Chapter 1: The Bodyguard

Chapter 1

My auburn hair was precariously arranged in a low bun, and it annoyed me the way it bobbed as I walked through the doors of Westingale Heights. It also annoyed me that the principal stood at the door...giving the eye to every single student as they walked in.

He was a "big-boned" man if you were being generous...most everyone else just called him fat. The first reason being he was pretty hefty...the second being that calling him fat was the best way to get yourself over his strict, totalitarian policies. Ever since Principal Fallahn came to the high school, Westingale Heights had gone from a school that allowed tank tops, making out sessions in the hallways, and a minimum passing grade of 75 for our athletes to a school that required sleeves at least to the middle of the bicep, nothing more than handshakes in the hallways, and a minimum passing grade of 80. In other words, Principal Fallahn was a jerk.

As I walked into my homeroom, I saw Paul Demine sitting in the front row, crouched over his journal, studying. There were plenty of rumors around about Paul Demine. Most of them were pretty awful...and none of them true. Some of them said he was so obsessed with his grades, he calculated them in between every class. Some people went around giggling at the fact that he never washed his hair because he thought that showering would take too much time away from his Calculus homework. Whenever they saw him in class, earlier than even the teacher as usual, they would all assume he did it because he had nothing better to do.

I sat myself easily next to Paul Demine, who happened to be my best friend. Yawning away last night's lack of sleep, I put my head down on my desk and watched Paul with his finger poised worriedly into his chin, trying to force the formulas that were strewn down the page into his machine like memory. We had been in almost all the same classes since the sixth grade...and so not being best friends was not an option. We were both juniors now. Also, we were both secret agents working for the junior sector of the U.G.A...also known as Undercover Government Assistance..

What does that mean? It means in eighth grade, when me and Paul did ridiculously well on the mysterious aptitude exam given all across the country, a week later a man in a suit arrived at both our doors with a proposition of working for the government for $40,000 a year. It means that instead of hitting the mall on a Friday night, I might be part of an undercover mission in the Middle East. It means that instead of worrying if my hair is straightened and my American Eagle sweatshirt matches my perfectly ripped jeans, I'm double checking my purse to see that I have my communication device, gun, shock transmitter, and nude suit (more on the suit later).

Just as I decided to turn my head into my desk and catch some of the sleep I had wasted fighting with my mom about going to the Middle East this weekend instead of Grandma's birthday party, my communication device vibrated. Groaning, I got up, encountering Paul's sorry face; light green eyes getting even more almond shaped, thin lips down turning into his light tanned skin; and shaking my head, sprinted out of the classroom and to the nearest bathroom.

Luckily, Olna, the Swedish foreign exchange student was the only one in the bathroom. Giving her a light smile, I slipped into the first bathroom stall and opened my light blue device. As I did, its color changed from blue to red as the tiny chips inside of it rearranged themselves to scan my face. Making a low beep, the Boss appeared in the screen.
"He'llo Cahspuh."
After putting in my headphone set, I responded.
"Hey Boss"

"I hurd thehs ah new kid in scule and 'at he's ah 'ottie."
"So what?"
"His name is Jeh'rummy N'bart and his mum's vehry im'ortant te the guvr'men."
"Oh. I get it."
"He's bin placed in ahl yoh classes. Jus' kep an eye ohn 'I'm. Make sure there ain't anyone suspicious cumin' in te da buildin'. Yah know whah I'm sayin'?"
"Yeah, no problem. When is he due?"
"Tudah. Rem'embuh, ke'p yuh eye 'un 'I'm."

After hanging up, the bell rang and my heart jumped. If I would be late, the teacher would not be pleased. That was the annoying part about being an agent. You expected everyone to understand why you were late or couldn't make it somewhere...but they couldn't when they had no idea you were saving their lives every other day.

Sprinting, I made it to my homeroom just as the teacher was making he cautious walk to close the door in any late student's face. As I slipped into my seat, I heard some low laughs from the back of the room. The loudest laughter coming from a kid I had never seen before...who had dirty blond hair, a perfectly toned body, and already the eyes of most every girl in the class. Great. Jeremy Neubart was a loser. A loser I had to protect.