So there I was, Elizabeth Evangeline Ebo, running from the most wanted criminal in New York. He certainly looked like a criminal! Beady black eyes, like an eagle’s, hidden under long bushy eyebrows, a long, grey, scraggly beard, and that look on his face that said,” YOU WILL PAY! I WILL GET YOU! YOU BETTER RUN FROM ME!!!” And so I was. Running, I mean.  Running with the most wanted criminal in New York on my tail. And he hadn’t become the MWC (most wanted criminal) for stealing little kids’ lollipops in the park, if you know what I mean. I gulped. Why did I get myself in these situations?
It was all because of my mom! She was a spy for the CIA and, of course, wanted me to follow in her footsteps. There was just one problem: I wasn’t good at being a spy. The only thing that I was really good at was writing poetry. It calms me. Now that I think about it, I could use some calm now. I cleared my throat an began:

An Ode To Crazy My Life:
As I run from mad men bad
I think my situation sad
Because the man is really mad
Is this a new passing fad?
To be chased by one who is wearing plaid?
As you can tell I am not glad
If only I had my deadbeat dad
Who died fighting for the CIA lads

I was brought out of my glorious poem writing when I heard a loud ,”Smash!!!!!!”  The sound of breaking glass filled the air as glass shards ricocheted of the brick wall in front of me. I faltered midstep and glanced behind me. I was just in time to see a glass projectile whistling toward my face. Holy guacamole! That crazy MWC was throwing glass bottles at me!
I quickly ducked into an alley to escape the glass shards, but a few pieces of glass still stung my face. OW! That hurt! Unfortunately, I had no time to mourn my wounds, for I still ran from danger, which, at the moment, was gaining on me. I tried to increase speed, but I was already flagging. There was nothing to do, nothing that could help me, no way I could escape my hazardous situation… except for the backup plan. The plan that would show that I truly was desperate.  A plan that was… my mother.
If I had enough breath, I would have sighed. Instead, I unzipped my jacket and slid my hand into my secret pocket. It was right over my heart, and I could hear my heart pounding wildly as I ran without a plan. I pulled out my cell phone, its shiny face reflecting off the sun. Now, you have to understand, my cellphone is way cooler than the cell phones regular teenagers own. But then, I wasn’t a regular girl.
  Glancing over my shoulder, I saw another bottle coming straight for me. I ducked into another alleyway. I knew I had to act quickly. The message to my mom, (in all caps) read,” HE’S AFTER ME! HELP! SOS! DANGER!” I know, very slick. But can you blame me? I was getting more anxious by the minute.
All the sudden, I heard a loud “DING!” from my phone. Her response to my plight: a street address.  I plugged it in to the GPS on my phone. It was only a few blocks away, but it would be a close shave. The distance between us was decreasing. We were like two magnets, irresistibly being pulled together. Well, this magnet wasn’t going up without a fight. I pressed forward, my breath coming in soft jerks and the stitch in my side getting more painful by the minute. No, cross that. It wasn’t a stitch in my side; it was two stitches, one on each side! I didn’t even know that was possible!
I was so preoccupied by my thoughts that I hadn’t realized how close I was getting to my destination- my mom, and with her, freedom! I looked back once more and suddenly a strong arm reached out from a black car idling on the curb and pulled me in. I looked up at the pretty face with straight brown hair that ran in waves and intense brown eyes attached to a lean body, which, at the moment, still had a hand attached to my shirt. I sighed inwardly and said,” Hi mom.”
You see, my mom is a CIA agent. A really good agent. Everyone we meet (in the spy industry, of course) looks awed to be standing in the presence of such a mastermind. And, as her daughter, I am supposed to be as good as she is someday. They all expect to hear of my extraordinary talent, but for some reason, I don’t seem to have one. I cringe when I see the disappointment when they study me with their judging gazes. That was why this mission was going to be different. I was going to finish the job, without any help. To show her that I was worthy. But I had failed.
My mission was simple. Find out where our MWC, otherwise known as Luther Zabel, was staying. All that was required of me was to unobtrusively trail Luther without his notice until I could find out the location of his den.  The hope was, being younger, I would attract less attention and escape his notice. One problem: Mr. Zabel was crazy paranoid. He had eventually spotted me stalking him and got really mad. Apparently, he is known for escaping being trailed. Since his honor was on the line (did he even have honor?) and since he was a psychopath anyway, he started chasing me. And throwing bottles at me. And hurtling unpleasant adjectives in my direction. In all, it had been a most unsatisfactory day. I had failed. Again.
Ten minutes later, we arrived at our apartment. It took so long because the driver insisted on doing evasive maneuvers to throw off anyone who might be following us.
I walked in the kitchen and hopped on the counter. My mom followed me and started rummaging around in the refrigerator.  I knew what I had to do. Quickly, before I could lose my nerve, I blurted out,” I’m sorry I failed you Mom. I’m just not cut out to be a spy.”
She looked over at me and said, concerned,” You didn’t fail honey! No! It just takes time to be a spy. It’s really hard. In fact, when I was training to be a spy, I was so bad that everyone laughed at me. They told me to ‘go back where I belong’. But even though being a spy was hard, I had the greatest gift of all: grit. I refused to stop training; instead I trained harder! I became the best spy in the CIA, and now, everyone denies that they doubted me.”
I listened, entranced. Wow! I never knew that about my mom! If she could do it, so could I! Suddenly, my mom walked over and gave me a hug. “I believe in you honey! “. Perhaps being a spy wasn’t so bad after all.