Bite the Bullet, Not the Dust

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

When I was little, my dad took me to an art museum whose paintings were so secured I can't even tell you the name of the museum (and that probably has something to do with the fact that nuclear bomb codes were hidden in the colors). I was about six years old, but I clung to my father's hand tightly. It's kind of sad, thinking about how even at that age I already knew there was only a handful (no pun intended) of people I could trust.
I remember Dad talking to a lady with bright red hair and green glasses, and learning later that she was secretly a double agent for Interpol and another classified organization. Hint: that classified organization had a lot to do with stealing nuclear bomb codes. Hint: That's very, very bad.
I could still tell you the shape of her eyes, or the way she talked with her hands, or even how her chin quivered slightly when Dad said, "Now Ms. Amanda, I think we're both acutely aware that these paintings are very valuable."
I don't know why I thought about that particular day as Celia dragged me to the sports registrations office. Maybe it's because I needed to remember the information Dad had given me afterwards, or the warm feel of his hands enclosed around mine.
Or maybe I just remembered that even the best spies still break when their covers are broken.

"C'mon Jules," Spencer said excitedly. "I know cheerleading seems foreign, but your dad taught us a bunch of moves that are pretty similar to-"
"She's here," I interrupted her.
"Who?" Celia asked, whirling around.
"The Subject."

The Subject was standing with her cheerleading squad, laughing and giggling at who-knows-what. I couldn't help but marvel at how each blonde curl bounced with every move.
"She is - " Spencer started.
"Very - " I continued.
"Girly," Celia finished with a sigh.
Her green eyes nearly glowed as she talked excitedly to her friends. I caught words like "sparkly", "football", and "boys". And then I knew what I had I to do. I grabbed the nearest set of pom-poms and slowly felt myself become Rose Parrish.

***

There was a communication device (i.e. comms unit) in my ear, truth serum (just in case Lacey turned out to be a pathological liar) in my bag, and a tiny camera installed in my ponytail holder. I was prepared, equipped, and ready for my mission.
The dangerous art of...cheerleading.
"Everybody line up on the mat for assessments!" the coach called.
I heard a very enthusiastic "Rose Parrish!" and made my way up to the mat.
The cheer squad's captain stepped forward.
"What's your name?" she asked, smacking her bubblegum very obnoxiously.

Identification Report

Name: Chelsea McJones
Height: 5'7
Weight: 130 lbs.
Special Features: extreme spray tan, chews way too much bubblegum for a healthy jaw

"What's yours?" I challenged, sounding very much like the snobby and spoiled brat I was supposed to be.
"Chelsea McJones. Can you do a cartwheel?"
It took me approximately .843 seconds to realize she was referring to the Malaysian Maneuver of 1856, a move that could snap a man's neck if you jumped at a certain angle.
"Yes," I said confidently, deciding that it would be best if I kept it just as a cartwheel.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins as I backed up off the mat and ran, letting my arms extend sideways, my legs split apart as they soared through the air, and then landing.
A cartwheel, by the way, is much cooler if used for violence. A fact proven by the astounded (and slightly concerned) look on Chelsea's face as she said, "That was...dramatic. Any handsprings?"
I didn't want to impress them too much of course, so I stuck with a simple back handspring (the Katorski Kill) and a round-off (a modification of the Malaysian Maneuver that was outlawed by the Geneva convention).
Chelsea nodded and checked a few more things off the list, which she passed on to the coach.
"Girls -" she started to say, but then she stopped.
Because that's when the boys track team filed out.
It was like one of those cheesy movie scenes, where the guy walks out in slow-mo and takes the sexiest swig of water known to mankind. Because, in all honesty, that's basically what happened.
He was very cute, with longish brown hair and a smile that could melt Antarctica. But most importantly, he was looking. At me.
I tore my blue eyes away from his chocolatey ones, suddenly feeling very giddy and floaty.
I barely heard Chelsea barking out orders to her pawns, or the other girls giggling hysterically. And I had almost forgot about my mission entirely until I ran straight into it - literally.
"Oh, sorry L-" I almost said her name, and then realized that I was definitely not supposed to know that yet!
"Laces," I finished lamely. "My shoelaces are untied, and I was looking at them, and I didn't see you."
I looked down, and thank heavens my right shoelace really was untied, or that could have been awkward.
"It's okay," Lacey O'Rear smiled as she picked up some of the books she was carrying. I looked at the third one she picked up, labeled Art of War, and I couldn't help but wonder what a heavy read that was for a giggling teen girl like her.
She saw my gaze and laughed.
"These books aren't mine," she said, her gleaming white teeth nearly blinding me. "They belong to my English teacher, and I pretended like I did extra credit to bump my grade up a little, you know?"
I couldn't help but stare at her a little. It was like a mix between awe and confusion.
"After all, Art of War is sooo boring," she said with another giggle.
Personally, Art of War is one of my favorites, but I wasn't going to point that out.
"I guess I'll see you around, Rose," she said with a smirk. "That's the name right? Rose Parrish?"
I nodded as I watched my mission walk further away, her curly ponytail bouncing with her.
Then afterwards, was an event that probably changed my sophomore year entirely...and I'm still not quite sure if it was for the better or not.
It all started when I ran straight into a pole.
And I'm totally not joking.
A steel, cold, evil metal pole.
Embarrassed, I backed away and turned around to see if anybody saw.
"I hope you won't bruise up that eye of yours," I heard a boy say. I turned around and faced him, my cheeks now the color of blood red.
It was the same boy who had been looking at me! Oh. My. Gosh. And now I had probably ruined all chances of looking like a cool, calm, and collected girl; but he wasn't staring at me like he needed to drive me to the nearest asylum (well, not entirely anyway), he was looking at me like I was...hurt.
His eyebrows scrunched together in a very endearing way as he walked up closer to me and inspected my face.
"You might want to put some ice on that," he said, concerned.
A bruise on my eye was pretty minimal compared to what I've gotten before, but I just smiled sweetly and said, "Oh, thanks. I'll be sure to do that once I find Celia."
My eyes widened once I realized I had completely blown my best friend's cover.
"And by Celia," I rushed my words together. "I mean my refrigerator."
I smiled as if I were just quirky and unique, and then made a mental note to go punch myself in the face later.
The boy laughed and looked at me like I was crazy, but kind of cute. And then he grabbed the straps of his backpack and leaned forward, smiling slowly as he asked, "What's your name?"
"Jules" sat on the tip of my tongue, but I bit it back.
"Rose," I answered. "Rose Parrish."
"Well, nice to meet you Rose Parrish," he said, sticking his hand out. It was warm and welcoming in mine. "I'm Jason Kane."
"Nice to meet you, Jason Kane." I said, and I felt in my internal clock that it was really time to go.
"See you around?" he asked, but I was already gone.