Reina here, writing to you as part of an extra credit assignment for school. School being the one time each week I have normal classes. The other six days are spent in interrogation rooms, on obstacle courses and special ops, and learning 10 other languages. Ah, well, all in a week’s work for a teen spy. The U.K has high expectations for us.

Oh right, us. My friends and I. We’ve all been training here since at least…3rd grade. We’d be in 9th if we were going through regular schooling. At this point though, we probably have the intelligence of a Harvard graduate and the physical training of a SEAL team six member. Sorry, I don’t wish to brag. Just stating facts.

Anyway, our class is currently sitting in an inconspicuous van, on our way to our next field op. Basically, our instructors take us to a place we’ve never been, give us a scenario, and we improvise. A lot.

I should probably tell you about my friends. Missy’s sitting next to me, her dark hair’s swirled in a bun atop her head and there’s red lipstick stains on the straw of her vanilla Coke. Her real name’s Miranda Louise Stevens, but we don’t use our real names here. We give each other code names, once you’ve got yours, it’s for life. Missy always gets the damsel-in-distress roles, which resulted in her nickname.

Behind her is Dodge. He’s our escape expert--camoflague, hiding, sneaking out of dorm at night—you name it. His chestnut hair hangs in his eyes and his black hoodie never leaves his back.

Next to Dodge is Seuss. (I’m not kidding, that’s what we call him.) His mouth never stops running, often using multiple languages at once, so his sentences seem to bumble along with nonsense words.

In the far back row, there’s Rookie and Ox. Ox’s got the strength of a bull, and all the arrogant personality. His skin’s the deep color of the mocha in his hand, and his eyes are sharp, like flint.

Rookie’s scrawny, especially sitting next to Ox. He’s new, from Ireland, and has the accent and red-blonde hair to prove it. Right now he’s got designer headphones over his ears and a half-eaten bluberry muffin in his lap, must be nervous. Poor guy. I remember my first special ops.

I suppose you’ll want to hear my nickname. Fine. I’m Siren. You know, like the mythological characters? I’m quite an actress, interrogate me, I’ll find more out about you and you’ll know even less about me. It’s all part of the spy thing, and I consider my voice a pretty handy weapon.

Boss (Our instructor) is driving, a bag sits by him in the passenger’s seat. He says we’ll be there soon, and we’ll have to trust him on that, the van’s windows are so darkly tinted; you can’t see in or out.
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(I’ll have to write the rest in past tense now... you need to know about this mission and I wasn’t about to scrawl down everything happening while it was going on.)

Boss threw us each a bag of clothes. Missy and I got silk dresses, heels, tiaras, and dangling diamond earrings that I knew were actually Bluetooth headsets. (Please. Save me from the torture.) The boys all got the unmistakable uniform of the British royal guard and regular bluetooths, except Rookie, who got a plain suit. We all looked up at Boss to find out what on earth we would be doing.

“Today, your mission’s fairly simple. Protect the Queen at one of her speeches. Miranda and Reina(He always insisted on calling us by our real names) will appear to be members of the royal family, The rest of you will be disguised as members of the guard. Except you” He pointed at Rookie. “You’ll be our stand in for Prince William’s and Katherine’s son. He’s sick this week.” Boss slowed down, I knew we were getting close. “ The speech will be on the balcony of the palace, once you get inside you have 30 minutes to get dressed and blend in. Well, what are you waiting for? Go!”
We all scrambled out of the van.

Soon enough, I was nearly unrecognizable. The emerald green dress matched my eyes, which were framed with thick, dark lashes. Missy had a ball with my makeup…… My black streak was completely hidden in the blonde candy floss that used to be my hair, and the tiara sat proudly atop it all.

Missy smiled at my sour expression and clipped in her Bluetooth-earring. Her burgundy dress was identical to mine, we would blend in alright as royal twins.

Of course, Dodge burst out laughing when he saw us, resulting in a punch to his gut and a high heel to his toes (Jimmy Choo’s are now on my list of horrible torture devices.) Ox just snorted, Rookie awkwardly stood to the side, and Seuss started making fun of us in Mandarin Chinese. (Missy took care of that with a headlock, her specialty.) Eventually, we made it to the balcony, where we all stopped goofing around. 1st rule as a spy: if you blow your cover, you’re dead.

It wasn’t long before things went downhill. The Queen started her speech, about how proud she was of the country’s accomplishments, etc. Missy and I stood smiling behind her with the royal family and Rookie, the boys were back against the wall.

It all moved fast after that. The doors behind us blew open, about a half dozen people in thick black Kelvlar armor pouring in. The screaming started. A smoke grenade hit the ground by my feet and I kicked it off the balcony, away from us, but it was too late. The balcony was thick with acidic smelling fog, and impossible to see more than a few feet. You could hear the guard struggling through the masses of people, toward their Queen, and others fighting off the intruders. Missy and I scrambled to the Queen, each of us taking her by each arm and trying to lead her away from the chaos, hopefully toward an escape. Then I heard a scream over my Bluetooth, standing out over the roars of the crowd. Rookie. It was followed by a horrible crunching noise, the Bluetooth being shattered.

A few members of the guard whisked the Queen away from us and I looked desperately for my friend. The most I saw was a flash of strawberry-blonde hair, surrounded by the warriors in black. I ran toward them, but my dress wrapped around my heels and I fell, chin hitting the marble balcony, my hands had moved to catch my fall too late. I clutched my jaw and got up, but they were gone. Missy ran up behind me, her hair so tangled it looked like Marie Antoinette with a bed head. Seuss stumbled up to us next, being helped along by Ox, whose wrist was turned at a horrible angle. Rookie had been taken, Dodge was no where to be seen. That’s when we heard it. Clear and loud, like a clap of thunder through a storm. A single gunshot. Then the Queen slumped to the deck.