A.N. Not gonna lie, couple iffy words in here.
Zach's P.O.V.
"That was pitiful, boys." Agent Matthews scolded as we climbed out of the van, "Newman, Goode. They were right in front of you!" He cried, giving us both thumps on the back of our heads, "Get to bed. Breakfast starts in two hours. Don't be late."
We all climbed the stairs silently. We all went to our rooms. I closed the door quietly, hoping not to wake Jonas, "WHAT HAPPENED?" He flew up in his bed, "Where did you go?"
"Not now." I threw my jacket on the floor. The dress pants and jeans followed, as did the shoes. I collapsed into bed. I was just about to fall asleep when the door flew open for the second time that night. "Matthews, I'm not getting up again."
"Cool your balls, Zach." It's us.
I rolled over, groaning as the other seven boys that made up our sophomore class piled into the room.
I will explain my school once and only once. I go to the Blackthorne Institute for Boys. Here we learn the basics, Algebra, Biology, Gunsmanship, Ancient Greek, Covert Operations. Same old, same old. We were a school for assassins/spies, but only recently was the 'spy' part tacked on. Some of us started here as young as three. Those were usually the boys with both parents in service, but there were few of them. I was one. We moved up, having rather normal childhoods in a building separate from the middle school and the high school, but as soon as we hit age eleven, grade six, they begin teaching us the basics of guns. When we hit seventh grade, we are given guns, which we are expected to carry with us at all times, and move on to knives, which we need to have at all times in eighth grade. Each year it's something new, something you can't easily, or safely in most cases, carry around all day every day. Drugs, Fire and Water, Strangulation (which we were currently specializing in) and we finish off our junior year with explosives. Then our senior year, we learn torture: how to execute and how to survive.
"What happened?" Michael Daniels, the only guy beside Jonas on the Research and Development track, yelled. His red hair all over the place and his green eyes magnified by the glasses that rested crooked on his nose.
The visitors all collapsed onto the futons we had in the place most dorms had a fourth bed, "We got our asses whopped by a bunch of girls." Joey Naylor grumbled, running his hand through his blonde hair. His green eyes groggy with sleep. Lucky.
"Wait girls?" The look on Jonas's face led us all to believe he had never seen girls before.
"Matthews took us to a mall in Connecticut and told us to find a bunch of operatives. They were a bunch of girls. They won." Toby Russell scratched his bare abs, his dark eyes stormy. The black haired boy wasn't known for his self-control.
"At least they were hot." Noah Ward, the class clown, chuckled.
"Amen to that." Grant called from his bed, "You should've seen this one girl, Bex. She was smokin'. A regular British bombshell."
"Her friend wasn't too bad either." Toby sneered. For some reason, I felt an overwhelming need for my fist to collide with his face. Even more overwhelming than usual, which really says something.
"Come on, Toby, at least pretend to have some tact." Ron Crippen scolded, his grey eyes stormy.
"Guys, it's over. We won't see them for some time, if ever." I finally spoke, looking at my brothers, "Now go away. I would like to get a few more hours of sleep if that's not too much to ask."
They left. Finally. I turned over, laying on my stomach, pulling the pillow under my head, just about to fall asleep when my alarm began to ring, "FUCK!"
"Zach!" Jonas scolded.
"Shut up." We all climbed from our beds, Jonas a bit easier than the rest of us. I got dressed in a pair of blue shorts, a white tank top and a sweatshirt. I pulled on my sneakers, trying to give myself a pep talk. Ten laps was bad enough, each being two and a half miles; doubling that was unpleasant, but not impossible.
I waited for Jonas and Grant to get ready before heading down to the track, "Very nice Gentlemen, on time for once. Get started."
We took off, starting our laps. Grant sprinted his first. Jonas paced himself, as did I, but I was much faster. After finishing the first lap I was able to see the rest of my brothers, just beginning their morning exercise. After my third lap, I saw another group standing in shorts and sweatshirts. These shorts, however, were much shorter, the sweatshirts much tighter, the bodies they concealed smaller. The group was made up of ten people, standing in a semi-circle facing Joe Solomon. The CoveOps teacher at the Gallagher Academy. They were Gallagher Girls. Life made sense again, but I still didn't like it.
I did another lap, mulling over this new information, the information I should have known, "Hey there Blackthorne Boy." A cheery voice said. A girl's voice said.
"Don't be so smug Gallagher Girl." I frowned, but didn't glance at the girl now currently keeping pace with me, "What happened to all your friends?"
"They're with your boys." She was still keeping pace when we hit the one-mile marker, "We'll keep you boys safe in these big bad woods."
I grabbed her just before she hit the ground, her foot catching on a root, "Who's keeping who safe now?" I pulled her up, setting her back on her feet, "We need to keep going or we'll need to do another set."
"Can't handle it?" She quipped from behind me, following my steps to avoid more roots.
"I can, but I don't want a dainty little girl like you running through the woods."
She had me pinned against a tree in a heartbeat, "Call me dainty again."
"Why isn't your friend the one with me? You and Grant seemed to hit it off." I slid out of her hold, moving on.
"I lost a bet." Bex grumbled.
Cammie's P.O.V.
We stood on the edge of a seemingly deserted track, but I knew better, there was a reason for everything. That being said, Joe Solomon wouldn't have us wasting our time standing beside a deserted track at five in the morning, in shorts and sweatshirts, supposedly waiting, at the Blackthorne Institute for Boys.
"Pick 'em and stick with 'em." Joe Solomon called out just before the first boy rounded the ran by.
"I call!" Anna took off after the boy. I watch my classmates pair off. Macey went with some blonde haired beauty and Liz fell into an awkward trot beside a boy doing an equally awkward trot. Leaving Bex and I and our two boys from the coffee shop.
"Bex." I plead with my friend as Grant rounded the corner.
"No Cammie." She prepared to run.
"You are wearing my shorts." Teachers had packed our bags and teachers think about practicality over whether of not there is a stain on the butt.
"Fine." She un-prepared.
"Thank you." She just nodded as I ran off after Grant.
"Hey there Cammie." I could tell Grant was disappointed, but I didn't care. I just didn't want to be with the .
Cammie's P.O.V.
"They were sitting behind us the entire time! And we never actually saw them!" Grant laughed.
We had finished our run and Grant had taken my to breakfast before I had a chance to shower. Boys just didn't understand that while a girl's breathing might be only slightly quickened after a 25 miles, but that didn't mean she wanted to be in public, especially with almost a hundred boys staring at me like I was an alien.
"Cameron Ann Morgan!" Oh no. Bex stormed in, pulling Zach buy the wrist. He just walked along behind her, smirking to his classmates. She grabbed the back of my tank top (I had ditched my sweatshirt somewhere) and pulled me to my feet, "Tag. You're it." She latched by hand onto Zach's wrist, removing her own and sitting in my seat, "Hey there." She said to Grant. Well, now I had no seat since the table was full.
The Blackthorne Dinning Hall was built almost identically to the Gallagher Academy's, as was the rest of the school. The furnishings, however, were much different. Instead of six long tables my school had, there were ten round tables, each seating eight, around two main tables, each could seat up to fifteen.
"You two. Move." Zach's authoritative voice pulled me from my observation. He was pointing to two, presumably younger, boys sitting at the table.
"Why should we?" The boys stood. They were half a foot shorter than Zach, who stood at around six foot two, but they looked like they were on steroids. I felt Zach move his hand slightly, pulling his wrist from my grasp and latching onto my own wrist. He pulled me behind him and to the left. Once again, it was a slight movement, but effectively positioning himself between the boys and me.
"Mitch, do we really need to do this? Here?" He rolled his eyes at one of the boys.
'Mitch' threw the first punch. Zach backed up, his back grazing my chest. Mitch went flying into another table, of seniors. Once Mitch regained his standing, his eyes were full of fear, as were his partners. The seniors were standing, encircling the two. Zach grabbed my wrist again and pushed me towards the newly vacated seats, "Sit. Now. Don't look." He picked up Mitch's fork and began eating the remainder of the meal.
"Goode! The hell happened?" An buff man yelled having broken up the fight between the senior and Mitch.
"I have no idea Mr. Pierce." Zach turned, shooting a look at Mitch and his friend.
"Goode, do I look stupid?"
"Well..."
"Do you want more laps?" He had already ran fifty miles this morning according to Grant, most people couldn't handle that, I doubt he could handle more.
"Sure, but I didn't do anything." Zach shrugged, turning back to his borrowed food.
"Levi Turner." I glanced over my shoulder. Mr. Pierce was speaking to one of the seniors, "What happened here?"
Zach looked nonchalantly over his shoulder, making eye contact with whom I assumed to be Levi, "These two just attacked us." Levi lied seamlessly.
Mr. Pierce grumbled and stormed away.
"Come on, let's get some real food now." Zach stood, I followed him to a buffet table beside the main doors.