My Teacher, the Super Spy

January 14, 2009
By Kyle Huston, Henderson, NV

Disclaimer: All names in this story have been altered to protect the innocent. Proceed with caution, for if you finish this story and believe the truth, you now know one of the most protected national secrets.

Have you ever met someone whom you knew was hiding a deep dark secret? You know, like they’ve killed someone in another country, and they are escaping persecution in the United States? Or when they always have that air around them, like they could break your neck when you look away for too long? What about a super spy, do you know someone like that? Someone who just so happens to save the world doing super secret spy things, then teaches as her cover? That’s Mrs. London, the super spy.

I began having my suspicions my sophomore year when she hinted at it jokingly in one of her stories. She always seemed to have time to sneak in a story every day, and each one added to my suspicions. Of course, I just thought I was adding to the statistic of the “wise-fool” and put all of my conspiracy theories to rest…until I had her again my junior year. This was when the theories flew out like confetti at the Macy’s Day Parade, my colleague, James, and I put our ideas together and met at the same factor, Mrs. London was a super spy. From her super spy car, a sleek silver car with tinted windows, to her professional wardrobe that emphasized her superiority, we knew that she was hiding something. Of course, we couldn’t come out and just tell her we knew her secret, we had to be discreet. We left joking hints at what we knew and even made a list of all the reasons why she was a super spy, but there were things that we didn’t even dare to put on it.

Mrs. London, the super spy, served as a CIA agent in Germany, Slovakia, Egypt, Russia, and Spain. She was once ‘detained’ for conspiring as a gang member in the “Bader Meinhof Gang” though there is no proof showing that she is actually Helga, the dastardly double agent that ripped men to shreds and robbed banks of their booties, we all know it’s her. Although her commendations from the Department of Defense praise her for her ‘teaching’ our suspicions have led us to believe that it is actually for something along the lines of exceptional spy work.
She has no fingerprints, this teacher of mine. Could you imagine having a teacher with no fingerprints? She could kill us all and never get caught! But, of course, she wouldn’t because she’s a spy. The F.B.I. was involved in that story, they scanned her fingers with lasers and supersonic spy gear that led to her being an agent, and now… she has no fingerprints because of it.

Mrs. London is one of those teachers that can sneak in anything. She can arrive behind you and say, “Hi,” without you realizing it, and then appear half-way across the room a second later. If we didn’t know she was a super spy, I could have sworn she was a ninja. I mean, seriously, I’ve never seen her without some article of clothing with black in it; I’m just waiting for her to show up with a black mask and a flaming katana to cut off the heads of evil-doers. Unfortunately, if I did see that, you would never here from me again. I think it has something to do with that whole, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” thing. If that’s not scary enough, imagine having a teacher holding that over your head for three years! Of course, my life isn’t really in danger because in all actuality, she would never tell me her secret. But I know… I’ve always known.

It all started my sophomore year when she told my class, jokingly, that her students have always thought she was a secret agent. I finally realized, that she was actually challenging her intellectual students to call her bluff. Or raise the stakes? Enough with the dramatic Las Vegas puns. I spent some time on my computer at home Googling the name ‘Linda London’ and found nothing, but that didn’t stop me. It was time to Google the Bader Meinhof Gang, and that was when I realized the truth. Mrs. London wasn’t just a secret agent, she was a super secret spy, sworn to uphold and protect the freedoms of mankind! Sounds like a superhero right? My point exactly. Flying and super strength aside, she is the modern day hero for mankind. She once stopped an illegal drug cartel in Mexico that stretched all the way to China, and brought down a dictator in what is now known as the Czech Republic. Do you not believe me? Google it! The information is there! Although I cannot relinquish all of the details, simply put, she is a super spy.

Did you know that I’ve never met her husband? After three years, her husband, in all of his aging youth, still evaded me. It was time I did some spy work myself. I tracked down his Nissan Z350, one of the… oh, I don’t know… 3,000, in Las Vegas. It took me ten days, but finally I found it. Attaching a global GPS device to his car, I followed everywhere he went, and just as I feared, he stopped at the NSA’s headquarter in Nevada. Who woulda thunk? A super spy married a super spy! I laughed maniacally; I finally secured my suspicions of her secret. Unfortunately, I was at a loss; I was three hours from home, and one minute away from the looming stature of the NSA headquarters. RUN! Too late. Right as I began to back out, I was surrounded by big black SUV’s with subtle sirens adapted within the cars’ body. Of course it was my stupidity that led to my demise, why didn’t I realize that a super spy would know that there was a GPS attached to his car?! Nothing puts the fear of messing yourself like staring down the barrels of twenty pistols, ten sub-machine guns, and twelve fully-automatic assault rifles. I think one of them yelled something like, “ON THE GROUND!” but it didn’t do much good, the goop I had melted into was already as close to the ground as I could get.

I don’t know if it was my good looks, or my good luck for knowing Mrs. London, but they let me go…after they questioned me for two hours, barraged me with accusations, and swore something about taking my first born. Mrs. London walked in a few minutes later, with a smile on her face? What was she smiling about? The thought of killing me because I knew her secret?! Or what if it was something more serious… like they were going to brainwash me into thinking she hugs panda bears and made me believe gummy bears were evil! Perhaps they had already brainwashed me, because I was thinking of some pretty abstract reasons for her smiling. She sat down in front of me, and started with the typical ‘what you now know is a matter of National Security’ cliché. You know, the kind of stuff you see in movies that bring you to the edge of your seat, but has been repeated so much that you just roll your eyes. Go figure, my teacher, the super spy, would brief me on what I now knew to be one of the largest secrets of the United States. I was just waiting for her to say the next cliché that popped in my head. We all know what I’m talking about, the typical ‘now that I’ve told you, I have to kill you’ spy mumbo jumbo. But she didn’t, she didn’t even hint at it. She just got up, walked out of the room, and then three men in sleek black suits walked in. Now they either had glocks in their vests, or they were just really happy to see me. Either way, they were packing.

They drove me to my car and left me in the desert, but not before they warned me that if they ever saw me near the headquarters again, I would be killed on sight. Of course, hearing that, I slowly walked to my car. Watching their hands carefully, waiting for them to strike like snakes spitting bullets at me, I started my engine.

“Remember,” I told myself, “They are more afraid of you than you are of them… NOT! Start crying and pray they don’t kill you!”

“Get a hold of yourself man!” part of my intelligent side screamed.

“I’m going to die. I know their secrets, and now they can’t afford to let me live, they’re going to ship me to Guantanamo Bay and torture me. I won’t know who I am or how many fingers I have, probably none since they are going to cut them off!”

Somehow, I stayed calm, and drove home, following the speed limit all three hours. I knew they had some type of satellite tracking me, just waiting for me to break the law so they’d have a reason to cut my fingers off and tickle me with giant feathers… oh no… not feather torture! I shivered, knowing my fate was sealed and I was doomed, but I couldn’t help but reflect on the events of the last few weeks. At first, all I could think of was that this was surreal, my suspicions were true? Mrs. London was actually a super spy?! Whoa.

Sunday passed by without any snags, except for the occasional men in black suits staring intently at me through their charcoal sunglasses, whispering quietly to themselves… or to one hundred other spies training their fifty caliber sniper rifles on me, but, all in all, pretty smooth. It was Monday that would give you a heart attack. Walking down the halls of my high school, knowing what no one else knew; my teacher was a super spy. AHH!! I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I had just ran a marathon, my grey shirt was black and dripping with the saltine cracker flavored sweat as I walked towards her classroom. The fated moment was coming, and as my skin burned when it touched the white hot handle of the door, she met me half-way with a short, “Hello.” I knew it; no one could ever know that Mrs. London, the ninja, was actually a super spy. And, if it weren’t for the fact that I was threatened to have my brains strung out around me like baked lasagna from a family get together, I would stall no more in telling you the truth.

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