Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter Six

When we were little, Mom used to read stories to us.  It was back when we were still boucing between D.C. townhouses and I shared a room with Matt.  Every night, we'd spent too much time arguing over which book we'd make her read until finally, Mom would pick one for us and tuck us in, alternating whose bed she sat in.  I always liked it best when she sat in my bed because that way, when she left, I could still feel her snuggled up next to me until I fell asleep.

Most of our books were fantasy.  You know, knights in shining armor with princesses and evil witches.  All the things you'd expect a six-year-old and a four-year-old to get excited about.  Honestly, it didn't really matter what we read as long as she was the one reading it, but we liked the fantasy ones because she'd make the silly voices for the trolls and sing all of the withces' spells.  Plus, there were dragons and, if we played our cards right, sometimes Dad would sneak into the room, shooting imaginary flames from his mouth and twisting his hands into claws.  Claws that were too busy tickling small children to take part in average claw-related activities, of course.

I remember Mom rolling her eyes at him every time he did it, but she was always smiling, too.  I think she liked it deep down.  Especially when the tickle-claws came after her.

Those nights seemed so much more precious to me now that I was older.  I thought about them a lot more in those months following my mother's death.  I thought about how much I had hated sharing a room with my brother and how silly that seemed now that he was halfway around the world.  I thought about how it felt to be crushed under the weight of an overdramatic dragon, splaying out on top of my bed after being slain.  About Matt and I counting how many times we could roar at each other before Mom and Dad caught us or about Mom and Dad laughing at us from the livingroom because they could actually hear the whispered roars the whole time.  I thought about trolls and monsters and all of the princes named for their charm, but most of all, I thought about my mother and how, even at sixteen, I desperately wished that she would come home before bedtime and read me another story.  

Usually the memories would hit me at night, sending me into an overwhelming nostalgia that I would kill to be a part of again.  Sometimes it didn't even take a lonely night to trigger them.  Sometimes I could be walking down the hallways or eating lunch with my friends.  Even just sitting in the library was enough to do me in as I thumbed through the pages of a books that had far more words than my mother would've had time for and far fewer dragons than my father would have demaded.  

"Goode."

The word snapped me out of the past, landing me back in a cushy seat where I sat surrounded by some of the most sensitive information known to man.  I heard the jingle of keys and the zip of a jacket, looking up from my Advanced Encryption homework to see Professor Woods standing before me.  

I expected some sort of lecture.  That was how we did things—I screwed up something and she lectured for screwing up said thing.  It was a nice pattern we had going.  I didn't know what I had done this time around, but It wouldn't have surprised me to find out that I had inadvertently broken a plethora of school rules.  I had a real gift for that sort of thing.  

But Woods didnt lecture.  She didn't scold.  Instead she just turned away and started towards the doors, not even bothering to turn around before asking, "Are you coming?"

Well, the thing about following Woods into the unknown is that you're either blindfolded or you're probably about to be, so you can see where my hesitation might've been coming from as I asked, "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Your father informs me that you've made dinner plans with him," she said, cutting a look at me without turning her head.  "And I don't think he's the sort of man you want to stand up."