Chapter 1: Three Things That Will Make you Flip: D, Assassins, and a History Project


If I had known that I had to save my best friend from the hands of the most dangerous criminal leader before he died, I really wouldn’t have gotten up this morning, nevertheless go on a two day journey.

My and mom and I slept for four hours today, as usual, and I really don’t know how she stays so cheery. Maybe they give out pills called "Go away Grumpies!" Guaranteed to make you feel fresh, even if you’re not.

If so, I really need it. ASAP.

My alarm rang, so when I rolled over to see that it was 4 in the morning, I just kicked the sheet and silently karate chopped my alarm in half.

Sweet peace, until my phone alarm went off. Nooooo. I couldn’t karate chop my phone, so I slowly reached out and turned if off.

I moaned, envying my friends who would have at least two more hours of sleep.

For me, there wasn’t any choice. In order to protect my secret, I had to get out of bed, I had to finish my homework, and I had to go to school.

Looks like today won’t be an exception.

I turned on the my bedside lamp and quickly covered it while I closed the dark curtains that hung from the ceiling. I didn’t want my mom to know I was awake yet. Better yet, I didn’t want my dad to know at all.

I got up, and sat down at the old cedar desk that my mom had as kid. The cedar smelled warm apple pie and even thought it was scuffed up, and chipped at sides, nothing else felt better than that.

Well, except for my bed. Maybe not, on second of thought.

While going through the all of the stuff that was piled on there, I found the exact thing I wasn’t hoping I could find.

Other than birthday invitations, chocolate wrappers and other crud, I had one important document, my history project.

My best friend since forever, Damien Richards and I teamed up to do it. We were assigned this project as 50% of our grade from the hyper, yapping Mrs. Leborn. It was to write a paper talking about ourself in general, and a little bit about our family.

Easy enough, right?

You wish. Nothing’s easy when you’re a Lemondola.

And why didn’t I do this?

Oh that’s right: Because you were busy texting Paulina, and you told yourself you would do it in the morning.

I did convince myself to do it in the morning since I was texting Paulina Demos, my closest friend since 3rd grade to help me with some math, since she was in Algebra I, and I was in a regular math class this year.

It was hard and since my nights were occupied, I couldn’t have her over for even a half an hour.

Bad move, Clara.

When I first got the project, I thought that it wouldn’t be that hard at first to write about myself, but what would I write?

Definitely not: “Hi! My name is Clarissa Aventurine Lemondola. My dad’s one of the world’s richest and nicest people, and I’m a hired assassin killing criminals with my mom.”

It’s not even funny.

I really am an assassin, and not the ones you would see in stereotype movies with the shady looks and bad catchphrases.

Assassins were always good, even though history (and everybody else in the world) pictured us as bad guys.

I’m part of this group called ANW, or Assassins Nationwide which takes in kids as young as 5 to be trained and target bad guys, like criminals who caused serious murder, or other deadly trouble the world wants to get rid of.

I really don’t need to explain it right?

I better not anyway. If there’s one villain I would never wanted to face in my life, it would be Rachel Lemondola. A.K.A my mom and ANW’s leader.

Also the most wanted assassin in the world. As if my life wasn’t already complicated enough.

I really have a good reputation for both of my lives.

So how were people recruited?

Good question.

My mom’s whole family since the beginning of time (or the 17th century) were ANW leaders, and when I completed the final level of an assassin, which means turning 13, that responsibility came to me, since my mom had it now.

So why would you give a teenager in charge of a world-class criminal organization?

The million-dollar questions just keep rolling in.

I could get full leadership if I want or I could wait until I’m 18. Besides, I still have non-assassin works ahead of me, like school and how to be a teenager.

Anyway, the leader would choose kids they thought were worthy and would teleport them to the headquarters in Los Angeles, California, where I live and have lived my whole life.

Then, if you liked it, you could join. If you don’t, you would be memory wiped, and it would be like it never happened.

That part was creepy, even though it was better than going up to a kid and saying, “Congrats kid! You’re an assassin. You’ve got 10 minutes to decide if you want to accept this offer or you will be memory wiped.”

On second of thought, the teleporting was a better idea. Once you’re in, you get a uniform, get weapons, and start to get trained. I’ll explain more in a bit.

Yes, everything will piece together as we continue.

Moving on.

When you turn 13, like I said before, you level up to be an “adult” assassin, and with four other assassins you trust, you get to go on missions. I liked that part the most.

Now, here’s the twist: each ANW assassin has to wear an eye mask, to cover their identity. You guessed it: you have no idea who the other person is, until you form your own group at 13.

Hold up: I bet you’re wondering what type of organizations kills people, but the people killing them don’t even know each other? Like my mom says, “It’s for our own good.” And for publicity.

There are assassin tribes all around the world who don’t do this, but Giovanni Lemondola, my great, great, great grandma created this organization 300 years ago not to be a hero, but to make a change to the changing world.

We’re only called by the first letter of our names, until we get our codenames when we level up. For example, I’m called C, but my mom is known as Poppy, her codename. Like I also said before, we wear masks, like the one you would see in a carnival in Venice, Italy.

It’s hard to notice a person, trust me. When I was little, I would try to peel off some of the other assassin’s masks, but I swear, those stuck like sticky glue!

I’m getting off topic. Back to the history project.

My family? Easy. I was an only child, and I had no cousins. My parents were also only children, even though when I asked my mom about it, she would just change the subject. That was quite suspicious. I didn’t ask about it though since assassins liked to protect their privacy a lot. It was the number one thing that made sense.

My grandparents from my dad’s side were alive, even though my mom’s dad died when I was five. I had a few second cousins, but other than that, it gets lonely, to be honest.

Being an only child is not fun most of the time, especially when your dad’s in charge of a multi-dollar business, which means I only get to spend time with him on the weekends and if I’m lucky, maybe on late nights.

But because of my mom and Damien, it isn’t super bad having no siblings. They make it up 120%.

About myself? That was easy too. I live in Los Angeles for all my life, and I loved anything sweet. I could get a sugar rush easily, so people kept their distance when I went with them to get anything sweet.

I was considered popular, but to anybody who didn’t know me personally. I honestly didn’t care, since I had friends and everything I needed. That wasn’t a lot, and I like it that way.

Being a billionaire’s daughter was sweet, and came with some perks, like being invited to mingle with the rich and famous, but I like having some peace and quiet sometimes. I had enough going on in the night.

Just as I was about to write about my ancestors, the door opened, and my mom came in. I ran to my bed and hid under my blanket. My mom chuckled.

“Clara, I brought some hot chocolate,” my mom persuaded me, as she tried to yank my covers off.

“We had a late night,” she spoke.

Don’t remind me.

As a level 2, I practiced with everybody ranging from 10-12 years old, girls and boys. I don’t mind everybody except for one person.


Don’t get wrong. I’m good with most people, but there are some exceptions.

D joined at the same time I did and my mom wanted us to get to know each other, so she paired us up.

We were both only 5, but for some reason, our tempers both flared up, and the next thing we knew, we were fighting like level 3’s.

Ever since then, we’ve both made excuses or fought each other, and my mom doesn’t say anything about it. I have a gut feeling it could be her work that this ever happened.

I really want to find out who D is, and maybe even be friends.

Like that would ever happen.

I shook my head of the thought.

When my great, great, great, great, grandmother started this group, she obviously wanted to hide people so they wouldn’t be targeted. So, she had the great idea of training people in the dead of night. Then, they could get stronger without enemies noticing.

Just wonderful for people who want to get some sleep in the 21st century.

Wait, did people actually get sleep before technology came around?

I perked up at the smell of my mom’s homemade hot chocolate. It was a family recipe, and could make you feel like you could throw a car at one sip.

Of course my mom wouldn’t share the recipe until I’m a leader.

As my mom turned around and went out the door, I sat up. I grabbed my phone and quickly texted Damien.

If we didn’t get an A on our history project, I would end up with a B as my final grade.

It’s a recipe of disaster in my family since everybody I knew honored high grades.

I hoped Damien would get this message and try and finish his side of the project before it was due, or my grade was done before I could say hot chocolate.

Next Chapter: Chapter 2: Don’t prank your leader