Summary: Will Newman and Abby Goode have never met, even though their parents are best friends. But when they meet on the exchange Gallagher does with Blackthorne every year, can they figure out why their parents purposely kept them away from each other for so long and stop the sinister plot of a rapidly reforming terrorist group?
Hey, I'm William Newman, but I swear if anyone calls me anything but Will or Newman, I will personally rip their tongue out. I do not exactly take kindly to people calling me William. If you were scared shitless by THAT threat, then stop reading, because you obviously don't have the clearance to be reading this anyway.
Now, I'm sure that it has clicked already, or is clicking for some of you slower thinkers, but if you haven't reached a conclusion about my last name, then let me clue you in. My parents are Bex and Grant Newman. Yes, they helped Cameron and Zachary Goode bring down the Circle of Cavan. Yes, they are two of the top agents in the CIA (and M16 if you really want to think about it).And yes, they are wanted by 14 different terrorist groups, in 15 different countries, and by 27 government agencies (and how many times have they gotten caught and killed by one of them?... exactly).
"Will!" I was broken out of my reverie by none other than my best mate, Michael Anderson, a.k.a. Mike, son of Liz and Jonas Anderson. Hey, don't let names fool you. Michael might be smart and everything, but he wasn't physically challenged like both of his parents seem to be. I learned that lesson the hard way.
"Will! Ugh, how many times do I have to yell your name before it travels through your thick skull and actually registers in your brain?" Mike was now standing in front of me and waving his hands frantically in front of my face.
"Would you stop that?" I yelled, "Before I break both of your hands, sprain your wrists, and send you into a comma for a week?" Okay, so maybe I threatened him a little bit, but at least he stopped.
"Sorry," he muttered, but then his face lit up again, a smile creeping onto his face, "It's junior year, do you know what that means?"
"Gallagher Girls!" we simultaneously screamed, earning a few odd looks. We were both wearing a smirk that probably made us look more like high school jocks than highly trained assassins. Yes, I go to a school for assassins, but the Gallagher girls don't need to know that.
Oh, did I forget to mention that little tid-bit of information? Well, here goes nothing. I go to Blackthorne Academy, am a junior (in case you missed what Michael just informed me), and contrary to popular opinion, am not actually a juvenile delinquent. Well, there was that one time in Cairo when I had to pose as a JD, but you get the point.
Since Blackthorne came under the headmastership of Mr. Goode five years ago, there have been a few "subtle" changes, like doing an exchange program with the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. No, Gallagher Academy isn't a school for stuck up rich girls whose parents sent to boarding school for lack of anything else to do with them. They are our sister school; a school for spies. Actually, most of them are down to earth and are extremely good at what they do. Anyway, back to the exchange. Every year the junior class from Gallagher stays here at Blackthorne and the senior class from Blackthorne lives at Gallagher. Something about 'mingling with future operatives at an early age', I think. Anyway, now you know what Michael and I are so excited about. A class of hot spy girls who are our age are going to be training alongside us. We do tone down the curriculum a little bit for them though, since they think we are just spies and not assassins.
"Wait, isn't your twin at Gallagher?" I asked Michael. He nods his head, and I grin wickedly. "It is time for a little payback for putting toothpaste in our shampoo bottles."
"You know, she still says that it was all her friend's idea, but I think she played a major role, too. We can now get back at her- them- for that. Although, I still don't understand how they made the toothpaste smell like our shampoo..." Michael replied.
"Will! Michael!" We both turned towards the source of the voice and saw two guys coming up to us. Nicholas and Jacob are my other two really good friends. They're cousins, but could be twins with how much they resemble each other and think alike. Sometimes it got a little creepy, but Mike and I are pretty used to it now.
I'm 6'4", towering over at least three-fourths of my class, with my mom's caramel eyes and my dad's blonde hair. I have a slight tan, and I got a small scar along my cheekbone underneath my left eye from a mission about a year ago.
Michael is 6'0" with a mop of messy, black hair and blue eyes. He used to have glasses, but he got contacts last year. He has pale skin with freckles on his nose.
Nicholas and Jacob look almost exactly alike with their olive skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. They are about the same height (6'0" and 6'1"), but Nick is a little taller. If it wasn't for Jacob (Jake as we all call him) getting into a motorcycle accident and getting a scar on his chin you wouldn't be able to tell them apart.
We walked into the dorm room we've shared since 7th grade. Jake opened his (illegal) laptop and started typing rapidly. He can hack into anything and everything... except the Gallagher files. Those files have so many damn firewalls it's nearly impossible to get through all of them. They must have the top in the CIA working on them to keep Jake out and even then... Anyway, Nick is great at covers and disguises, Mike is a pavement artist and my specialty is beating people up and making weapons out of anything. Mike tells me I have an evilly creative mind for ways to hurt people, but I usually just ignore him.
"I got it! Sort of," came a shout across the room. Jake was currently grinning triumphantly at his computer screen while the rest of us were left in the dark as to WHY Jake was so happy. In response to our unasked question, Jake handed the computer to Mike who glanced at it and cracked a grin. I got up and walked over, looking over Nick's shoulder. What I saw made my jaw drop. I was looking at the files of Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women themselves.
"I can't do much else besides pull up the pictures of certain classes because the firewalls are too hack-proof, but I can pull up the class pictures for this year's junior class," Jake offered. We all nodded a quick yes before he took the laptop back a hit a few key strokes.
"What? No, no, no, no, no! No! Someone just installed a Trojan horse onto the hard drive! This can't be happening!" Jake started shaking the computer, something he NEVER does. He claims it is too rough for things so fragile, "Guys, this isn't good. Whoever just did that now has access to anything and everything on my computer. And the worst part is I cannot get this thing working to protect them. My motherboard was blown (A/N idk if that can happen so just stay with me here). Whoever this is has access to the Blackthorne files!"
Shit! This cannot be happening! Blackthorne's files are secret for a reason! Not many people know about the whole assassin thing so these files falling into the wrong hands would be horrible. I sighed, "Guys we might as well go to the cafeteria now. The Gallagher Girls are coming tonight and I don't want to miss the test. We're gonna have to run as it is to get there on time." We quickly change into new uniforms (grey pants and a white shirt with the Blackthorne emblem on it), hide all our weapons, and print to the cafeteria. We slipped in just as the doors were closing. We sat down in the middle of the junior table with a good view of the door. I personally was excited and anxious to see what the test would be this year. Every year the girls would test us on the first day of school. It was a tradition. Whoever passes gets a prize. I don't know if the test is different every year or just a rotation but I don't really care enough to find out.
Mr. Goode walked up to the podium and began to make his speech when a gunshot rang out in the otherwise silent room. We all tensed when roughly 25 people came into the mess hall from all sides. Before we could react, they had the teachers surrounded and held by gunpoint. Then, another person with his or her face covered so I couldn't identify him (her?) strode through the front door with a pistol aimed at the headmaster's head. I started calculating all the possible ways to take the gun out of this person's hand. I chose the easiest, most obvious approach because the obvious is usually the least expected. The person stopped 3 steps away from me. I caught the eyes of as many guys as possible, which was about seven, without letting the threat out of my sight and silently signaled them to save the teachers. I was the best person for the job of saving the headmaster. After nodding slightly to show each understood, I guess they started formulating plans of their own to put into action after I created the commotion. This is when the person took two steps forward and started talking in a heavily disguised voice, "Goode evening Mr. Goode. I do believe we have met?"
I tried to decipher the gender and decided it must be female to have made her voice sound like that. Before I could contemplate further, Headmaster Goode replied, "Yes, I do believe we have met a few times before."
The stranger took one more step towards the podium putting her almost directly behind me. My chance was now or never. As quickly as possible, I grabbed a hold of her pistol and slipped my finger behind the trigger to keep her from shooting. I brought her hand behind her back and twisted until she let go of the gun. Then I forced her other arm behind her back and held both arms with one hand. I gently pressed the weapon to her temple.
In less than a second 23 guns were pointed at my new hostage and me. I stayed calm and in an even voice, said, "Shoot me and I will pull the trigger and don't think I can't do that with a bullet through my heart." My hostage started wiggling out of my grip, but I just secured her tighter to me.
As a spy you are supposed to expect the worst and rarely be surprised ("rarely" meaning never). So when I heard the clapping coming from the teacher's table, I recognized this as our test from Gallagher. I noted with satisfaction that the boys I notified had successfully unarmed most of the girls and were pointing a few of our hidden weapons at them. Slowly, I took the pistol away from my hostage's head and whispered in her ear, "Welcome to Blackthorne."
I looked up when I heard the headmaster say, "Congratulations boys. The ten of you have successfully completed this test. You will not have night duty for the rest of the semester. Oh, and Mr. Newman, you can stop holding the poor girl in a death grip."
I let go of her and replied, "If she would have stayed still sir, I would have loosened my grip."
Headmaster Goode smiled, or more accurately smirked, at me, then turned to the others. The guys put their weapons back and stood at attention. The girls picked up the weapons that were dropped and joined the girls who managed to remain armed. They all lined up in front of the podium with the girl originally standing by me. Then the headmaster motioned for us to take our seats and we assumed the positions we had been in before we were attacked. Headmaster Goode went back to the podium and said, "Well, I didn't really have a speech planned, so without further ado, please welcome the junior class of Gallagher Academy!" There was enthusiastic clapping like every year, but it soon subsided into confused glances when we noticed none of the girls moved. One of them walked up to Mr. Goode and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, and the girls walked single- file out of the mess hall.
Mr. Goode explained briefly, "They are going to change into their uniforms to keep the identity of the person Mr. Newman captured a secret." 5.45 seconds after he told us this, the double- doors opened. As the congregation of Blackthorne shifted in their seats to get their first look at the girls staying with us this year, I couldn't help but smirk. Bring. It. On.
A/N I don't own the Gallagher series. Sadly, that right goes to the one and only Ally Carter. I just wanted to say that since Grant and Jonas's last names are not revealed in the books I borrowed Newman and Anderson. So because I did not come up with those names I'm also disclaiming those. Anyways, I'm open to any reviews, good or bad, and if the person or people who invented the last names I used happen to read this, please tell me who you are so I can give you credit for those amazing names! R&R please!