest Wing.  The machine beeped for each button Alice pushed until finally the back of the machine clicked open.

It wasn’t the first time we’d been in the labs.  I mean, obviously.  We’d had classes in the labs for years and, not that she’d ever admit it out loud or anything, but Alice loves spending time down there.  It’s her go-to space.  I think it’s because they make her feel like she’s at home.  When Alice is in a lab coat, she’s one step closer to being with her parents.

It was, however, the first time we had walked into those labs and found Aunt Liz.

Alright, so as you may have gathered from the Tablecloth Fiasco (as it would one day come to be known), Aunt Liz is, to put it gently, the most uncoordinated, graceless klutz that I have ever known in my entire life.  Look, I’m sorry, but it’s true.  Most of the time she can’t even stand up from her seat without almost falling over.

I whistled a tune as Alice and I picked out a desk, which was, upon Alice’s request, at the back of the classroom.  Since I am a spy and also a Goode, I couldn’t help notice the way that Aunt Liz moved throughout her lab as we unpacked our notebooks and straightened our pencils.  I watched as she shuffled glass around with ease and didn’t drop a splash of the brimming liquids.  She moved as fluidly as the mercury in her second shelf cupboard, organizing and color-coding.  I even saw her catch something that she dropped—yeah.  She caught it.  As in, it was falling, but then Aunt Liz actually grabbed it before it hit the ground and shattered into a million little pieces.