Dropping Like Spies - A Gallagher Girls Story

Chapter One

At this, Bill held his hands up like he was surrendering.  “I was just plain’ by the rules, Cap,” he reminded me.  “Can’t play Runnin’ Rats without a couple of rats.”

And it was true.  The whole reason that Mr. Hughes had developed the game was so that we could learn how to distribute information.  We needed to learn how to relay facts to a team without giving away enough information for potential double agents—or, in this case, rats—to run with.  The trick was to compartmentalize.  Only give out certain bits to certain people.  That way you knew who to eliminate when information got leaked.

Evidently, I still had some practicing to do.

“Just admit it, Cap,” Will said through a grin.  His team was gathering around him, each of them beaming with pride.  I had to resist the urge to take each of them on, knocking those grins off of their faces one by one.  It wouldn’t have been the first time.  “We got you.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.  My team was gathering behind me, too, looking significantly less pleased than the boys across from us. “What were we fighting for anyways?”

I reached out and snatched the disk from behind him, reading the futuristic print.  “The Backstreet Boys?” I asked.

Will looked genuinely insulted.  “This is the Millennium album,” he informed me, snatching it right back.

“National treasure, that is,” Bill chimed in.  The boys surrounding us—winners and losers alike—all gave nods and quick murmurs of agreement.

The door to our right squeaked open and all of the boys froze, turning for instruction.  It was a rule that I had learned on day one:  when that door squeaked, we listened.  Those rusty hinges were more effective than any whistle or bell ever could be, which is probably why Mr. Hughes never oiled them.

Our teacher propped the door open with a splintering wooden wedge.  “Kidd, Goode,” he called.  “Let’s go.”

Will and I exchanged a look, both of us asking the other if they knew what Hughes wanted us for.  I started to wonder if we were in trouble and my mind suddenly began to run through everything that I could’ve possibly done wrong in the past few days.  I’d lost Running Rats twice.  I’d taken an extra five minutes throwing knives yesterday.  Oh my god—what if he found out about the extra serving of mac 'n' cheese that I snuck from the kitchen?

Will and I both approached our teacher and the rest of our club members collectively “ooh”ed as if we were being sent to the principal’s office.  I slipped them all the middle finger, sparking laughter among the rowdy group, but then Will rolled his eyes and pulled my hand down.  Despite what he may like people to believe, William Kidd is a true fun-ruiner.

I felt a chill fall over me as we stepped into the shadows that crawled along the back of The Blackthorne Military Academy for Boys.  They stole the Virginian heat from the air, feeling like ice against my throbbing skin.  Will must’ve felt it too because I saw him shiver.

Hughes led us through the door and into Blackthorne’s massive, two-story training room.  The mats felt entirely too hard beneath my feat as I remembered just how many times I had been slammed into them over this past summer.  The lights let out an ominous hum underneath the sound of our instructor’s cheerful whistle.  It was like something out of that horror movie that the boys and I had snuck out to go see.  Or maybe I was just really paranoid about that extra mac ‘n’ cheese.

When Hughes kept going, walking into the small room in the corner, Will and I hesitated.  “C’mon,” he told us impatiently, waving us into the little corner office that Hughes had long ago made off limits to any of his students.