I know, I know. I'm a terrible person for not updating in so long. I'm really sorry about that...and also sorry that it might be like this until April or May.

What can I say, school is like the Mordred to my Arthur. It will be my downfall.

When I was little, I always wanted to live on a farm. I'm not sure exactly why; I think the idea of going outside, seeing land all around me, and knowing that it was mine just really excited me. The desire to own a farm never dissipated as I grew older but the reasons for wanting such an amount of property did change.

For instance, while sitting across from my mother in a booth of a darkly-lit diner I decided I wanted a farm to get away from her. Just her.

I'm not completely sure when I first started to resent my mother in extreme measures but I have narrowed it down to around the time right after ninth grade ended about two months prior to moment her and I were sitting there.

Ever since she had picked me up from Blackthorne at the end of the semester she had been hinting at me getting into the "family business". If that didn't sound akin to me joining up with the mafia, I didn't know what did. Nonetheless, her intimations had been increasing in rapidity until one day I was sitting across a diner booth from her and very close to hating her.

She picked her laminated menu up from the diner table and scanned its contents. After a few moments of silence she offered some small talk. The only kind of small talk she seemed able to give at that point. "Have you thought any more on what your plans are after school, Zachary?"

I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes at the question and her continued insistence on using my full first name. I answered her question as smoothly as I could. "I thought I might just hang low for a while." Lie. I had my sights set on joining the CIA and being a loyal citizen to my country. But my mother didn't need to know that.

Her eyes left her menu and met mine as she quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Then what is all this schooling for, exactly? Do you think that Blackthorne is just letting you roam their halls for some good times and preparation for 'hanging low'?"

"I'd hardly call roaming the Blackthorne halls fun, mother."

"Zachary, don't be pert with me. I'm trying to have an important conversation with you regarding your future." She leaned back in her seat, seemingly distraught about my lack of interest to talk about my options. Neither of us said a word until the waitress came to take our orders.

After I had ordered my burger and Mom a salad, she returned to our conversation. "Perhaps I can arrange something and have you tag along on a mission or two of mine this summer." Her voice sounded hopeful, but I knew better than to think that it was because of the possibility of her spending more time with me. Almost to herself she said, "I'll call up Tom and set it all up."

"I don't want that." I said. She tilted her head at me, as if confused.

"What?"

Her eyes were narrowed to little slits, and I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was trying to see past my face and into my head, right into my thoughts. I fidgeted in my seat trying to dispel the sensation. "I said I don't—"

"I heard what you said." My mother's voice had gone deadly cold. "I just don't accept that."

I tried to hold my tongue but still found myself responding. "Well, it's not you're decision."

Her fists clenched and for a second I thought she might attack me. If we hadn't been in public I'm sure she would have gone for a slap but the waitress who had taken our orders was back and setting the food in front of us. I think the waitress must have noticed the tension between my mother and me because her eyes darted quickly back and forth between the two of us before scurrying off.

Yes, run while you still can, I thought. Lord knows I wished I could.

I looked down at my food. The meat was a grayish color and the bun looked like someone had dropped it on the floor a time or two. It was disgusting to look at but more bearable than keeping eye contact with my mother.

Damn, she was scary.

"Not my decision?" Her tone was like ice. I had to fight back the urge to shiver. "I'm your mother. All decisions you make should be approved by me."

I rolled my eyes. "That's not being a parent; that's being a dictator."

I expected her to shout, get red with anger in the face, upend the table, something. Instead, she just sat there and stared at me. For a second, I thought that I'd actually hurt her feelings and felt a twinge of guilt. Then I remembered she was Satan and couldn't feel and the guilt went away.

We ate the rest of our meal in silence. Or, to be perfectly honest, Mom shifted her salad around on the plate with her fork, and I opted to nibble on my greasy fries instead of daring to touch my disgusting looking burger. When we were done and paid for, we walked out of the diner silently into the humid night air. Mom had ditched our car a few days earlier so we had to walk back to the hotel we were staying at.

As we started out she began talking again. "Zachary, I understand that at your age you might not want to associate yourself with your old mom. But, son, what I'm trying to teach you has to do so much more with your future, not your present. I only push these ideas on you because I want what's best for you."

I wanted so badly to snap back with the good old "what's best for me or best for you?" but she was still going.

"You think that the world is yours for the taking right now, but it's not. You have to understand that with every action there is a consequence. And the consequences for saying you don't want to continue in my footsteps are vast indeed, my boy. That's why I think that shadowing one of my agents would be good for you. You could see what it's really like to go on a mission." She rolled her eyes and smiled at me like we were sharing a funny anecdote. "Not those trial tests they have you do at school."

I sighed and said the one thing I knew would pacify her. "Alright, I'll think about it."

She gave smiled beatifically at me. It was one of the few genuine smiles I've ever seen my mother give.

It's just too bad she was smiling at a lie.

..^.^..

Work soon distracted my mother away from pestering me. She didn't tell me much but from the snippets I overheard as she conferred with her colleagues I concluded it had something to do with a certain Matthew Morgan. I'd never heard of the man before but I hoped he was still, well…alive.

The summer drew to an end and September began. My mom dropped me off at the usual spot and I walked the familiar trek to Blackthorne. After I crossed the school's threshold and was encompassed by the tall barbed-wire fence I glanced back over my shoulder. Mom's car wasn't within sight but I couldn't help but feel as if she was still watching me, her eyes trying to bore into my mind and figure out what made it tick.

I shivered despite the heat of the day and hurried to Blackthorne's main building. At least there, within the stone walls of the school, I can feel some semblance of safety. Some semblance of comfort.

I hand came down on my shoulder and I repressed the instinct to flip the person over my shoulder. Instead, I turned around to see the smiling face of Grant Goodman. I smiled in return, pleased to see a familiar and happy face. "'Sup, homedog," he said.

Okay, maybe I shouldn't be so pleased.

..^.^..

"Damn, that hurts," Jonas said. He was nursing his arm as we walked back our room to get ready for dinner. "I don't see why Clive always has to hit me so hard."

"He's preparing to hit people like that for a living, Jonas," Benji said. "It's be stupid of him not to fight you as he would in real life."

Jonas made a childish face at Benji which would have been more effective if he hadn't run into the corner of the wall a second later. "Ah, my forehead!"

"Well, at least now he'll stop whining about that freaking arm of his." Grant mumbled. I started to chuckle but quickly stifled it as the giant shadow of Colonel Leonard loomed up in front of my friends and me. The four of us halted in our tracks as the Colonel came closer and closer.

"Boys," he said in that gravelly tone of his that made him sound like he'd been smoking a cigar for the last fifteen years. "Change of plans. You will not report to your quarters. You will report to the Headmaster's office immediately." The four of us nodded and began to turn around when the Colonel added, "Except you, Mr. Cooper."

Benji stopped and a shadow of confusion crossed his face before he was able to cover it up. I hesitated as he started to turn to continue to our room, but he just shrugged. "Go on, Goode. I'll see you guys back in the room." He gave a little laugh. "Hell, it's probably a good thing the Headmaster doesn't want to see me. The last time a kid was sent to his office, they left with a bloody nose."

"Yeah, you're probably right," I said. I tried to sound like I agreed completely but both of us knew I didn't. As hard as it was for me to say, Benji wasn't the shiniest tool in the box. He held his own but we all knew he was going to have a desk job after he graduated.

Grant and Jonas had reached the end of the hall by then and were calling for me. I said goodbye to Benji and went to catch up with my other roommates. "He okay?" Jonas asked.

"He will be."

It took us another ten minutes to work our way through the complicated halls of Blackthorne to the Headmaster's office. We entered the antechamber of his office and said hello to Miss Nightingale. She was one of the four women on the whole premises of the institute and also the kindest. Boys were always making jokes that it would be worth it to get in trouble and sent to the Headmaster's office just to see her smile. I cared to disagree. There was something about Miss Nightingale that reminded me of a wolf.

Her eyes glittered mischievously as she smiled at my friends and me. "The Headmaster will be with you in just a moment, boys. Take a seat." She gestured to the wall across from her where there was a hard, wooden bench squeezed into the small space.

We sat down, Grant and Jonas on either side of me. It was a tight fit, with Jonas' bony elbow digging into the lower half of my rib cage and Grant's burly build pushing me further into aforementioned elbow. The situation was short-lived, however, as a couple moments later the door leading into the main office opened and the Headmaster exited. He was followed by two upperclassmen I had sometimes seen in the halls or during dinnertime.

"Excellent conversation, boys. Just excellent," the Headmaster said. "It's wonderful to have you on board."

Both of the upperclassmen nodded enthusiastically. I expected the Headmaster to snap out at them about decorum and maintaining a certain level of aloofness, but instead he just bounced his head up and down with them.

The boys left the antechamber and the Headmaster leaned over Miss Nightingale's desk to whisper something in her ear that I couldn't hear. Then he turned to us and smiled. "Let's go into my office. I've got a proposition for you."

I just want to give a big thank you to all you readers, not just reading this story but for also being so patient with my wanting updating skills.

You guys are A-W-E-S-O-M-E. Truly.