My partner didn't seem too pleased with the hold I'd used on her.
It was true enough that the only other time I'd used that hold I'd broken a neck, so I guess it may have been less than comfortable.
Requesting status on current mission.
I pretend to fix my hair and touch my earpiece as I walk to my next class.
"I've found my locker."
With that my earpiece shuts down, a function that exists essentially to keep anybody from trying to trace its frequency. The only contact I make with the headquarters is to confirm my progress at certain checkpoints or to request backup in any kind of emergency, all spoken in code as a precaution.
I pull out my schedule and see that my next class is calculus and vectors.
Another opportunity to laugh at the livestock around me. Wonderful.
Some blundering idiot bumps into me and I resist the urge to bash his head into the wall.
"Sorry," he offers insincerely, running down the hall.
He should be running. But not because he's got somewhere to go.
I'm afraid I don't look intimidating enough to get any respect in the hallways - I'm a bit taller than most, but I'm also lean enough that my muscle stays hidden. I have shoulder-length brown hair, similarly-coloured eyes, and no ordinarily visible scars. In other words, I can blend into a crowd like butter on a hot pan.
On the bright side, at least I'm not as conspicuous as my partner. She's got hair practically to the floor and eyes that scream out to the world like a neon sign.
I should talk to her about lenses.
When I finally reach my class I slide into a seat at the back, putting on a bored face. No matter how much I wanted to, I wasn't going to make any more comments in class. I'd had enough risks for the day.
I listen to the teacher prattling the names off of the list, and raise my hand when she asks for 'Sarah Mills'.
As you can guess, it's a code name. And no, I'm not giving you my real name, or anyone else, ever. It's a secret that died with my parents.
Don't ask about it. Or I'll kill you.
I continue to pretend to take notes, maintaining a charade of texting on my phone in my desk.
I'm really playing Bejeweled Blitz. Don't judge.
"Does anyone know how to factor this equation? Sarah?"
I glance up and feel the answer materialize in my head.
"Umm..." I offer, looking nervous, "I'm not sure?"
The teacher gives me a gracious smile and starts explaining the infantile question. I continue my game, and by the end of the day, I've beaten my high score.
As soon as it's three o'clock I stroll out of the school, shouldering my messenger bag, and turn into the alley as if taking a shortcut home.
My partner is already waiting.