NEW STORY! Ha. I love that feeling. Jeeeeeesh. To those that are reading this, who have never read my work before, please don't be alarmed by long Author Notes. If you hate them, skip 'em. That's my daily advice for you! Haha. Okaaaay. So I've been wanting to put my own little spin on the idea of a girl dressing up as a guy - yada, yada, yada - because I recently read The Twelth Night and I was in the mood. I haven't written in a while, and exams are in eight days and I've got work and blah, blah, blah. STOP MAKING EXCUSES HOLLY! Ha. Ignore that. I really am quite sane. Ish. So I claim this - Holly Sarena Frankham hereby owns this story - now you can't steal it. And nobody stalk me, okay? It takes a lot of balls to put my last name up here. Alright, alright, I'm shutting up now. Enjoy the story.

Standing in front of the reception desk at F. Benjamin Academy for Boys was not what I had in mind. However, when you pull the short straw in the CIA, there’s not much you can do about it. You’d probably think that the CIA would be a lot more professional than that, but you’d be mistaken. Especially when it came to YOWU (Younger Operatives Working Undercover).

“What’s your name, son?” The woman asked me. Her red hair was wiry, and was flying everywhere. It was so tempting to offer her some advice on which frizz-control shampoo she could use, but then I remembered that I was supposed to be a boy.

“Robert Elliot Lindeman,” I replied, cringing a little. Okay, so I hadn’t exactly lied. My name was Roberta Elle Lindeman, so I was just using the male version of my name. It was innocent, I guess. “But most people call me Robbie.”

The woman smiled, before typing into her computer. Her acrylic nails tapped irritably. That was one sound I couldn’t sound - acrylic nails tapping. Probably because my dysfunctional mother - who happened to abandon when I was six years old to live with a Persian prince - used to always have them. Whenever she would - rarely - pick me up, they would scratch against me. I used to call them her ‘tiger claws’ and they scared the beejeezus out of me.

“Alright, Robbie, here’s your timetable and your map. I’ve marked your dormitory with a small star, and your roommate should already be there. Classes start 9am Monday,” I quickly took the slips of paper and started to back away. How the hell was I going to pull this off. “Oh and Robbie!”

I turned to smile at her, but then I remembered that boys don’t smile like girls, so I had to change it into some form of a grimace - God, this was too hard. “Yes?”

“Have a good weekend.” She winked at me, and then went back to her computer screen. Oh lord. The receptionist just hit on me! Ew. That goes to a whole other level of wrongness. I should probably explain how I got into this mess anyway.

So, I’ve already mentioned YOWU and the whole CIA deal. That bucket of fish was opened back when I was about eight. By now, my father was never at home and I’d developed a relationship with the cook named Jacque. Just after my birthday, my teacher chose three of us from our class and asked us to take a test. Turns out that I passed with flying colours, therefore I was taken away - not that my dad would’ve noticed - to another school where they trained me with three other kids to become the next saviours of the United States of America.

For eight years of my life, I have known four kids who have become my family. Considering I was the only girl on the team, I was pretty tough from being bullied into the hard stuff. No one ever took pity on me, which for that, I was thankful. I was no charity case.

Our little YOWU team consisted of - other than myself - Joe Kitchener (the cocky and athletic one), Marc Willows (the really clever spy gadget geek) and Lance Gregors (the suave, con-artist). Each of them was like a brother to me, and despite the fact that the CIA were concerned of… hormonal changes in all of us, I could never look at any of them like that. Talk about incest.

Now, how out of three guys, was I the one who was chosen to attend an all boys school? As I was saying before, straws are huge in the CIA.

When the Suits - that’s what we all called the big guys - came to us with this mission, none of the guys wanted to do it. To be honest, I didn’t even think I was a candidate. I was chilling out in the lounge of our shared condo in Malibu, when they marched in with Joe, Marc and Lance in tow.

“Be serious, man! Why do we have to stick around with that dork of a kid?” Lance moaned, flopping himself onto the couch next to me, narrowly missing my legs. I kicked him hard, making him fall off and yelp. “What the hell Robbie?”

“Don’t sit on my legs.” I growled, then turned to smile at the Suits. “Now what’s this about a dorky kid case?”

Suit number One looked down at me through his shades - or at least, I thought so. It was kinda hard to tell where he was looking. “Dr. Hugh Ramirez is currently in CIA custody from a possible suspect who may be trying to get some of the research that is on his laptop. He has a son, who he is incredibly worried about, and has requested some CIA protection. Now, due to the fact that his son attends a boys-only boarding school, it would be too suspicious to have a couple of body guards hanging around him. So, that is where YOWU comes in.”

“I’m way too busy with my own research!” Marc complained, barely looking up from the papers he was rifling through. “I can’t possibly deal with some spoilt brat!”

“I’ve booked myself in for a combat course for the next four months,” Joe said. He slurped from his disgusting protein shake. “Sorry, dude.”

Both Suits looked towards Lance. “No way, nah-ah. I’ve met this kid and we do not get along. I’m not dealing with him.”

“Well somebody has to do it guys! You guys have a duty to the country! This kid is part of America.” I tried to reason, sitting up straight. Everyone turned to look at me, which kind of made me feel a little weird. I ducked my head, and fidgeted my hands.

Joe clicked his fingers and smiled. “Straws.”

“What?” we all turned to him and asked. Joe rolled his eyes as if he was dealing with infants.

“Straws! You know, the one who pulls the shortest has to deal with this kid?” We all nodded catching on. “So, I’ll cut up some straws and-”

“Wait, wait, wait, just a minute!” Suit number Two yelled, making me jump a little. “Straws are a bit juvenile. This case is major and serious, and straws is not to way to deal with this! So why don’t you all grow up, and decide like adults who’s going to take this case.”

Joe, Marc, Lance and I all glanced at each other. “Straws,” we said in unison.

After a few seconds, Joe came towards the sofa with four straws. I stared at him in puzzlement. “Why are there four? There’s only three of you.”

All three of them laughed. Lance shook his head playfully. “Oh Robbie, Robbie, Robbie. You’re part of this team too. Where we go, you go.”

“What?” I shrieked. “But it’s an all-boys school! Meaning I’d have to be a boy! Which I am not!”

Again they laughed. “Take a straw, Rob.”

I huffed, and snatched one out of his hand, praying to God that I didn’t get the case. How the hell was I supposed to become a boy? Each of the guys took one, and turned to me.

“Ready?” Marc said, making sure we all nodded. “One, two, three!”

Each of us pulled our straws out to compare sizes and guess who got the short one? That’s right - me.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled. My brain was spinning. This had to be a joke, right? The Suits weren’t going to allow me to go to an all-boys school and pretend to be a boy! That was impossible to even pull off! “You can’t let me go!”

“Sorry, Roberta.” Suit number One said apologetically.

“You resorted to immature reasoning, we resort to immature placing.” Suit number Two piped in.

This was stupid, so stupid. It was unfair as well! After all the bullying I’d been put through, after all the manipulation, and I still had to go through hell? I hated this damn job.

I stared up at them in defiance. Sure, I was going to do the job, but I sure as hell didn’t want to and I was going to make sure they knew that. “What do I have to do?”

So that’s how I got stuck in front of Room 324, suitcase in hand. My hand hovered above the wood preparing itself to knock. Shit, here I go.

I brought it down, rapping sharply. Part of me wanted to run, part of me wanted nobody to be in, but part of me almost wanted to experience the adventure. I closed my eyes and bit my lip in anticipation.

The door swung open to show a cute looking guy with shaggy brown hair sweeping across his forehead. He had an arrogant look on his forward, and leant on the door. “Who the hell are you?”

“Jason Ramirez?” I asked tentatively. “I’m Robbie - your new roommate.”