My Undercover Life | ✓

Chapter 3

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“Repeat that, please.”

 

        “Repeat what?” one of them asked. I think it was Skylar that talked, but I wasn’t quite sure. I wasn’t really paying attention to their faces, just their voices. And trust me when your brain is feeling overwhelmed with information, you tend to not pay attention to details. Like for example, whose voice is whose’.

 

        “What you just said.”

 

        “What?” he inquired, “that the three suspects all go to Woodway Prep?”

 

        “Yeah that,” was the last thing I remembered saying before I fainted from the shock and the fear flowing through my body. When I finally came around, I woke up on the couch with my dad leaning over me, a worried expression plastered on his face.

 

        “Lily! Baby, are you okay? Don’t scare daddy like that ever again!” he said all in one breath, hugging the life out of me.

 

        “D-dad?” I asked, confused. Leaning away from his overbearing hug, I sat in a sitting position. “What happened?”

 

        “You fainted,” a voice that was clearly not my dad answered. Looking to my right, I saw two guys in police get-up, and suddenly everything started coming back to me. The murder of Allie and Alyce, my cousins Skylar and Demitri showing up, me finding out that they were FBI agents, and that they wanted me to go undercover for them to find a crazy serial killer who’s going after teenage girls who names start with the letter ‘A’. Oh, and let’s not forget that the three suspects all go to Megan’s private high school. And did I mention the fact that they want me to go near three potential killers!? I can’t even kill a stupid bug, let alone act ‘normal’ around three guys that could be blood-thirsty killers out to get me!

 

        “So I did,” I stated, running my hands through my blonde locks. Slumping back against the couch, I looked up at Demitri and Skylar. “C-can you just please tell me why I need to be the one that has to go undercover? Can’t you guys like get some professional FBI agent to do that?”

 

        “We would, but none of our agents can actually pull off being in high school,” Demitri answered for me.

 

        “Well, why not?” I asked, pulling my mouth into a thin line.

 

        “Well for starters, most of our female FBI agents are in their late twenties or early thirties. Trust me when I say that they would never ever pull off being eighteen again,” he said, his face scrunching up in disgust, probably picturing the female FBI in a school uniform.

 

        “Why don’t you just hire a spy then?” I proposed, hoping they’ll take the idea.

 

        “Again, the age thing,” he countered back with. “There’s no spy that can pull of the teenage-look. We don’t want the killer to know we’re on to him; not until we can gather enough evidence against him so we can finally arrest him.”