Spy Secrecy (POV Char)

Intro 1

The jammed halls of high school sway and jostle like a mirage, forcing me to squeeze through people.

They never covered this in assassin and spy training. Disarming and killing, yes. Creeping without sound and using equipment, yes. How to torture and handle being tortured, yes. But nothing about functioning at fuckin' high school!

Reverb shudders through my grinding teeth. My hands twist through my textured black hair, and I huff, continuing to walk.

An idiot stumbles into me, and my shoes slide on the dusty floor, sidestepping him smoothly. He has bright green hair, recognizable from my third period math class. Remembering how he had commented snidely on this girl's acne, and how she helps me with my math homework, the tip of my black Converse jerk out to trip him. Oops.

Moving away before the guy can get up, I mentally scream, must people walk in big groups and stop in the middle of the hallway? I can and will run you over, believe me.

Slinking by the wall, my shoulders press to pass the usual slow groups. Almost sprinting, my breath releases as the classroom door for eighth period comes into view. Mrs. Lyttle enters the classroom just as my butt hits the chair. I have no warnings left, if I'm tardy one more time she'll call my parents. It would be a hassle to obtain a voice changer from my boss, so I'll pass.

At least the snake didn't see me. How's she married, anyways? My cheeks flare briefly at the rudeness of the thought.

"Good afternoon, class. Materials out. This is the third week of school, I hope you've gotten yourself acquainted to your schedule and the building," her voice rings, sharper and more irritating than her high heels clicking on the pale linoleum floor.

Calculated eyes scan the room, as if to pick out the next soul to devour. A demon is what she is, to be frank. Dark eyes rimmed in crusty eyeliner hover over me, my leg involuntarily shuddering, but then she snaps out of her daze to address the whole class.

"Today, we'll be working in pairs for a long term English project. Your partner will be the person sitting next to you. This will count as a test grade, in the fifty percent category. I'll hand out the instructions for it now. If you have any issues with your partner, see me before or after school, or feel free to email." Her words don't run through my head. All I'm considering telling her is that the fluorescent lights don't help her porous complexion one bit.

CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

The sound grows closer as she passes out the papers. The clacking stops in front of my table. Me and this girl...Oatmeal? Something like that, some weird name.

"Ah, my worst student paired with my best student. Char and Ophelia. Here you go." Mrs. Lyttle gives the eye evil and slides two packets on the table. Not sure why she's glaring at me, I'm obviously the best student. Never doing homework, always late to class, ignoring her lectures. Of course!

My pen bounces on the edge of the table, waiting for Ophelia to grab hers. I don't want to accidentally brush hands.

"Go." I demand, clicking my pen repetitively. Out of my peripheral vision, her eyes flicker to mine, but she doesn't move. To be honest, I haven't tried making many friends since this year started. Only acquaintances that help enlighten the bland hours. But overall, friendships take too much energy, and don't provide enough benefits.

The memory of her face was fuzzy in my mind. Now, I'm taking in her features out of curiosity. Hazel eyes, warm but calculated. They pin me to my chair as I look. Frizzy shoulder length chestnut hair. Freckles dot her cheeks and nose. My stomach lurches. It's probably the lingering eye contact.

"Fine." I mutter. Swiping my packet, she follows and hesitantly takes hers, then fully rotates herself to face me. A hand nearly engulfed in a knitted sweater sleeve sticks out. She shakes the sleeve down, grabbing my hand in a firm handshake.

Who does that anymore?

"Nice to meet you... Char. Sorry, you reminded me of my godfather for some reason. I got distracted." She states with direct eye contact, shaking my hand exactly three times before dropping it and wiping her hand on the fabric of her jeans. "Your hands are sweaty." She blankly observes.

"Ah. Yeah." The tips of my ears feel as if they're on fire. My eyes burn into the paper, then glance over. Her mouth is pinched, and her spine is stiff straight as she scribbles on her paper. Sighing, I scan the instructions.

Blahblahblah. Basically, you choose a book out of the three selections we had to read over the summer, make a movie script, and act it out. The project will be done at someone's house or a public place. Out of the corner of my eye, Ophelia's brows furrow and her cheeks flush. What's she thinking? Her head dips slightly, and suddenly her body shifts towards me again.

"So. Whose house?" Her eyes bore into mine.

"Mine is an option. Whichever you want."

"Yeah. Sounds good." She writes her number on a corner of the instruction packet, then tears it off and hands over. "Text me your address number and time. I'm free whenever. No social life." Her mouth quirks slightly as she says it.

"Looking forward to our lame project." I joke.

I should've known what a bad idea her coming to my house was.

...

Hey y'all! I doubt anybody will read this but aye! Ik it might be boring rn, but trust me, it'll get realll spicy soon ;p any suggestions on how to improve? Future character names? Predictions?

💕, Jasart