Spy School by Stuart Gibbs Read Free Book Online Page A

feet got tangled in my sheets and the assassin recovered faster than I’d expected.
    He wheeled around, looking to take me down at the knees.
    So I bounced on the bed, hacking down with the racket at the same time.
    I actually have a great forehand slice. It’s the best part of my game. I caught the assassin right above the ear, hard enough to shatter the racket. He gave a gurgle of pain and dropped, bounding off the mattress and landing on the floor with a thud.
    I bolted, yanking open the door and racing into the hall. I banged the beheaded racket handle on every door I passed. “Help! Help me! It’s an emergency!”
    I could hear people groggily waking in their rooms, saw a light flick on from beneath one door. But I didn’t stop to wait, fearing I had only temporarily waylaid my assassin. I kept moving for the stairs, screaming the whole way.
    I was almost there when the door at the end of the hall opened and my resident adviser emerged. It was the first time we’d met, though my welcome packet had informed methat her name was Tina Cuevo and she was a sixth year. She was tall and beautiful, with jet-black hair and skin the color of hot chocolate. She wore flannel pajamas, bunny slippers, and a look that said she wasn’t happy to be roused from her sleep—although this changed to one of astonishment when she saw me.
    I wear only underwear when I sleep.
    From the moment I’d been attacked, I had been thinking only about how to survive. Now, for the first time, it dawned on me that I was practically naked.
    I spun around to find everyone else on the floor emerging from their rooms.
    Most of them immediately broke into laughter.
    Thankfully, Tina didn’t. I think the look of sheer terror on my face convinced her this wasn’t a prank. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
    “There’s an assassin in my room. He just tried to kill me.”
    I’d expected Tina to evacuate the hall and call for help, but that ran counter to her training. Instead, she produced a gun from the pocket of her pajamas—apparently, she slept with it—and went into action mode. “I’ll take care of this. There’s a robe in my room. For Pete’s sake, put it on.” She flattened herself against the wall and moved quickly toward my door.
    I slipped into her room, which was larger than mine andfar more nicely decorated. There were all sorts of homey touches like framed pictures, window dressings and throw rugs that made me feel oddly safe and secure, given that I’d been running for my life seconds before. The terry-cloth robe hung on a hook by the door. I put it on. It was warm and smelled like cinnamon.
    I wasn’t sure what to do next. Fleeing still seemed like a perfectly rational option. But it felt wrong to run off in a woman’s bathrobe while she was facing an assassin for me. I’d already run down the hall almost nude; I didn’t need to make any more faux pas that night. I found a cozy stuffed chair buried under a stack of tutoring manuals and settled into it.
    A minute later a fellow student my age poked his head in. “Uh . . . Tina wants to talk to you.”
    “Where is she?”
    “In your room. Duh.”
    I went back out into the hall. Every doorway now had someone peeking out of it, looking toward me. Heading back to my room seemed like a terrible idea, given that I’d left an assassin in there, but everyone seemed much calmer than they might have if there was still an enemy agent on a killing spree. So I walked back down the gauntlet of gawkers.
    Tina emerged from my room as I approached. “About this assassin of yours . . .”
    I gulped, concerned. “Did I kill him?”
    “That’s hard to say.” Tina waved me inside. “I’m having a little trouble finding him.”
    I stepped back into my room. The light was on now. The place was trashed. Furniture was shattered. My belongings were strewn everywhere.
    But the assassin was gone.

DEBRIEFING
    Armistead Dormitory
    January 17
    0205 hours
    “You’re claiming that someone tried to