The Epic Romance of the Sassy, Dorky... Badass Superspies.

Day One

August 17th, 2019

1:01 pm

Today I am training. I don't know what I'm training for. It's been a week today since I came here. I'm happy to have the job, but not sure if I'm cut out for it. I look around at everyone else here, and I don't know what to think. I expect my personal trainer to be just like them. I'm meeting him today. All I know about him is that he's been here most of his life: and he's not very old. A year older than me. Twenty. I'll be nineteen in a week.

The door creaks open. In the background I hear the sound of the bag clanging back and forth, the chain's banging echoing across the large space.

I'm not sure what to expect, but he doesn't seem scary. He's tall, muscular. The first thing I notice about him is his eyes. They're so blue. They contrast so greatly with his skin- the colour of chocolate. Is he wearing coloured contacts?

I blink, taking a deep breath.

We're alone in the room.

"You look tired," he says, grinning.

"Or... warmed up, at least," he adds.

I've been training for three hours straight.

I wipe sweat from my forehead, removing my punching gloves; fold my arms across my chest.

"You must be my personal trainer."

He nods. "I'm Agent Pine. But you can call me Ezekiel... or Zeke."

"Okay, Agent Pine. I'm Natasha... Fields."

I don't tell him that I never wanted a personal trainer.

"Natasha," he nods. "You're new, aren't you."

"Uh, yeah. I'm from..." I really don't want to tell him where I'm from. This is that part where he finds out I'm... different.

"Your accent is American," he helps, like I forgot where I'm from.

"My parents were born in Canada." I sigh. "I was born on... Supernatural Island."

His mouth gapes. "Right. So you..."

"Yeah."

He rubs his hands together. "This is going to make this a whole lot more fun."

I roll my eyes. "No, it isn't. I can't punch through walls, or anything."

"Well, what can you do?"

"Nothing useful." I blush. I don't want to talk about this. "It doesn't matter."

His shoulders droop. "Mind stuff?" he guesses.

I don't answer, staring at the bag. "So, personal trainer, train me." I crack my knuckles.

"Well, let's see you kick," says Ezekiel.

I step back, jabbing the bag with my foot. It sways from side to side.

Ezekiel stops it.

"Well, you don't kick like a girl, that's for sure." He grins.

I snort. "You wish you kicked like a girl."

Ezekiel crosses his arms. "Feisty, aren't you?"

"Let's see you kick."

"Fine."

He goes up to the bag and kicks it, like I did. Same motion. Very technical. He acts as if it's nothing.

"Let's spar," he suggests. "Kicking isn't going to help you improve."