It Is An Occupational Hazard

I Wrapped My Arms Around My Knees And Stared Through The Window's Wavy Glass. The Red Velvet Curtains Were Drawn Around The Tiny Alcove, And I Was Enveloped By An Odd Sense Of Peace, Knowing That In Twenty Minutes, The Halls Were Going To Be Crowded; Music Was Going To Be Blaring; And I Was Going To Go From Being An Only Child To One Of A Hundred Sisters, So I Knew To Savor The Silence While It Lasted.

Maybe Liz Was Right And She'd Wanted Someplace Safe. Maybe Mr. Solomon Really Did Understand That Running Was The Only Way Macey Would Find Out If We'd Run After Her. Or Maybe, Like Me, She Just Wanted To Disappear For A Little While

I Know In The Spy Movies It Always Looks Really Cool When The Operative Goes From A Maid's Uniform To A Slinky, Sexy, Ballgown In The Amount Of Time It Takes An Elevator To Climb Three Floors. Well, I Don't Know How It Is For Tv Spies, But I Can Tell You That Even With Velcro, The Art Of The Quick Change Is One That Must Take A Lot Of Practice (not To Mention Better Lighting Than One Is Likely To Find In A Tunnel That Was Once Part Of The Underground Railroad).

Nick Sat Beside Simon, Who Was At His Computer. Marcus Stood At Attention Beside The Food. Hale Had His Feet On The Table, Reading The Morning Paper. And Someone Had Given The Bagshaws A Gun. 'pull!' Hamish Yelled, And Angus Pulled A Cord And Sent A Skeet Flying Across The Deep Blue Water. A Split Second Later, A Loud Crack Was Reverberating Across The Deck. Kat Jumped. Hale Sighed. The Shot Went Far Wide, And Marcus Never Moved A Muscle.

Life Is Classified. There Is Always So Much That Goes Unsaid.