"My whole life is a web of lies."

I said that once to a civilian. I was at the book store and doing what I did best: blend.

But that day, someone saw me. It was a guy and he called himself Josh. He was pretty cute; I had to give him that. And he wouldn't lay off flirting. I was an élite spy and maybe it'd work out in an alternative universe, but just not now.

I lied and told him that I had a boyfriend and showed him a picture of a pretty buff guy I carry around for situations like this.

He laid off and we talked about books. At the time, I was in Canada and my cover was shy and quiet so hence what I was doing in a book store.

"Every body's intent on doing it right that they don't even notice that right is so wrong. Am I doing it right?" He quoted from an author.

I replied back with a totally different quote, by me (but he didn't know that), "My whole life is a web of lies."

He looked at me funny and a small smile graced his face while he asked, "Does that mean you don't have a boyfriend?"

Later That Night…

I need to listen to the piano tonight. It calms me down; it wakes me up. It reminds me of the past I would've had. The past I faked up front. It's difficult—different—to listen to but worth it because in the end, my nightmares don't come. I can get a good night's sleep. I just have to hope—not pray; I've lost my faith a long time ago—that the pianist continues playing until the month is over; until my mother leaves this school.

I don't know who the pianist is. And honestly, I don't want to know. It helps me stay anchored to the music, not the person. If I knew, it would take away the magic. I'm afraid that I will get nightmares again if I know. I can't get them again. They are one of the few things that terrify me and as a spy; I cannot be terrified of anything.

The vent is not the most comfortable or ideal place to listen to the peaceful music with its dirty, thick dust and small space that if I was a normal person, I would most likely be claustrophobic to.

I travel to the practicing room when the pianist gathers his or her papers and shuts and locks the door behind him/her when leaving. I crawl back when I'm positive that there is no melody left to listen to. I then move soundlessly on all fours to the vent that overlooks the practice room.

As I see the outline of Liz unlocking the door from the outside, I drop down and conceal myself in the dark shadows that replicate my choppy, short hair, bulky combat boots and loose jeans with a matching loose top.

I don't announce my arrival until I see her endurance crumble and her will lose hope. Until she stops punching the punching bag.

And before I reveal myself, I always steal her water bottle to take a refreshing sip. Don't worry, I return it. I just wait for the moment she walks in here and notices.

The first and foremost, most important thing to a spy; the first rule you ever learn—Notice things.

For a girl who has one of the highest I.Q's in the state, she's a pretty bad at that.

And for some reason, I plan to help her improve; completely throwing my cover under the bus.

But every time I think that, I pretend I am Aunt Abby. Selfless and brave—the perfect combination for a perfect spy.

A perfect spy.

I have to reach that point someday anyway so why not dig my grave and start now?

The next week was surreal. We do not have CoveOps or any other spy related subject. In fact, our school day is normal because of the people visiting; thirty people, to be exact. So far only a handful of Spy-in-Trainers get warnings. I am in the category that has gotten none.

There was only one good thing that this whole task brought me. I remember one day at lunch, I almost laughed.

I was sitting silently and alone in the corner of the room, eating a bologna sandwich. The cafeteria was tense and near quiet with only a few murmuring in the air. It was the second day the visitors and the first day they were accompanying us for lunch.

Everything was fine until proud and all-mighty Bex saw a spider. Her boisterous voice carried over the nearly silent conversations.

The first words out of her mouth were, "HOLY SHIT, IT'S A SPIDER."

Who knew that the girl who held herself up so proudly was afraid of spiders? At first, I stifled my grin as the room became quiet and eyes focused on her; her red skinny jeans, black gladiators, graphic V-neck, glossy hair (I raised my eyebrows at her choice of clothes for a spy school. She had someone to impress, apparently. And by the discrete looks her friends were giving one guy in particular—Grant—I took a hunch that it was him) and terrified face.

"For the love of God…" I heard Macy mutter under her breath from the across the room. She wasn't as quiet as she intended to be. After slipping off her shoe, (which were more sensible then Bex's were, might I add) she began to lower it to the spider to kill it.

Before she could, it moved—straight to their faces.

"HOLY EFFEN HELL IT'S MOVING!" Bex shrieked.

The girls jumped away and the spider gradually took a stroll up his silk web that apparently brought him to the lovely girls. I ever so casually glanced to the ceiling and then moved my eyes to take a stroll over the faces of the students, who stared at her miffed and irked at the girls behaviour.

As I did so, Mr. Smith strode up to them with a flustered face on, "Bex!" he said with convincing anger, "Language!" I could see right through it though; he found this absolutely hilarious.

"English!" She huffed before crossing her arms over her chest and slamming her rear to her seat, joining Macy who quickly sat down once she realized (before Bex) what ruckus they were causing.

Mr. Smith raised an angry eyebrow and, to everyone's shock, gave her detention before walking off. Bex gaped at the detention sheet for a few moments, her face the same color as the white material, before walking out with as much dignity she had left. It was quite funny.

Mr. Smith turned to me for a second to send me a small, unnoticeable wink. He, like me, knew that the spider was fake and he, like me, knew who did it.

I looked at the visitors table again and spotted the pranker who tried to look inconspicuous. I knew better though, and so did Mr. Smith.

I then made sure no one glanced at me before gazing down at my plate and biting my lip to hold in the crazy urge to chuckle.

I guess I should've noticed that that had been the first sign something was severely wrong.

I almost laughed—something I haven't done in a year or two—and that meant I was getting too comfortable.

Too attached, too loyal.

That shouldn't have happened.

Hellooooooooooo Aussies, Brits, Americans, Canadians, Anyone from Europe, Asia and Africa and anyone I have missed. I GOT 100 REVIEWS! AND WHOOOO HELPED WITH THAT? YOUUUUUU!

SOOOO I'm just wondering about the amount of people who have started school. I have and it's harder than the year before so I will be most likely posting on weekends then weekends. I've also been wondering about the amount of people who have read the little short notes at the top of the chapter. They're in bold and pretty hard to miss. I hope you guys are doing that.

Random Note: I don't like how people are immodestly dressing these days. It irks me. But I am not insulting anyone who does so there's no need to rant out in reviews to me.

Good reviews though, are appreciated and welcomed with open arms.

Until next time, May.