Spy School - Back to Basics [2]

04: Argument

Hampton Inn

Vienna, Virginia

May 06

1530 hours

I was the last one to arrive at our temporary headquarters at Hampton Inn since I was riding a bike, and also because I had to take a long route through a bunch of neighborhoods so no one from the biking group would notice I was going into the inn rather than a house or apartment.

After quickly heading to the bathroom to wash off my disguise/makeup, I went to the main room. When I entered, the tensension was so thick I could cut it with a dagger.

"I can't believe you told him," said Trixie, glaring at Erica.

"We needed to give the mission report anyways, and you weren't here yet," Erica glared right back.

"It's not about that, it's about how you painted me in a bad light! Now I will never join you at St. Smithen!" Trixie cried.

"Why would you want to go there anyway? You already have your FSA thing!" Erica roared right back. Her face was taking on a slight tinge of red, which was surprising, since she almost never had an emotion other than Ice Queen or calm. Hearing her scream something other than an occasional war cry was already strange.

Trixie tromped off to the bedroom she and Erica shared and slammed the door. Erica upturned her nose, like the act disgusted her.

"I'll just..." Mike stuttered. He pointed weakly at the door to Trixie's room and ran inside. He was probably trying to comfort her, but that was the last thing Trixie would want right now. (Yes, I have gotten a slight hang of the brain of a teenage girl.)

"And I'll go do my homework," I said nervously, grabbing my backpack and heading toward the small table in the corner. Erica stomped off to Cyrus's room, dubbed mission control by Mike and I.

As I started on my history homework, I couldn't help but hear the conversation coming from Trixie's room. It was almost impossible not to evesdrop; the walls were paper-thin and everything was relatively quiet around me.

"She probably isn't angry at you, and neither is Cyrus. They are just worried. What we did at lunch was pretty risky after all- we could have blown our cover. And like Cyrus likes to say, 'Dead cover, dead agent,'" Mike comforted Trixie.

"That's the problem. They are worried for me. Too worried. I couldn't join the academy, so I had to resort to the FSA, which is frankly not that all great," Trixie replied angrily.

"Not to press, but what is exactly wrong with it?" Mike asked.

"Well, firstly, the FSA is a secret government organization. We take the word 'secret' seriously. Our professors say the 'S' in 'FSA' stands for secret, not surveillance. Our training facility is underground to preserve secrecy. During the day, we go to our normal boarding school- most of us go to mine back in Connecticut, and a couple others go to other schools nearby- and during the night, we go to the facility train. No coffee allowed, it messes with our chi energy or something. I never payed attention to that mumbo-jumbo.

"Also, we don't receive as much funding, since we are not supposed to exist. We are the backup plan for the CIA anyways. The best of us are only legacies from the CIA that didn't get accepted into the CIA; the rest are D-list spies at best. Of course, there is an occasional gem that isn't a legacy, but they usually are recruited to the CIA the moment they are unearthed. Joshua Hallal: he used to be one of ours. I do wonder what happened to him..." Trixie shook her head, clearing her thoughts. I shifted awkwardly at those words, remembering how he joined SPYDER and how he now had an eyepatch, metal arm, and a prosthetic leg.