The American Ninja

Chapter Three

          "Is that a threat?" 'Agent' Wiggs asked. God, I hated calling him that. It makes me feel like he is superior, which he is not.

          "Nope," I say, popping the 'P'. I toss the baseball that I hold from one hand to another, "It's not a threat, it's a promise."

          "Right, try telling that to the next person you "promise" to kill," He says rolling his eyes. This jerk face has to be my ninja mentor for the next eight months. Maybe more than that, depending on how much progress I make with my training.

          A week into school and I have only been to one ANTP meeting. Life was getting B-O-R-E- and the rest of the word.

          "So," I say when we get to the baseball field, "Why do we have to play baseball again?"

          "It improves hand eye coordination."

          "Right," I say, "Just throw me that bat and pitch the ball." I have a goal. What is that goal? To whack that baseball hard and aim for his head.

          He throws, I miss. That trend continues for the rest of the game.

          "Have you ever played before?" He asks.

          "Of course! I am just not good at it, now shut up and take me home! I'm freezing and I have a mountain of homework to do! And that mountain is almost the size of Mr. Wimmer, that fattest teacher at my school."

          "Your not very nice are you? And to think I saved you from getting run over." He says.

          "My parents don't trust me with a car. Every time I drive one, I have to resist the urge not to barrel over the person who is in front of me." I say. I was one messed up person.

          "What makes you laugh? Kicking puppies?"

          I gasp, "I have three dogs! I love puppies!"

          "They don't love you," He mutters.

          "I'm sorry, what was that?" I say sarcastically.

          "Can I ask you something?" He says suddenly.

          "Fire away, Moby Dick-head," I tell him.

          "Are you straight?"

          My jaw drops, then I hear myself gasp. My next reaction is slapping him in the face.

          "Of course I'm straight, you douche bag! What, just because I am a little bit of a tomboy that automatically makes me gay? I like guys. Not my own gender," I say, now on the verge of kicking him where the sun dosen't shine.

          "Okay, okay, calm down. Just wondering." He says.

          "Well stop wondering," I hiss. I pull out a a notepad and start scribbling stuff down, "Not that I have a problem with gays, there just like everyone else." I say. I tear off the paper that I wrote on and hold it out for him.

          "What the fuck is this?"

          "It's a note," I say, "Read it after you drop me off." He shoves it into his pocket he grins.

          "So," he says, still grinning,"To be clear, your...as straight as the pole your mom was dancing on last night." My eyes widen and I shove him. "Kidding!" he yelled.

          "Carson, your stupid."

          "Ah, your input means every thing. Women love my witty remarks," he chuckles. I can see my house in the distance now. The sooner we get there, the sooner I am outta this physco's custody.