Dear Adrian,
Kindly shove this letter down your throat and choke to death.
Regards,
Ivy
Ivy,
That's the spunk I was looking for. Short, sweet, and to the point. You sort of ruined your first letter by writing it in a way that could be interpreted that, yes, you do give a shit. But then you wrote this eleven word masterpiece. Signing it with "regards" just makes it classy. Color me surprised.
-Adrian
Dear Adrian,
If you were on fire and I had a cup of water, I would drink it. With gusto.
Refreshingly,
Ivy
Ivy,
I like this one too! Very biting and harsh. I really get the vibe that you're being completely honest. Remind me to stay away from you if I'm ever engulfed in flames, lest you decide to hydrate yourself in my time of need.
Wanna know something strange? There's a thirteenth century Shah who died of water intoxication (of course, can't be named for clandestine purposes), all because there was a drought in his country and, I don't know, he wanted to be a super prick and drink a shitload of the clean water supply to spite everyone. Don't you hate people like that? Always gotta ruin living for everyone. Don't be a super prick, Ivy.
Also, I notice that this letter is laced with some sort of purple substance with a strong lavender scent. At first, I thought it was your attempt to hit on me by spritzing perfume on the paper like a few of the other girls at your school have done (tell Leana King she's got a little fan club). But then I thought, "What the fuck? Ivy wouldn't do that. She'd use her creative writing techniques and compose a play in my honor." Even worse, I started to get a little dizzy from the smell.
Not taking any chances, I asked this one kid Noel (who is on the CoveOps and research track) to run a few tests on your letter in the lab. Within minutes, I found myself having this conversation:
"What's wrong with it?" I asked innocently, a little high off of the fumes.
Noel frowned in confusion and said, "I think she's trying to harm you. I found samples of arsenic-based poison."
Imagine my surprise, I thought you and me were getting along great. "Arsenic?"
"Only a little. Enough to mess with your health, but not enough to kill you." And that was the end of our conversation, as Noel is a pretty trustworthy guy for a spy in the making, and I haven't done anything to him to make him want to fuck with my head.
So, I headed back to my room with your letter, overcome with shock,
Ivy, I'm flattered. You go to enough trouble to make an arsenic based perfume with such an eloquent letter...and then you don't kill me?
I'll just say this: it's not the first time a girl has tried to cause me physical trauma. The normal girls try to send their male friends to beat me up; the insane girls will be much more direct and attempt to run me over with a car or drug me up and drop me off in Zimbabwe. But this is the first time that one showed enough restraint and care for my well-being.
And for that, I think I'll go sneak in a bottle of champagne for the occasion.
-Adrian
Dear Adrian,
Fuck off.
Sincerely,
Ivy.
Ivy,
You're feisty, Ivy. I like feisty. It can be a very alluring quality.
But I don't like the expected. Once you try to poison me, there's no going back to just "fuck off." This letter didn't have as much zip as the others did, and you've proven that you're really imaginative and I'm counting on you for that. The guys here are as creative as a wet paper bag.
-Adrian
Dear Adrian,
Dost thou not speaketh English? Alas, poor soul, please fucketh off and descendeth off a cliff.
Huzzah,
Ivy.
P.S: Why do so many girls try to kill/harm you? And could you list some of their methods? Thanks.
Ivy,
Okay, I'll admit it. Your letter made me laugh. Congratulations. Except writing in old English makes "fuck off and jump off a cliff" sound a lot nicer than it actually is. Thanks for bringing the zip back, babe.
As for "why do so many girls try to kill/harm you?", well, that's a tough question. You're not going to believe this, Ivy, but some people find me a bit off-putting. And by off-putting, I'll assume intimidating. Let's be realistic: smart (understatement, but you knew that), young man of the world who's done more in seventeen years than some people will do in a lifetime. Most people don't like it when others are just so clearly better than them. It's a bit conceited, but it's true, don't you think?
We live our lives in the shadows of others. That's why people are always talking about "the next Beatles" or "the next Ronaldinho." Nobody wants to be an original, we just want to live up to the idols we've created for ourselves. But in the end, there's only cheap imitations. When people see someone who's something more than the role they've created for them in their heads, it's scary, you know?
And the girls? I'll be honest with you, your gender is kind of a mindfuck. And not in the good, interesting, I'm-curious-to-figure-you-out sort of way. But in the ridiculous, overdramatic for-pete's-sake-just-because-we-hooked-up-once-doesn't-make-us-in-a-relationship way.
Here, let me lay it out for you: I'll meet a girl somehow, someway. We get along. We get to know each other (take that as you please). We part ways. It should be that simple, right? A little no-strings attached people spending a short amount of time together and then leaving it at that: a perfect, dynamic moment where nothing is ruined by the exchanging of contact information, labels, or other nuisances. A nice little memory of an even nicer night.
But the girl will never see it that way. No, never. That perfect, dynamic moment? Yeah, they'll remember it as the first time she and her super-awesome-boyfriend-for-life met and hooked up. Her true colors bleed through. "What do you mean," she'll say, "I never said I didn't want a relationship! Of course I wanted a relationship! We had something special, you bastard!" Then suddenly I'm the world's biggest asshole for not wanting to commit to her.
And that's usually when they try to cause me some kind of pain.
Oh ho ho, Ivy, you're probably thinking, "How dare they say that about you?" I know, I'm shocked too. But look here! That's only the rare cases that they find out my name. Say what you want about us spies, but holy shit, normal girls can be bloodhounds if they want to. This one girl, Sofia, only knew my first name and that I liked to eat mustard on my fries. She found me only a few days after our little tryst and sicked her possible mafioso uncles on me. Luckily, I've got a few connections of my own and was saved from a life of sleeping with the fishes.
In summation, flirting is not a fucking contract.
- Adrian
P.S: I'm sure you can find your own, unique ways to kill me.
Dear Adrian,
I'm going to be blunt with you here: you're the world's biggest asshole.
Not even for the whole "I'm way too good for relationship" spiel, but because of the unabashed way you managed to stereotype an entire gender. Not everyone who has two X chromosomes is ridiculous, overdramatic, or relationship-obsessed. Girls are not mental, but some people are. Don't put the rest of us ladies in the same categories as your pathetic flings.
Have you ever stopped and think that maybe you need to stop pursuing girls who don't have the same "let's cherish this perfect, dynamic moment" mindset as you do?
By the way, everyone knows that "let's cherish this perfect, dynamic moment" is douche-bag for "I'd like to mess around and never speak to you again." How does that line even work, anyway? The least you could do is be upfront if you don't want a hook-up to go somewhere. Honesty is the best policy, especially in matters like this. If somebody mentioned having a "perfect, dynamic moment" with me, I'd assume they were severely unhinged and I would notify the proper authorities. Or mace them with the kind of tear gas that really kicked off the Cold War. Whatever's easier.
Not every girl is a drippy, little, hopeless romantic. And if one is, they ought to stay away from you.
Tired of bullshit,
Ivy.
Ivy,
Wow, talk about brutal honesty. You think I'm the world's biggest asshole? I think you need to start monitoring what you say, dearest pen pal. For all you know, I could be a cry away from offing myself. Words can hurt.
Alright, maybe messing around with girls and never speaking to them again isn't the most ethical thing to do. But look at it this way, I could be involved in human trafficking or environmental terrorism or, as I mentioned before, the mafia. Let's be thankful that my malfeasance revolves around lust and not killing tons of people just for the hell of it.
Also, I considered writing a very heartfelt argument detailing why I don't think I'm too good for a relationship, just to counter you. But then I thought, "what the hell? My greatness needs to be shared with the female population instead of being wasted on just one." Which is extremely true, if you ask me. In fact, my unwavering ability to bring joy and excitement to half of the world almost cancels out all the shit I start in the process. I'm a hero, really.
Everyone wants that perfect, dynamic moment. I just supply them in bulk.
But I must confess, when I read your letter, you sounded like you're speaking from experience with the opposite sex? Enlighten me.
- Adrian
Dear Adrian,
Experience?
Please.
Cryptically,
Ivy.
Ivy,
Don't leave me hanging on a thread, didn't I already tell you the possible consequences of hurting my feelings? Shit, it's like you don't even read my letters. And I put a lot of heart into them, too. For instance, I got your letter and put off doing a CoveOps essay just so I could reply quickly to your horrid accusations on my character. If this penpalship is going to work, you need to start putting in your fair share.
Plus, what can I say? I'm curious. I had no idea you Gallagher girls could mingle with any male, hence the reason your headmistress proposed this whole letter exchange. Our teachers told us that the ultimate goal of it was to "strengthen our ties with our sister school", but we all knew it was code for "these girls have no idea what to do when speaking to guys who know their cover so you're going to help them, damn it."
You seem like you have a few stories to tell. I told you mine, and I'm sure yours will be, for lack of another word, interesting.
- Adrian
Dear Adrian,
Let me say this: I have no problem talking to guys who know my cover, I have no problem messing with the heads of those who don't.
Here's to future breakdowns,
Ivy.
Ivy,
So we're back to the one sentence letters, are we? Funny, that your longest letter happens to be your harshest one. Never forget what I told you, though. Fair share. Remember those two words. Learn them. Love them. Live by them.
But, as always, two can play this game.
How's about a little challenge, to see if you're just as experienced as you infer to be?
Let me know right away, okay?
-Adrian
Dear Adrian,
Here's me, letting you know.
Intrigued,
Ivy.
Ivy,
You think you're pretty sly, don't you?
So, prove it.
One of our teachers let it slip that Blackthorne and Gallagher are teaming up for an out of class assignment, probably CoveOps style. Of course, for this challenge, you're not going to be focusing on getting a good grade or not slipping as you scale down a skyscraper or whatever the hell they want us to do. The key point of this is that there will be mixing of genders (get your mind out of the gutter, you rascal).
OFFICIAL PENPALSHIP CHALLENGE:
Operative Adrian v. Operative Ivy
1.) Both operatives will meet at a rendez-vous point that will be specified when a location to the field trip is acquired.
2.) Operatives will not greet each other or partake in meaningless small talk like their peers will undoubtedly do.
3.) Instead, Operative I will be wearing the woven bracelet enclosed in this letter. Operative A will then know it it is her because he had procured that specific bracelet while in Thailand.
4.) Approximately one minute later, Operative A will engage in a brush pass with Operative I. He will hand her a tiny slip of paper containing the name of one of the Blackthorne students.
5.) Approximately two minutes later, Operative I will do the same with Operative A, handing him a slip of paper with the name of a Gallagher student.
6.) The two operatives will then begin the challenge: first person to find out the following about their aforementioned targets wins:
- A minor secret about the school that the target goes to, be it an abandoned passageway or some historical fact that only someone who went to Blackthorne/Gallagher would know. Remember, act as normally as possible. Flirt. Be charming. Think honeypot.
7.) Operatives will write down that information on a different sheet of paper, discreetly hand it to the other operative as soon as possible.
8.) Operative A or I must confirm validity of secret in their next letter. The winner gets further bragging rights in all other letters and will henceforth be referred to as "Master of Manipulating the Opposite Sex."
Sounds good, no?
- Adrian
Dear Adrian,
No, it doesn't sound good.
It sounds like you're going to need to call me Master of Manipulating the Opposite Sex very, very soon.
Victorious already,
Ivy.
an: oh, ivy and adrian. such rascals, such manipulators! like the challenge rules? it was fun to write.
i got to get my jerky womanizer on by writing adrian, em got to be the cryptic goodness that is ivy.
once more, remember that this is basically the start of them getting to know each other. so, letters will be more in-depth later. sophie and leo are next.
thanks for all the great reviews/alerts/favorites! it makes our day!
tell us what you think about this chapter, too!
-asha (: with a dash of em.
p.s: speaking of players, em (newclassic) is writing a lovely story about zach the womanizer and his adventures in new york city when he tracks down a mysterious girl. it's called "the week of living wildly" and it's kinda the best way to cheer yourself up :) check that out too!
