Dani Lewis: twelve thirty.Mature

My alarm went off at seven sharp. Too bad I snoozed it a good hundred times and woke up at twelve thirty instead. Well...it had been Clara's birthday and she's my best friend and I didn't want her asking me loads of questions. You know- "how did you dad die?" "what about your brother and sister?" "what do you mean he's not your dad?" "WHAT?"-the usual. So I'd naturally been with her to a lot of places, and done lots of dancing and I have no idea what I drank but it had a greenish tinge to it.

That explains the headache this morning. I dragged myself out of bed, which was a bit weird but I was getting used to this cramped apartment. I really wasn't used to anything other than the "cushy" life- I'd had rather nice accomodation at uni and I'd always gone home at holidays. Somehow I don't miss it though. It's nice living in the real world.

Until I turn on the TV and there has been a kidnapping. The President's daughter...I groaned as I realised I'd have to go. Sure enough, Foster/Dad had left a Post-It on the cereal box: HQ as soon as you wake up. He'd left it blank-I understand. It's hard thinking about what exactly to call Foster/Dad-I've started just addressing him directly to avoid confusion.

I grabbed my toast, shoving a piece in my mouth as I fumbling with my keys. From a distance I looked like a normal 21 year old, fresh out of university with maybe a shop job. Too bad it was a bit more complicated. I mean-it's a lot better.

But with a much higher probability of being shot. Still, someone's got to do it.

The End

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