Spies in Saddles [Book One]

Chapter Eleven: The End and All That Jazz

Hola!! Last chapter whoo hoo! So I printed this book out for my friend's Christmas present yesterday...that was extremely stressful lol. But after school tomorrow starts Christmas break ahh!!! I'm kinda chock-full of random emotions right now cuz a) BREAK EEK!! and b) mega-stressed about getting gifts done not to mention I'm pretty sure I just bombed my chem test oops and c) was up way too late last night and d) feeling really sad and angry at the movie we're watching in lit – Dead Poets Society, I really recommend it if you haven't seen it. Great movie. BUT SO SAD DAMN IT HIS FATHER!!! Sorry. Comment below to empathize with me if you understand what I'm talking about!!

Anyway. Enjoy this last chapter – I had loads of fun writing this and I really, really hope my friend likes it...though she might punch me in the face...anyway, please vote/comment/etc!

Gracias! <3 vb123321 (I always feel like I should say my name, Monica, but I've been doing vb123321 that it feels wrong to change...idk)

Chapter Eleven

The End and All That Jazz

Apparently, when the doctor said my wound would heal "very quickly," he meant more quickly than most gunshot wounds. My definition of "very quickly" was much different, something I found out when he told me that I would be stuck in the hospital for the next two weeks at least. I thought this was ridiculous until Jer told me very seriously that once it took him three months to recover from getting shot, which at least explained why I never saw him.

When Kate and Molly returned to Michigan because of school, I asked why I couldn't at least be transferred to a hospital closer to home, but apparently that breached several security measures, so I had to stay in Chicago.

Molly was upset about it because now that her problem was over, she could go back to school, although I wondered how the whole Alley-Man-came-into-my-algebra-two-class thing had worked out. Jer told me later that the same memory-wiping drug had been used on the class right after the whole fiasco had happened, so the word had never gotten out. Having all those high schoolers know was way too big a liability. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but Molly assured me that it was easy (and entertaining) to get used to no one knowing who you were.

What was harder was thinking about returning to normal life. How was I going to face Coach Alan in cross-country and track and not think about him with a gun in his hand? Or talk about Tweed without spilling that she actually did use the angle of depression in real life? Or not laugh hysterically when someone said that Maria Vandenberg was an angel? Or keep a straight face when everyone commented on how much school Molly missed?

Then again – teasing Molly about being sick all the time could be entertaining, because she couldn't even deny it. Maybe things weren't going to be as dismal as I thought. Knowing everyone's deep, dark secrets gave me some leverage, and I wasn't afraid to use it.

Hospital life bored me. There was only so many TV shows I could watch, only so many books I could read, only so many forced polite conversations with the nurse I could have. By the end of one week, I wanted to die. By the end of two, I was ready to kill anyone and everyone who would dare to say I couldn't go home yet. I even had a whole plan on how to coerce the doctor (it involved multiple syringes).

The only good factor was Zach. He didn't have to return to school right away, seeing as St. Joseph always had a bunch of random days off anyway, so he would come and hang out with me in the hospital as often as Coach Alan let him that first week. On that Saturday, though, he came to say good bye.

"I gotta get back to school," he said, perched on the side of my bed. "Don't want to start failing religion, after all."

I laughed, smiling at him. The bruises on his face had faded, and he looked as hot as ever, though of course I didn't tell him that. No need to inflate his ego even more. He ran his hand through his dark hair as he looked down at me regretfully.