Author note:
Hi guys, Okay I'll be honest with you, because I don't like it when people say they're professional writers when they are actually just beginners. I'm in grade 9 and my creative writing skills aren't that good (pretty bad in fact) but my creative thinking and imagination skills are quiet complimented. This is my first fan fiction so please don't kill me. I love Gallagher academy and just had this idea. I don't like it when fan fictions are too serious or too focused on relationships so I'll try to add a bit of everything. Comments and reviews are always welcome and helpful, please try not to make them too hurtful but I would love it if you could point out my mistakes and give me advise and ideas to improve my writing skills.
Megan's POV
"You've got breakfast at 8 with Jacob (sort of boyfriend), M A C photo-shoot from 9 to 11, an hour to refresh yourself and get ready for lunch with the Winters family, your mother has organised a party with your friends from 5 to 8 because she wanted you to meet them one last time before you left and she expects you to be back by 9 at home because your leaving early tomorrow…" And that's when I had sat up in my bed wondering if I had heard her correctly.
My name is Megan Black; I love motor biking –I've done it a few times even though I'm still 15- and I am more of a leather jacket model kind of girl, I also love singing but I try to keep it a secret from the world. Oh! And did I mention I'm related to the winter's family, which is amazing, right? Not. Oh sure I'm rich, I've got fame and money but I also have something I don't need and nor do I want… MACEY MCHENRY, My beautiful, perfect, princess like gorgeous cousin sister who in reality is snotty, snobby, bitchy, you name it! We weren't always like this… we used to be best friends (sigh!) but that was before she stole my one and only love (angry)… anyways that is a story for another day now, back to me waking up.
"What happened to my biking routine at 2 to 4 and why is there a party and where am I going tomorrow and what do you mean seeing my friends for one last time!" I bombarded her with questions, now that I was wide-awake.
"All your questions will be answered when you talk to your mother at 2 pm today" my manager Clark promised leaving me confused and annoyed with my mother for messing up my schedule.
Cammie's POV
I suppose a lot of teenage girls feel invisible sometimes, like they just disappear. Well, that's me—Cammie the Chameleon. But I'm luckier than most because, at my school, that's considered cool.
I go to a school for spies.
Of course, technically, the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women is a school for geniuses—not spies—and we're free to pursue any career that befits our exceptional educations. But when a school tells you that, and then teaches you things like advanced encryption and fourteen different languages, it's kind of like big tobacco telling kids not to smoke; so all of us Gallagher Girls know lip service when we hear it. Even my mom rolls her eyes but doesn't correct me when I call it spy school, and she's the headmistress. Of course, she's also a retired CIA operative, and it was her idea for me to write this, my first Covert Operations Report, to summarize what happened last semester. She's always telling us that the worst part of the spy life isn't the danger—it's the paperwork. After all, when you're on a plane home from Istanbul with a nuclear warhead in a hatbox, the last thing you want to do is write a report about it. So that's why I'm writing this—for the practice.
If you've got a Level Four clearance or higher, you probably know all about us Gallagher Girls, since we've been around for more than a hundred years (the school, not me— I'll turn sixteen next month!). But if you don't have that kind of clearance, then you probably think we're just an urban spy myth—like jet packs and invisibility suits—and you drive by our ivy-covered walls, look at our gorgeous mansion and manicured grounds, and assume, like everyone else, that the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women is just a snooty boarding school for bored heiresses with no place else to go.
Well, to tell you the truth, we're totally fine with that— it's one of the reasons no one in the town of Roseville, Virginia, thought twice about the long line of limousines that brought my classmates back to campus last September. I watched from a window seat on the third floor of the mansion as the cars materialized out of the blankets of green foliage and turned through the towering wrought-iron gates. The half-mile-long driveway curved through the hills, looking as harmless as Dorothy's yellow brick road, not giving a clue that it's equipped with laser beams that read tire treads and sensors that check for explosives, and one entire section that can open up and swallow a truck whole. (If you think that's dangerous, don't even get me started about the pond!)