EDIT:
I suppose I should have said this before, but I was too busy actually not being a coward and letting people see my work. Anyway, this time I'm working on characterization. I know that my description is lacking, so I'll work on it, and hopefully Part Two will be better.
-Wordsmith
“Willow?” I heard the door to the dojo slide shut.
I paused, mid-kick, holding the pose. Mom only calls me Willow when I am either in trouble, or she is serious. “What?”
My mother knelt next to me as I let myself assume a regular stance. “You're going to have to go to school next year.”
“Why? I thought I graduated last year,” I said, puzzled.
“You did.”
I caught her meaning. “You don't mean the Academy.”
“You're right. I mean the Institute.”
I gasped and knelt across from her. “You can't be serious.”
“I am.” Nobody else would have seen it, besides Dad, but I did- the tremble in her voice and the look in her eye said it all: Mom was scared. After all, there was a reason why parents told their kids stories about the Institute to keep them on the straight.
I took a breath. “Then you'd best explain.”
“Willa, I don't know how they got your name-”
“Which one?” I interrupted.
For once, Mom didn't lecture me on how rude interrupting is. “They think you're Wilma Johansen.”
I sagged with relief, then sat up straight. How did they even get that name? It's true that that's the name on my Master Card, but it was unlikely that they would happen across my name in the files of, say, Wal-Mart. And unless they had direct access to the files of Lorraillane, they wouldn't know-
“-not from the Academy. Your father swore all the teachers to silence, and Amy is certain they didn't hack-”
“Mom,” I said. “What about from Lorraillane? If the Institute has access to those files, they would be able to find my account, which has all the info on who I am and where I live.”
Mom gave me a Look. “You shop at Lorraillane?”
Oops. I shouldn't have told her about me shopping at Lorraillane. “Best double-encrypted titanium-plated gear there is.”
“That's not the point. You aren't even qualified yet-”
“I set up a surveillance system. Nobody's getting into my room without me knowing.”
“Willow-”
“Tell me about the Institute.”
She sighed. “The Institute of Espionage requests that you attend a trial period of one year at their school.”
I could see the form already. Probably hand-typed on some pompous cream-colored, high-grade paper with the official letterhead across the top proclaiming to the world who they were. Of course, they would 'request' that I go. Should I try to hide? I wondered.
Either way, I would attend. In the underworld of shady people, there were whispers about the Institute of Espionage- including what happened to those that refused the request, no matter how polite.
The Institute was special in that it started training at age sixteen, not from kindergarten like the Academy that Mom and Dad ran. It taught everything from advanced physics to how to sidestep the best surveillance systems to how to get the best deal from whoever hired you.
From what I heard, Phys Ed class went from the normal: track, archery, basketball, etc; to the unusual: obstacle courses, martial arts; to the extreme: weapons training coming immediately to mind. The Computer and Tech classes taught things from how to hack into a computer to how to disassemble a bomb without it blowing up in your face. LA didn't teach Literature like regular schools did- to a spy, code theory is literature.
I was going to be a part of that?
On one hand, I might learn something that Mom and Dad didn't teach me. On the other, it was most likely something I didn't want to learn.
I took a breath, then looked into Mom's hazy green eyes. “When do I start?”
One Year Later
I ran, flipped, swung and cartwheeled my way around the room. The bars, ropes, and pools of water that made up the course no longer posed an obstacle to me- or that's what Coach thought, I said to myself as I did what my old PE teacher had taught me.
Coach whistled, a piercing shriek that made me cringe. “Very good, Johansen!” he yelled. “Now stop showing off!” Then, to the room at large: “Class is over! Out!”
I jumped the six feet to the ground, landing lightly. I didn't show my smugness at beating the Institute of Espionage record- again.
I slipped from the group as it filed out, and waited until the seniors abandoned the level three course. This was the day they'd be judging the probationers- even Coach said so in the way he let us do an easy course.
I examined every angle of it, trying to figure out how to do it in the fastest time. There- the starting bar, of course, to start, but from there you jump to the rope-
“You are a loner, aren't you?”
I whirled, meeting the eyes of one of the juniors. She looked back, the corners of her eyes crinkling with amusement. “You noticed?”
“Well, duh, everyone's noticed it. Most of the students have formed cliques already, but you're always alone.”
“Most of the students are fools,” I said coldly.
She laughed, wiping her green eyes. “You're right. Tell me, how did someone so observant as you get stuck with the probationers?”
“Dumb luck,” I said.
She stopped laughing and pressed her lips into a thin line. “Not the good kind, either, I suppose. Anyway, I'm Sandra Cline.” She offered a hand. “Sandy.”
“I'm Wilma Johansen,” I said, tentatively taking it. “Willa.”
“I know,” Sandy said. “No need to say that it's fake, only idiots use their real names here. And besides, you're what all the talk is about in the halls. Rumor has it that you can run faster, jump higher, are a black belt, never miss a thing, and can do a mission by yourself and still be back in time for dinner. True?”
I blinked, releasing her hand. “I don't know.”
She gave me a look that plainly said that she knew I was hiding something. “Hm, I guess not. Tell you what, let's form an alliance.”
I blinked again, then let my calm facade drop. “What?”
Sandy grinned. “You know, an agreement for mutual benefit for all parties involved. In other words, you and I will act as allies and act together against our common enemies- namely, all the third-years and seniors who hate me and are jealous of you, for obvious reasons. So, you in?”
“I guess?”
She leaned against the wall of the gym, arms crossed and smiling widely. “No need to sound so uncertain. Are you nervous?”
I scowled- Sandy was making me feel like an idiot. “About what? The alliance we just formed?”
“No,” she said. “About the judging that's going on right now. The Sensei, Coach, Mr. Williams, Professor Reza, Old Joe- they're all in the conference room, discussing and arguing about who stays and who leaves. Are you nervous?”
“Not really,” I replied, swinging onto the starting bar and using it to hang upside-down. “They're not going to let me go.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean, Sandy," I said, brushing a strand of dark hair from my eyes. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have bothered to form an alliance with me when I could just be wiped tomorrow. If you thought my memory would be wiped, then you'd have found some other probationer. If you did that, we wouldn't be having this discussion right now.”
“You are sharp,” she said in mock admiration.
“I try to be. Why do the older students hate you?”
“That's a discussion for later, Willa,” she said, her mouth becoming a thin line again. “Just trust me on this. They hate me, they hate you- and they will do everything to get us out of their way.”
*
“So I was right about you being a black belt.”
I lost my balance at the sudden voice and fell backwards onto the tatami mat. “Don't do that!”
“Sorry,” Sandy said, not sounding sorry in the least. “Listen, I came to warn you- the results are out.”
I picked myself up, starting the Kata over. “And?”
“I'm not telling,” she said solemnly. “That's for you to find out.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“I'm serious. There's something else, too- the seniors are angry that you're staying.”
I completed the last kick and bowed to an imaginary opponent. “What about not telling me?”
“I lied,” said Sandy, sounding unperturbed. “All the other students are in the halls outside the office. It's, uh, rumored that the teachers were unanimous when it came to you. Coach even offered to give up his favorite probationer, if you could stay.”
Ouch. That had to have hurt. “And you know this how?”
“This is a spy school, Willa. I'm a spy.”
I turned to face her, crossing my arms. “Do the teachers like the fact that you listen at keyholes?”
“Not through keyholes!” she protested. “Geez, Willa, haven't you ever hear of Lorraillane?”
My eyebrows must have disappeared into my bangs at that point. “You bugged the room.”
“It's the only reliable way to get info,” Sandy said, once again in control of the situation. “Anyway, you were right. There is absolutely no way they are getting rid of you.”
She smiled then, a wickedly dangerous smile. “Welcome to the second year.”
