"You're telling me that you got Captain America-the War Hero, Steve Rogers-to become best friends with a thirteen-year-old kid? What, is this supposed to slowly introduce him to how irritating Generation Z is? Project Training Wheels or something?"
...
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BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!-BEEP!—
Lizzie Carter's body rose from the dead before her mind caught up to it when her alarm clock went off. Blaring into her eardrum...until it suddenly stopped just before she could touch it. She hummed in content with her eyes closed, feet touching the ground as she tried her hardest to wake up in her sitting position. A few seconds went by before, suddenly, consciousness swarmed her senses when she realized someone had turned off of her alarm. Lizzie's bloodshot-eyes shot open to see who it was—her mom? Her dad?
None of the above.
"Sharon?"
The name lodged in her throat and she had to swallow to complete it, not fully believing what was happening in front of her. No, no. Surely, she was dreaming—but disbelief couldn't change the wide, brown-eyes of her older sister. Ones that she could only see in pictures now. The dark attire was off-putting considering the weather outside, and an expression graced Sharon's face that Lizzie only recognized in ghosts nows—Spy Sharon. She opened her mouth, every question under the sun on the top of her tongue, but she couldn't, suddenly numb from her ears to her toes.
"C'mon, we've got to go! Get up!" Spy-Sharon bent down to collect her backpack from the side of the bed, then she anxiously went in the direction of Lizzie's dresser to start rooting through them for clothing. When Sharon heard no movement, she shot a piercing glare at her younger sister. "Now, Agent Three!"
Lizzie shot out of bed at the order and grabbed the pair of clothes her older sister threw in her direction. Blinking, she watched as Sharon's hands knocked over a framed picture on her nightstand of her and Casey—no, her and C.T., right? Lizzie blindly pulled the black T-shirt on, glancing down when she realized how tight it was. Three years too small, but she couldn't tell that to Sharon. Her sister took directive, but that didn't stop Lizzie from giving panicked glances when a pair of tennis shoes were thrown in her direction.
