Photos poured out everywhere. Suddenly, I was looking at a cute seven-year-old boy, an attractive male junior at prom, and a young man in gown at a college graduation. I saw my dad playing guitar in Montana, throwing M&M's at a gorgeous, familiar woman, and studying a pink, squirming baby girl just introduced to the world. (Which, by the way, was yours truly.)

I spent an hour studying a side of my dad I had never seen. It was like I was in a studio, watching as my dad grew up in a glass room. I didn't know if I was supposed to laugh or cry. So I did both. (I mean, seriously: it's hard not to laugh when you see your dad dressed up as Little Red Riding Hood for an eight-grade play… then get stuck in the costume and wear it to school for two days.) Finally, I finished going through the photos, which ended in my elementary years, about two years before he died.

Then came all of the weird stuff. I saw his fourth-grade report card (straight A's), the map to his high school (who names their team the Farmers?), and his wedding invitation (where the heck is Grove's Corner, Montana?!!). There was his ticket on his first airplane flight, his acceptance sheet into the CIA, and the reservation sheet for the hotel where my parents spent their honeymoon. (Because all normal couples decide to go to Siberia for their honeymoon. Not.)

I glanced at my watch. 5:36PM Eastern Time. I scanned the information strewn everywhere, and it dawned on me that there were no mission reports or assignment sheet. I mean, I'm only sixteen, but even I have some stashed somewhere. Seriously, did my mom think I wouldn't notice?! I quickly sifted through the stuff. There had to be something, somewhere! Finally, I found a sheet, an assignment sheet. Maybe it was his first or something? It had to be important. I slowed down, sat back, and read it.

Operatives: Christopher Morgan, Joseph Solomon.

Objective: To locate, study and infiltrate the headquarters of the Circle of Cavan for further missions.

Fatality Possibility: High.

Location: Rosebud, Virginia.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pros and Cons of Living in the Same Town Your Dad Died In:

Pro: It makes for a good, poetic biography.

Con: It's hard to write about said biography 'cause you're a bit shellshocked.

Pro: You start seeing your dad everywhere you turn.

Con: You start seeing enemy agents everywhere you turn.

Pro: You brush up on your safety tactics.

Con: You can't help but think that even the best safety tactics can't keep you safe.

Okay, have I mentioned recently that going to public school as a spy is REALLY FREAKY?! Especially when, say, your teachers could possibly be really good undercover enemy agents and might have killed your father and want to kill you? C'mon! Can't a girl get some good Secret Service protection around here?!

And have I also mentioned that I seriously love Bex?

"I still think we should investigate the city, find out who the bloody Cavan agents are, and kill them in their sleep!"

"Bex! You know how much trouble that would get us in? Actually killing someone?! We would get kicked out! Or WORSE!" You really can't blame Liz for wanting to keep everyone out of trouble. She's too sweet. Macey, on the other hand…

"Wait, we're supposed to kill them in their sleep? But that takes all the fun out of it!" I shook my head.

"Guys, we're sophomores. I really don't think we should be trying that. Especially considering me and Macey's history with this particular group."

It was as if suddenly a light bulb went of inside of everyone's head. One that made things get really quiet.

"So…" started Bex. "Maybe they were after you…"

"Because of your dad?" finished Liz. She jumped in quickly.

"It totally makes sense! I mean, since you're his daughter and all, and maybe he did some damage to their HQ-"

"Which he totally bloody would have!" interjected Bex. Liz sent a glare, then finished.

"Then you are probably a target! Cammie, do you know what that means?"

Macey, who had been really quiet since the whole light-bulb thing, finally spoke up.

"Of course she does. Look at her forehead." I cringed. Macey was right of course, and my bruise hadn't fully healed yet, but it still hurt. Not the bruise I mean. The memory was what hurt.

"Have you talked to your Mum yet about it?" Bex asked, a bit more concerned than before.

"Yea. She knew that before. As usual." I flopped on my bed. I didn't quite get it.

"And yet she sent you anyways?" The way Liz said that, it sounded more like a question than a statement. "Why?"

"I don't know! She said it would be a "highly educational training experience" and that it really wasn't "such a dangerous situation". But still… it's not so much as my safety as the thought that someone in that town – who I might actually know – probably was the one who…" I couldn't quite finish my sentence, but it didn't matter. They knew what I meant.

Bex opened her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by the bell announcing it was time for dinner. (Which I sorta already knew, juding from the aroma promising some really good tacos.) It was followed by the announcement that we would be speaking in Swahili tonight, and that the seventh grade class needed to stop spraying Mr. Mosckowitz with hairspray/high-stick glue. Then Bex continued.

"Just remember, we're here for you. And besides, you go to a school with teens, not the bad guys. You'll be okay. You're the Chameleon."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I hate alarm clocks. A lot. There's just nothing like an annoying machine to tell you that your hours of blissful sleep are over for the day.

Besides, as of yesterday, alarm clocks mean I have to go to school. Real school. With grouchy teachers and fashion rules and teenage boys and lots and lots of makeup. Well, not for me, but for everyone else. "Getting ready" took on a whole new form in our halls. I was having some serious déjà vu of when Blackthorn came visiting by the time I met Macey at the bottom of the staircase.

"Ready?" she asked. I couldn't help but think that maybe this was as much torture on her as it was on me.

"Only if you are. But it's not like we have a choice." A fact I knew very well, and had spent way too much time thinking about.

"Yea, well the least you can do is look good for it. Don't you ever use eyeliner?"

"Umm… no?" Macey tsked at me, then smiled.

"But that's why we love you, Cam," she said with a wink. Then her attention turned to the balcony where my mother stood, scanning the crowd. She cleared her throat.

"Ladies, please gather," she called. Instantly, the noisy crowd stopped and made their way toward her. "Ladies, as I am sure you are already aware, every day that we spend out of this facility is a day with dangerous possibilities. That understood, please watch your words and your surroundings, and stay in contact with eachother whenever possible. Please use discretion in your actions. Your transportation is waiting outside. You are dismissed."

And just like that, the din of chatter began again, going on full volume. We made our way into the limousines, and I felt myself withdraw in the midst of the noise. Bex sneaked up beside me, dragging Liz by the hand, followed by Macey.

"What, did you think you were riding to school in a different bus than us? Not a chance!" she declared.

"And not a bus, either," I noted. Macey had to comment.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. We happen to be spoiled brats. This is normal to us, and anyone who rides in less is obviously inferior," she said with a smirk.

"That's your cover, remember? Not mine. I'm at the Gallagher Academy on scholarship."

"Yes, which means that you get to be our eyes and ears, dear Cameron," Bex said. I know that look. It commonly makes a debut in my nightmares. "YOU can blend and connect with the commoners in a way we just can't. You can go behind enemy lines!"

As if that was something fun.

"And what if I don't want to?" I questioned. Seriously, it's sorta my life (not to mention grades) we're talking about here!

"Cammie, the chances of you coming into contact with someone who would want to damage you – as long as you don't hang out outside of school – are 1 to 18,347." Leave it to Liz to calm a girl's heart with numbers.

"Well… if you put it that way… are you sure?" (Just had to double check. Y'know. For my blood pressure and all.)

She nodded.

"Well, then. I guess that means my new nickname is Eyes and Ears."

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, so you would've thought that arriving at school today would be exactly like it was yesterday. But nooo. Today reminded me of that time when I was waiting for Josh and therewas no one anywhere.

We pulled up, and things were really quiet. I didn't see anyone outside, and the sky was really gray. And it was raining. (The weatherman had said there was a 10% chance of rain.) I looked down at myself. A tee-shirt, shorts, and Converse. Not exactly rainy-day clothes. That's when the whole nobody-home picture changed.

The center set of double doors opened, and my class watched as fifteen teenagers walked out in single file. Armed with umbrellas, gratefully. We went through the whole name-calling thing again, and I was last. (At least some things don't change.)

"Well, Miss Cammie. I see you're looking well today," Justin said with a smirk. This guy really reminded me of Zach. "How is your cold this morning?" he asked as we walked toward the school.

I couldn't help it. I sneezed.

"Does that answer your question?" I responded with my own smirk. (Because I'm one of the healthiest girls in my class.) He laughed and opened the door for me.

"Can you teach me how to do that? Pleease?" Okay, first a smirk, now puppy eyes. Is there no end to the masquerades?!

"Well, of course! As long as you buy me lunch for the week after I win," I replied.

"Not on your life. I'm not that desperate."

"Hmm. Desperate. Now there's a word that looks good on you." I said. This was fun.

"Just like 'Major Gallagher Girl Attitude' looks great on you," he responded, a bit edgier than a joke. He opened the door for our first-period class, and gestured for me to enter.

"Sorry."

"It's okay." He warmed up, then as we sat down, continued in lower tones. "So... when will you be giving me that number?"

Okay, I laughed. I admit it. Here I was, trying to push the whole 'a spy group is out to kill me' idea from my head, and Justin continues to ask the same stupid question. You just gotta love it.

"Justin, I think I should tell you something," I said with a sudden seriousness. He leaned closer, as if I were telling him a life-threatening secrets. (Of which i had a few, but I wasn't about to tell him that.)

"I. Don't. Have. One."

"Seriously? You're what, sixteen?" He seemed amazed. Like I'm from Mars or something.

"Um, yeeaaa... see, I'm a big texter, and my mom only has so much money budgeted for a phone, so I just do without. And we're not allowed to use the phones at the Academy," I said, praying that my answer didn't sound too unusual. Score. The look of bewilderment melted and was replaced with understanding sympathy.

"Ooh... sorry. Well... anyways. Are we still on for this afternoon?" What's this afternoon?, I thought. Fortunately, my spy head works pretty fast.

"Only if you brought an ice pack for yourself," I said, suddenly realizing that the teacher was glaring. At me.

"Miss Morgan, if you would please see me after class. Mr. Parker, you should come too."

Yea, seriously - two days of school, and I'm already in trouble.

Fun.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Okay guys, sorry it's not as long as I wanted it to be. But at least you got a new chapter after sooo many months. (Hold on – gotta do my 'YES!! Ungrounded… finally!!' dance…) This is still pretty hard for me to write, as I am homeschooled and always have been homeschooled. (For those who think it's cool: it's actually reeaally overrated.) Thanks for being such great readers! :D

So… tell me what you think. ;)