Hi, Pianist707 here. It's just that I had it on my mind for a long time. So I'm a Pinoy, which means I've been in anime sections here and thar, so I've been having what if ideas on my head.

Like what if they were gender-bent?

I'll elaborate. What if in the Gallagher Girls series, all characters have been perfectly modified to match their masculine or feminine qualities of their gender-bent selves?

So yeah, I've seen spies-turned babies, but you have to think outside of the box. So its been here since I was in my single digits. So yeah, a piece of what I'm gonna work on once I finish my other two stories (I'll finish the author note here).

Disclaimer: I don't own the Gallagher Girls series. Ally Carter/ Sarah Leigh Fogleman does. But I own the twisted version.

Gallagher Boys: Stupidity Killed the Spy, Curiosity was Framed.

Cam "the Chameleon" Morgan

Excerpt

You know that I know that I thought the most difficult thing for an agent is to not have a single clue on a subject—it turned out it's to pretending you have no clue on what you're not supposed to know. But I'd taken it for granted. So doing an eye-staring contest against Ms. Solomon was scary, talking to my dad was even harder, and today was a bit murky. A very weird awakening from a nightmare that there was a girl's school for training spies—that no one ever told us.

Blackthorne was a school! A school that our sexy (but don't tell Beck I said that) Ms. Solomon had went to since she was twelve! A place where they accepted, mixed, and formed more Ms. Solomons! It was the most surprising piece of information I'd ever learned in my very secluded life…like that time Dr. Fibs made her lab void of gravity.

It was hard making me convince myself it was a same-same event Tim Walters has been preaching that there was a girls' school in the north. Even he swore our founder; Gilman Gallagher was much related to a famous guy from the olden ages. Tim swears gazillion things. Tim is almost wrong most of the time.

But when we were taking our period in the History of Espionage, while the Professor, ancient Patrick Buckingham spoke: "Today we will be reviewing the origins of clandestine services, beginning with the Montevellian Theory of Operative Development," I found out my crazy, wacky boy beliefs weren't going to cope with aforementioned Tim Walters theory at any available time.

The professor is awesome. He has this strong, powerful vibe that he gives off that he probably had in his prime, but he's a bit…how to you say this without hurting another guy's feelings…bland.

"Since its publication more than two thousand years ago, The Art of War has been a definitive thesis in warfare and deception…" he paged through his notes as the sunny weather warmed me up. His voice was making me feel like a baby ready to curl up in his crib. I didn't sleep last night, if you don't get what I'm saying.

(Have I announced that we had complete proof that there could be a girls' school? For female spies!)

But was Professor Buckingham blabbering out info on our, by chance, sisterhood? Nope. He was dictating the lesson of the 1947 Council of Covert Operatives, except it is pretty boring without a slide and a video.

Then the professor stopped his sentences altogether. I snapped out of my drowsy state, following Buckingham's gaze over the top of his reading glasses. "Can I help you, Mr. McHenry?"

For the first time of this semester, Patrick Buckingham's gaze was locked and loaded—on us.

"Excuse me, Professor," Mason. "I was only thinking—and I'm sorry if everyone else knows this—I'm still a little new, you know."

"That's alright, Mr. McHenry." Buckingham said. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

"Well, I was just wondering if there were a couple of schools who are…" he studied our teacher before adding, "Like the Gallagher Institute."

El nearly rolled out of his desk. Tim's eyeballs got really huge, and I'm very confident that the entire sophomore class stopped inhaling oxygen.

"What I'm saying," Mason continued, "is this the only school of this expertise, or are there—"

"There is only one Gallagher Institute for Extraordinary Young Gentlemen, Mr. McHenry," Buckingham said, shrugging his shoulders. "It is the greatest institution of its kind on Earth."

He smiled and went back going through his notes for today, unsuspectingly not suspecting Mason to go on.

"So there are other academies?"

Buckingham did something that resembled a head-desk, and replied, "During the Cold War, the method of recruiting and training operatives as juveniles was not an irregular method during that time. And there may have been academies formed for that purpose." Then he straightened his glasses and looked around the room as if he wanted to check how we messed up his lesson. "For clear reasons, it is not simple to see if these schools exist now. If they ever were made, surely."

"So there could be any of these schools?" Tim asked.

"Could and are, Mr. Walters," Buckingham explained, his voice as rigid as Kevlar, "are two entirely contrasted things." He gave us a frosty smile that obviously said that the friendly interrogation of schools were over.

Buckingham returned to her notes. "This theory was the fashion until 1953, when a group of retired agents…" Evan and Tim's attention went back to laying their heads on their desks. But my friends and I remained fully awake and alert like a guard dog.

So, there have been other schools.

Probably wouldn't make sense there were any right this instant.

I visualized the way Ms. Solomon and my mom had been smiling in that old picture. There was no evidence of a date or area of where they'd been (I would have liked playing baseball there). It looked like a replica of something real, something I'd never known from my own mother.

Rap.

"Yes?" Buckingham said as he removed his spectacles while the door was slowly pushed open.

Every person in the room turned, and Ms. Solomon said, "Pop quiz."

I didn't have a good nap. Or a good morsel, as El calls it. It was the worst surprise attack for a CoveOps assignment, but still, in a few moments later, I was throwing on my leather jacket and followed the sophomore class of CoveOps down the Grand Staircase. I blocked what I'd seen in the picture and the Blackthorne file. At some points in time, doing that in the Gallagher Institute could be a good idea.

Other guys rubbed their hands to circulate warmth as we shot through the front doors. A van from a previous semester stood still, seeming to drag us forward, but we stopped when we heard Ms. Solomon saying, "That's not our ride of choice, gentlemen." So we obeyed and turned around.

I checked my three, wondering if a random car was going to pop out from a random place from the mansion, but all I saw was eighth graders with their snow-powdered hair running to the PE barn. I checked my nine and saw the Gallagher Woods.

"What the heck." I can't believe I said that out loud, but I shut up when I saw the subtle parting of the ground.

I took a peek at my teacher, and caught a slight impression of a smile grow on her features when a helicopter—say, a HELICOPTER!—rose from the hole of the "ground" and the blades began its ballerina act. And Ms. Solomon cocked her head over her shoulder and said, "That's our ride."

WELL! That was a good idea for a gender-bent series. Just that I'm not ready. Yet.

AND I WILL WORK ON THE FIRST BOOK, NOT THE SECOND. This is just a draft. So you won't see dem all or the evil Dr. Stephanie Sanders.

And those two stories I've been typing. Spies, Spies Everywhere and Beginning of the Business. I'm a bit in a disappointment, so I'm going to be pulling my resources to research my character's, their profiles, and do a deeper plot. No crack-fics.

Make sure you review. Don't worry, I do not bite; I know you anons just view my stories yet you don't review. Or else.

You: Or else what?

You die.

...

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(Evil laughing)