Spycraft Academy by B. Miles (little readers .txt) 📕

you in?" Sam turned his attention to his roommate, tuning the girls out while they debated the moral implications of leading people on.

Fletch shook his head, "The offer is appreciated, but as I said, I am a lone wolf."

"Seriously?" Drina abruptly dropped her conversation and swiveled her head in Fletch's direction. "What is it? You want to work with nobles or something?"

"Not at all." Fletch shrugged. "I am simply not a good team player. You wouldn't want me on your crew. I don't listen and I think my ideas are the only good ones. But I will gladly help you when you need it—just as a third party, is all."

Drina's upturned nose crinkled and she leaned in a little closer to him. "You're a little brat, aren't you?"

"Entirely."

"I know how to take care of that." She wiggled her eyebrows and Fletch huffed out a laugh.

"Darling, you are entirely barking up the wrong tree."

"Oh, I know. It is so fun to try, though."

Mattie giggled, shoving Drina's shoulder and chastising her for being so shameless.

Sam quietly drank his water and considered that his roommate might be a lunatic. Nobody sane worked alone, and no straight man would say that Drina wasn't his . . . Oh.

"You don't like women?"

All three of them burst into loud, full-bellied laugher at his expense. Sam just pursed his lips. How was he supposed to know without being told? He wasn't psychic, for spirits' sake.

"Har-har." Sam rolled his eyes and the three of them quieted down to minimum chuckling.

"Oh, Sam. You are a precious gem." Fletch said. "I'm sure your crew will do fine without me. However, as I said, I can assist you if you need it."

He sure hoped so. As it stood, they were only three people strong, while it looked like the other students had four or more to a table. They had to find two more people at a minimum, but there didn't look to be any students left to take in. As Sam quietly raised his hand to ask for seconds, he had to wonder how much time they had before they went into a combat class, and how many people would target them due to their small number.

The servant set another plate in front of him. As he ate, he listened to his roommate and his two crew members chat about their experiences and their families. All the while, though, he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He seemed to be getting that sensation quite a lot within the past few hours.

As he glanced around, his eyes landed on a table far away from his. That nobleman, Delcan, was staring right at him, and he did not look happy.

5

When Sam awoke for his first day of class, it was just breaking dawn. He'd been handed his schedule the evening before and planned to get up earlier to get some exercise in, but dinner had thoroughly tuckered him out last night. He hadn't ever gone to sleep with such a full stomach, and it dragged him down into the dregs of his dreams like an anchor at sea.

"Fletch," He called to the pile of blankets on the other side of the room. The pile of blankets didn't answer.

Sam sighed and threw his pillow. It bounced off Fletch and the other man groaned. "Leave me be, you beast."

"No, get up. It's time to get ready."

"Five more minutes, Mother."

"Fine. Be late." Sam stood up and stretched his arms high above his head. "And if you get any points deducted right out the gate, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Ugh. Fine." Fletch popped up like a spring daisy, his hair a knotted mess and his eyes heavy.

"Attaboy." Sam pulled his shirt off and grabbed another—the only other shirt he had—out of his pack. He did the same with his pants and smoothed his hair down with his hand. He was already wide awake by the time he strode for the front door.

"Wait a minute, Sam. You aren't seriously going out in that outfit."

"Uh . . ." Sam spun around and looked down at his clothes. They seemed fine to him. He'd even washed them.

"You are so lucky I'm you're roommate." Fletch rolled off the mattress and lumbered to the green trunk at the foot of his bed. Even half-asleep, he managed to move gracefully. Fletch threw the lid up and rifled through his things for a moment before Sam's face was full of clothing.

"Your clothes don't match and they're old. You're practically begging those talentless swine to target you."

"Gee, thanks," Sam muttered, holding up a shirt in front of him. At least he wasn't a talentless swine, so that was something.

He fingered the material in his hands. It was soft and thin, like muslin but not quite. Maybe cotton, but not like any cotton he'd felt before. It was soft grey, like the color of a far-away storm. Sam hesitantly changed his clothes, handling the shirt as if it were precious.

"These too." Fletch launched more clothes at him and that time, Sam caught them. They were trousers, equally soft and fine, and they were as black as Drina's hair. He carefully exchanged his clothes and they fit perfectly. He looked down at himself and grinned. If the guys at home could see him now, they'd bow and call him 'm'lord' before cackling at his audacity.

"Wow, thank you." He'd never worn anything so fine. Sam walked to the mirror, inspecting his reflection. If he had some good boots and a quality cape, he might even pass as a noble, or a merchant at the very least.

"Keep them, I have plenty."

Three sharp knocks interrupted Sam's admiration, and when he realized that he was ogling himself, he stepped away from the mirror.

"You getting up anytime soon?" Mattie called through the wood.

"I'm coming," Sam called back, glancing up at Fletch to see if he was going to tag along. His roommate waved him away with a sleepy yawn.

"Hurry up. I'm starving," Drina called. His new crewmember was