The Academy

Ava

"Welcome to the first day of your senior year!" Says the note that I left last year in my backpack. I smile slightly to myself as I take the contents out of my book bag. I was sitting in the back of one of the senior classrooms, waiting for the teacher to arrive. One of the great things about the Academy was that all of the classrooms were open at all hours of the day. Looking out the bay windows, all I could see was the trees that hedged the Academy from this angle. Our desks sat two people at each one and was more of a table than a desk, so as to give us ample work space and a comfortable atmosphere to learn in. There were no assigned seats, we were presumed responsible enough to be able to sit next to our friends and not disrupt the class.

Emelie and her best friends were in the front row gossiping as per usual. From where I was I could catch snippets of their conversation. Sofia Victor was sitting at the edge of Emelie's desk while Natalie Victor shared the desk with Emelie.

"Guess who texted me today?!" Exclaims Emelie.

"Who?" The twins answer in unison.

"Brad, from Quantico."

"Oh my god, the one who graduated last year?"

"Yes and he's taking me out the first free weekend that he gets from training."

"I'm soo jealous," replies Natalie.

There's a sudden burst of excitement from some of the boys in the far back corner of the room, momentarily interrupting Emelie's conversation. I roll my eyes at their buffoonery. I would think that with this small of a class size, their would be much less goofing off. It sometimes amazed me that their were only twenty seniors in this class but it was still close to the biggest graduating class at the Academy.

Just as Emelie turns back to her conversation, in strolls my mentor. I was more than a little confused at this and glancing around the room I could see that that was the general consensus.

"Welcome class, my name is John Beckham, I'll be filling in for Mrs. Stratham today." Mrs. Stratham taught observation classes at the Academy from grades tenth- twelfth. Throughout the years we had been taught to observe and measure people's appearances, to judge whether they could be a potential threat or to gather information needed from a target. Some of the things that incorporated were photography, which was actually more important than you'd think, tailing and learning how to do a proper steak out, which was one of the more boring skills that we learned. I remember my awkward steak out with one of the boys in my class last year, James Jimmerson. He was one of the smarter ones in my class but he had absolutely no social skills whatsoever, not that I'm particularly one to judge.

Our "mission" was to steak out a local elementary school teacher, suspected by the local authorities of being in a drug ring. We had sat in James' beat up Honda Civic for close to ten hours taking notes of the Elementary teacher's activities from outside her house. I remember his car having no A/C and him refusing to roll down the windows more than an inch, so by the time the steak out was over, our clothes were plastered to our skin. Even my notebook paper was wet when I had turned it in to Mrs. Stratham. I shuddered involuntarily even thinking about it.

"Right now I need for everyone to close their eyes," John's voice snaps me back to reality as I hear confused murmurs ripple around the room. "Oh and if I see anyone peeking, I'll make sure to pass that along to your mentors. "Do we have a Shelby in this class? Shelby Pearson?"

"Yes sir," answers Shelby in her sweet Kentucky accent.

"Tell me Shelby, what color shoes am I wearing?"

"Uhh... black?"

"Good guess."

"Justin Beil?"