Spies in Sandals [Book Four]

Chapter Four: Don't Underestimate Wimpy Teenaged Girls

Hola! Wow, this week back to school has been awful. So. Long. And boring. And all my friends left my study hall so now I'm all alone :( but maybe I can write during it now. But I've also been addicted to The Office lately, watching reruns and stuff, so that's a problem. Anyway, hope you like this next chapter. I kinda don't like it, it didn't go where I meant it to, but I'm very excited for the next chapter...it should be exciting. Little teaser there for ya. Please comment, let me know your thoughts.

Pic of Jer (Henry Cavill) up there.

Gracias! <3 vb123321

Chapter Four

Don't Underestimate Wimpy Teenaged Girls

The plane trip to Boston should've been a breeze.

First of all, the company. Ramirez and her creepy co-agent Shepard had headed back to Boston two days previously while the rest of us got our stuff together. So it was just Jer, Patrick, Jack, Zach, and I flying together – along with, of course, the other hundred or so passengers on the commercial airline, right?

Nope. Because, secondly: the plane itself. As we were attempting to book tickets to make a discreet arrival in Boston, maybe Delta economy or something, Jer remembered that it was impossible for us to fly on a public airline because Zach – and possibly Jack – was on a no-fly list. Zach thought that was pretty badass, like TSA feared him or something, but Patrick explained to me otherwise.

"We put his face on that list last winter, when he disappeared," he said, careful that Zach wouldn't overhear. "Didn't want him skipping the country or anything."

So, since Zach was a suspected terrorist and all that, we had to suffer through a private flight to Boston in the CIA's very own jet. And let me just say, that private jet luxury life is one thing about the spy world that the movies haven't gotten wrong. Leather seats, tables, reclining chairs, a minibar, stocked fridge – everything like the luxury airlines in the movies. It was a middle class suburban girl's dream come true.

And lastly, the length: a ninety minute flight from Detroit to Boston. Just enough time to kick back, pop open a Coke, and enjoy those little airline cookies.

What could possibly dampen the experience?

For starters, a moody boyfriend.

Zach and I claimed the front corner of the plane, since we weren't allowed to be in the back by the minibar anyway. We reclined in plush seats set comfortably away from each other, not cramped like seats in economy, although part of me wished they were a little closer together so that I could cuddle with Zach. Then again, Jer was on the plane, too.

As it was, Zach didn't really seem to be in a cuddling mood, anyway. He sank back in his seat with his eyes half-closed, his feet kicked up on the low table across from us – yes, it was one of those planes with built-in coffee tables – and his shades slung on the neck of his t-shirt.

I tolerated the silence for a little while as through the wide window I watched the plane climb into the clouds, but I didn't have that much self-control. Plus I was still annoyed that our date had been cut off and that Zach hadn't really explained why. So eventually I turned away from the window and attempted to start a conversation.

"So how often have you been to Boston?"

"Couple times a year since I was little," Zach replied, his eyelashes fluttering open as he glanced at me. "It's like my second home."

"Wow, that's neat."

I thought maybe he'd elaborate on that or ask me a question in return – you know, polite conversation norms – but his eyes drifted away again and he fell silent. Though his hand held mine loosely, warm and close, I got the distinct feeling that we were miles apart.