Spies in Skates [Book Three]

Chapter Eleven: Ron Would Call It Fraternizing With the Enemy

Hey! Okay, this is important PLEASE READ: so I'm going out of town tomorrow afternoon and won't have time to write for 5 weeks but don't panic! I finished this book these last couple days (it was about as stressful as it sounds, trust me; many late nights) so I'm updated Ch 11 right now, probably Ch 12 tomorrow (Saturday afternoon) before I leave, and then I'll email the final chapter to myself and update it, like, Sunday or Monday. I hate doing updates so quickly because then people miss a chapter or don't vote or comment or stuff, so please be aware and watch what chapter number you're on, and please comment :)

Gracias! <3 vb123321

P.S. And just cuz I couldn't have a Hunger Games reference without an HP one...

Chapter Eleven

Ron Would Call It Fraternizing With the Enemy

It was super dark in that closet. Like, can’t-see-hand-in-front-of-my-face dark. A small crack of light shone underneath the door but did nothing to illuminate the cleaning supplies that I kept bumping into. I wished for the four billionth time that I had brought my phone from Patrick’s house so that I had some source of light.

The next ten minutes – fifteen? twenty? – reminded me forcefully and very unpleasantly of the brief time I had spent hiding in the cloakroom bathroom at the Christmas party, when Pazzini had broken in to steal the painting. I could hear pounding footsteps and shouts and something that sounded an awful lot like gunshots, but I couldn’t do anything. Even if I dared to move from the closet, I didn’t have any weapon and there were no tree branches lying around this time.

So I spent that torturous amount of time crouched in the corner of the janitor closet, my hands wrapped around the handle of a mop, just waiting. My breathing sounded loud and fast in my ears, my heart thumping in my chest, and I prayed that no one was getting killed out there.

And then, without any warning, the door handle rattled.

I tensed up immediately, my knuckles tight on the mop handle, though I still couldn’t see much of anything. The door was locked, but it was one of those lame twist locks, and after a moment of suspicious picking noises, it swung open. I pressed myself onto the side wall of the closet, hoping the intruder wouldn’t see me in the slice of light that filtered into the closet.

The door clicked closed, leaving me in darkness again but joined this time by the rapid breathing of another person. I stared into the black, wondering what to do, and then I leaped about a foot into the air when a hand seized my arm. Reacting at once, I shoved the mop handle in that direction, but the person somehow predicted this and grabbed it. A sweaty hand clapped over my mouth as I opened it, and a voice hissed,

“Shut up! It’s Jack!”

Right, because that was supposed to be reassuring.

I debated about biting at her hand to make her move it, but she released my mouth before I made unhygienic decisions. A second later, the light of her iPhone lit up a small area around our faces, and I could make out the intense look in her eyes as she stared at me.

“What’s going on?” I whispered after an awkward moment of mutual staring. “Is it Pazzini? Is he here?”