My Classified Life

Chapter Twenty: Can't You Just Smell The Mission?

It had almost been just like a little day trip to Canada. I walked away from it all with a t-shirt, Canadian money.. but I couldn’t manage to find any Canadian bacon, what a shame. All four of us were back at our house and Christina to hers not too late that night and if it hadn’t have been for my nightmares, I would’ve slept very well.

Just because things were finally getting better at my house during the day does not mean that during the night I still didn’t suffer. My Knight Dreams as I liked to call them, didn’t happen nearly as often as the dreams where he killed me. I only assume this because I wake up from screaming after Dylan doesn’t come to save me. The ratio is about 4:1 that I even live through my nightmares and I’m beginning to think that I am becoming morbid. But on the bright side the scar I’d gotten from my bleeding eye is gone now. It’s nice to have to cover it up with makeup or just flat our pretend it wasn’t there. I figured that he must have been wearing a ring of some sort when he hit me and I was grateful it didn’t actually hit my eye. It was my one and only visible scar and it was nice that it was finally gone.

I awoke the next morning feeling stiff from being curled in a ball and at the same time incredibly warm and comfortable under my thick blankets and covers. I didn’t want to get up until I recalled that we would have a new mission soon. Brit was leaving in four days! That didn’t leave us a lot of time to prepare for a good ol’ fashion confusing mission my mom would like to prepare for us as a good send off for Brit, but it would still be a good one.

I dressed to be ready and prepared for the training session in the shed we were sure to have today. I felt that I was tapping my fingers, cracking them, or thumping my foot all morning in apprehension for my first actual lesson in forever. I was anxious and ended up researching random topics on the Internet that had to deal with espionage which according to dictionary.com is the act of spying. I started to watch a morning episode of Jeopardy! at 11:00 and was testing my knowledge. I was practically moping around the house just itching for someone to say the words ‘shed’ and ‘go’ in the same sentence.

I scrounged around for food along with Brit and Sammy. We ended up making a frozen pizza and my mom ate some, too. I didn’t say anything about the shed mostly because I didn’t want to look too desperate.

The day went on normally and I was given my homework assignments after lunch and I set myself to work on them. Procrastination has become my greatest enemy. With four more pages of an essay to write, 34 problems in math, a history worksheet, and 10 page chapter left to read I gave up on my homework and left it lay scattered out around my room and stomped downstairs as loudly as I saw fit and plopped down in my mother’s chair in the trophy room. It was quiet in there and I could just let myself think without distractions that led to my procrastination. I could just get away and ignore the rest of the world, ignore my crazy, boring, sad excuse of, and classified life.

The smell of the old books in the room comforted me and after I had cooled down I rose from the armchair and wondered about the dark room.

It was almost like a museum. Small glass boxes encased the valuables we had in the room. At the same time the room was like a library with its walls lined with deep maple bookshelves that extended from floor to ceiling, all piled with books ranging from Alice In Wonderland to Twilight to Of Mice of Men. Each and every one of them were arranged by author just like in a library. I started to encircle the room slowly and searched for the authors that I recognized, perhaps you could call them my favorites.

I am more of modern reader, but among the books I pulled from the shelves were Great Expectations, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Lock and Key, Wither, Letters to God, the play version of Romeo and Juliet, The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Handle With Care, and finally the only other book my arms could carry, The Last Song. I went through each and every book, finding my favorite chapters or paragraphs and reading them over and over again. I smiled and laughed to myself as I sat on the old green armchair with my feet flung over the arm rest and my back slightly leaning against the back rest.
I was in the middle of reading my favorite part of Wither by Lauren DeStefano when Sammy burst in through the door.