Not as it seems

A/N: Hey everyone!

First off, if you are reading this I would just like to thank you for checking out my story! :)

Second of all, I would also like to clarify that this is a rather short story. I wrote it for a project for my English class and turns out it was a big hit! So, I decided to upload it on here and see how things go. If this ends up getting a lot of reads and likes then I definitely will continue the story with a sequel that is much longer!

So vote, comment, & fan! Thank you all! <3

P.S. Oh and if anyone wants to be a doll and make a cover for me I will love you forever & defs give you a dedication ;)

Not As It Seems

“Oh please, that girl was not a threat,” a man in a sweater vest whispered to another man in an expensive looking polo shirt and dark sunglasses (which was odd since after all, we were indoors). I laughed to myself at the man's remark as I sat in the air shaft of an empty office building eavesdropping on their conversation.

    “Psh, Imbeciles,” I muttered to myself as I rolled my eyes, knowing that I alone could have the two men below me unconscious within a couple minutes. It was almost comical watching the men converse.

Unsurprisingly, these men did exactly  as all the other criminals I have encountered--underestimating the seemingly normal sixteen year old girl.

See, the key word in that being *seemingly*. I might seem to be your totally average, teen girl who stresses over homework, goes shopping with her friends on weekends, cries over boys, and whose biggest fear is getting a pimple. But actually, my life is pretty far from that.

My usual “homework” consists of deciphering codes and studying new languages. My “weekend plans” usually include trailing criminals, drug lords, art thieves, and other scumbags, then giving key information to those who work at the UIA with me.The only men in my life would be my dad and some of the criminals I track. And, my biggest fear would be hearing the news that one of my parents didn’t make it out alive from a mission.

But see, all the criminals I trail can’t assume this just from looking at me. They only see a normal, teen girl that’s about 5’5” and is neither model-type thin nor overweight. I don’t have glossy, long hair that flows in the wind. In fact, my hair is a dull, dirty blonde that reaches only a little past my shoulders. My eyes are not beautifully multicolored; they are almost gray. I don’t have an award-winning smile, no freckles, not even a little beauty mark. There isn’t a single special feature about me that makes me stand out.

And this is exactly why I’m a perfect fit for the life of a spy. To me, this average persona comes as an advantage. Most don’t second-guess my presence or even notice me in the first place.

For example, when I first walked into this office building, two men loitering in the hallway asked me what I was doing. I told them that I was, “picking up some files for my dad that he forgot.” They easily believed this because as I said, I seem to be an average teenage girl. I was then able to sneak into a vacant room and climb into the air shaft . From there, I could tape-record the meeting going on in the room below me between the guy in the polo, who is an infamous drug lord, and one of his clients.

“You should probably reconsider my offer,” said the man in the polo shirt as he stepped forward grabbing the other man, who was in a sweater vest, by the collar of his shirt and shoving him against the wall. Even from my position in the air shaft, which was getting slightly uncomfortable if I may add, I was able to see the fear register in the man’s eye as his back hit the wall. I’m also pretty sure I heard him gulp.

    In movies, they always have these big bald guys with Russian accents playing the criminals, but in reality it’s not like that at all. If you saw this pair on the street, they could easily be mistaken as the dads of some kids in that normal school. Actually, the one man in the sweater vest seemed pretty nerdy, but if I know anything, it would be to never underestimate people.

“Alright, alright!” The man in the sweater vest easily gave in as he probably guessed his current position was not optimal. What a wimp.

    The man in the polo didn’t loosen his grip on the guy’s collar as he said “Friday, West Bay Harbour, 10 pm. You better bring the money or there will be consequences.”

    “Listen, Mark, I.. I.. I may need more time than that.” As soon as he responded, the man was shoved harder against the wall.

“Friday. Or. Consequences.” The man in the polo, who I guess was named Mark, finished off with a menacing glare as he let go of the guy he was holding against the wall. The man in the sweater vest, who I could assume was scared out of his pants, began to nod furiously and then quickly stumbled out of the room. The drug lord soon followed and I waited until I heard the sound of doors click shut, signaling that they both left the building.

After climbing out of the air shaft, it took me a few minutes to regain any feeling in my legs after being cramped in that narrow, airless tunnel. Even still, I smirked to myself as I, once again, successfully completed my mission.