A Thousand Ways To Run

Chapter 1

My story traveled with me everywhere I went, my own shadow sewn with everlasting thread to the tip of my shoe. Some of it was accurate, some made me shake with laughter. I let them talk all they wanted, because the truth of the matter is that it wouldn't have mattered if I confirmed or denied any of it. People will talk. And no one can spread rumors as fast as spy students.

Gossip such as:

1. That I'm a confirmed psychopath. (Because the therapist didn't actually officially diagnose me.)

2. That I've already been captured by a rogue terrorist organization, centered in Mumbai, aimed at destroying the spy youth of America. (Because said organization is actually centered in Moscow.)

3. That my mom was actually the headmistress of the best school in the South-End of Ireland. (Because I checked our blood samples.)

The basic story was passed around and not addressed often because it's not all that interesting: I'm the daughter of a top CIA operative and an unknown normal citizen. My dad raised me as best he could for six years until I entered private schooling and learned to be his carbon-copy. When I hit the age of nine, word got out that one of the most wanted and intelligent operatives in the world had a daughter with an eideticmemory and an IQ steadily climbing towards genius. Then, things got more complicated. Whether their motivation was revenge or power, they wanted me. My brain, my genes, my everything. Which is why, for eight years now, I've been running—hiding. Fourteen schools, seven Code Reds, two precautionary evacuations, and six escapes. All by yours truly.

In six months I would be eighteen and employed by the CIA. The only thing that wasn't pre-planned in my life was how many more schools I would have to go through until it all would stop.

The hallway my teachers had led me through never opened up. We walked all the way down, hunched over and creeping like ants through a tunnel. I was pushed out through the back of the school, and my eyes had to readjust to the light reflecting off of the piles of snow on the ground. They pushed me to a steady jog, urging me towards the awaiting limousine. The eyes of terror-struck girls, who were locked inside, were on my figure as the door was opened and I was forcefully pushed inside. I wasall alone as the door snapped shut. A thick layer of bulletproof glass separated me from the outside world.

I could see, through the tinted windows, the confused faces of students who were staring at me as the vehicle took off down the road, taking the safest route. There was no one to say goodbye to; someone would collect my things from my single room, and that would be it. With one last parting glance before the looming towers of stone and buttresses faded, I flipped it the bird for old times sake and felt the ends of my lips curl up into a smirk.

We drove for hours, until the sun only showed a slice above the horizon. I counted how many frozen-over lakes I saw out the window (92)and tried to understand where they were taking me. I knew exactly what direction we were going in and at what velocity, but it didn't add up. There were no spy schools in the District of Columbia. There were annoying preppy schools with snotty teenagers who were around the world of politics way too much, but no spy schools. And I was not supposed to be taught at schools like that. But, then again, I was also supposed to stay as far away from the capitol as possible. There were way too many incidents with double agents there for it to be safe. A thousand crazy explanations ran through my mind, literally.

We encircled the city twice; by then, my eyelids felt as if they were weighed down by bricks. The backseat was nicely cushioned and the streetlights didn't bother my eyes, so it was easy to let my eyes drift shut. I let my body slowly slope to parallel, my head resting on my arm. The slick black leather provided no warmth to my quickly chilling body as the cold from outside seeped in.