Dear Journal,

I am starting this journal because I believe writing down my feelings, and experiences is the only way I can keep track of my life. I need something to reference to, so I can untangle all the mysteries and problems that are thrown my way. No, these are not normal teenage girls' problems, they go much deeper. In order to explain I must start at the beginning.

There is much about me that I don't tell anyone. More specifically because I can't. My name is Marissa Klayton, I am 15 years old, and I live in a suburb just outside downtown Los Angeles California, at least for the time being. Well, that is what I want the people here at my new school (Morrison High School) to think.

The truth is my name is actually Kalyia Maddon, I am really 16 years old, and I work for the Central Intelligence Agency. Hard to believe, right?

Ten years ago, at the age of 6, I was put up for adoption. Before that I don't remember who took care of me. Anyway, after that, I was taken care of by a man, named Mr. Williams. He adopted me, or so I believed. The truth is, he was an undercover agent for the CIA. He was placed as my guardian so he could train me to be a full-fledged agent.

After my training was finished, I was signed onto the CIA board. Now, I move from family to family, posing as an exchange student, or a relative, so I can complete my mission without my cover being discovered. Even the families I stay with don't know what I do. They are told that I am a foster child, or an exchange student, looking for a temporary home. I am given my mission, and off I go to live with a new family.

As I said, right now I am a 15-year-old girl, named Marissa Klayton, who is an exchange student from Italy, staying with Mr. and Mrs. Morton. I have a "sister", Ann, who is 15, and a "younger brother" named Alex, who is 7. We just moved here because my "adopted father", Mark, got a new job. That pretty much sums up what is happening right now.

Except there is one more thing I have yet to clarify. My mission, my mission is that there have been some strange disappearances among the high school students. Three teenage girls have gone missing. There is evidence that these disappearances are not random happenings, that they have some sort of twisted purpose. They each happened one night apart from each other, and they all disappeared from the same place. Outside of Morrison High School.

Therefore, my mission is to figure out this mess, find the missing students, and stop the kidnapper.

The first day at a new school is something I am very used to. Although, I never have seemed to be able to get used to it. These new people aren't anyone I know, or ever will know, because I never have time to make friends with these people. To me their faces will always be blank and sometimes suspicious. I try not to get to know anyone to well for the possibility that my cover might be blown.

If they figure out even one of my secrets, It could blow my cover, leaving my self, and the agency incredibly vulnerable. No one can know who I really am, or why I'm really here.

Today, unfortunately was no different than other first days, the curious stares, the annoyed teachers, the dirty hallways et cetera. It is pretty easy for me to act like a normal high school teenager, because I fit the part. I am 5'6" not that tall, but not that short either, and I have long, strait brown hair, which goes nicely with my light, hazel eyes.

Well, here goes nothing; one more day of hiding my true identity and another day of pretending to be interested in what the teachers are saying. Ugh, now I have to go to English class. (Not exactly my best subject, not my favorite either. It's always so boring.) Oh well, I guess it's better than being stuck in a foreign language class that I am already fluent in. That's just plain treacherous.

"Miss. Klayton? Can you please find a seat?"

Oops. I was so busy feeling sorry for myself, I didn't realize class had started. "Oh, yes, sorry." I answered. I walked towards the center of the classroom, searching for an open seat. I flushed when I realized everyone was staring at me. Gathering as much composure as I could call upon, I scrambled into a seat in the back. So much for going unnoticed. I thought.

The people that I noticed first were this guy sitting in the front row, he has short, curly blond hair, and seems way over confidant. I figure he is probably the most popular guy in school, and a jock, which would explain the letterman jacket. He seemed a bit too at ease. Another person that I noticed was a girl; she has really long, strawberry-blond hair, and seems a little out of place. I'll take her as the new girl or at least the new girl before I got here. You can just see how nervous she is, and how shy she feels just by looking at her posture.

Then of course I saw my "sister" Ann, who has shoulder length curly brown hair, and blue eyes. She is very simple, and elegant, and has guys drooling over her. Basically, I wouldn't doubt that she would enter the popular clique very soon. She sits 2 rows over from me, which seems like a million miles, right now she is my only friend, or at least someone I can talk to. Aside from spilling my secrets of course. Even so, she knew me better than any of these other kids. I have always come off as shy because I never try to make friends at my new schools, I always know that if I do, it will just be harder for me when I must leave. Ann was glancing around the room as well, probably deciding who she would like to introduce herself to, or possibly become friends with.

Not me. I was glancing around trying to see if anyone seemed suspicious, so far, no luck. This batch of kids, seemed about as evil as a stuffed Beanie Baby. I don't see why the agency sent me here, I mean really, could one of these kids be a kidnapper, or even know any bad secrets other than who has a crush on whom? I guess time will tell.

~Kalyia (A.K.A. Marissa)

Dear Journal,

After School when I got home, I slumped up the stairs to my room, wallowing in my disappointment of not learning anything today at school. It seemed like a total waste. I wondered why the agency even wanted someone undercover on this mission. It's not like they normally do that in cases for missing people. Oh well, orders were orders, I guess. My heart fluttered, and my hopes grew when I walked into the room and found a note on my bed; it was written in Italian, the reason, because no one in the Morton family speaks Italian. So the message was safe from being read by a member of the family who wasn't supposed to see it. It read:

Vengalo a contatto di dietro

la libreria a 6:00 della sera.

Translation: Meet me behind the library at 6:00 in the evening. Obviously my contact. I always wondered how they could slip in, and leave notes undetected. Especially since my "adopted" mother Juliana is here all day. You'd think she would notice a complete stranger walking through the house, and placing a note on my bed. But no, they never do. Throughout all my missions, my cover had only once been blown, and that was my fault, not my contacts.

"Marissa, can you come down here?" Juliana called from the 1st floor.

My room is on the 3rd floor; I share a room with Ann, although there is a partition in between our sides of the room. The room is baby pink, not the color I would have chosen, but hey, I can't really be picky. I have a twin sized bed pushed into a corner of the rectangle room, a small bedside table, with a drawer. Which houses one very important thing; a blue box, not very big, but large enough to fit my journal, cell phone, agency messages, my badge, and an electronics identification book.

This box is very important to me, because it holds my real life. All of my secrets are hidden in that box. Kept safe with a combo lock, a key lock, and an electronic password lock. No one, I mean no one, but me, can see its contents. If someone did, it would cause chaos.

"Sure, Juliana, I'll be right down." I replied as I snapped shut the locks on the box and ran down the stairs. Nearly tripping down the spiral staircase when I rounded the last corner. I stood in front of Juliana awkwardly.

"Marissa, I know you just moved in and are probably a little uncomfortable still, but I want you to know you can tell me anything." She paused and gestured for me to sit down beside her. "I feel that there are some things that you aren't telling us."

I froze, could she be on to me already? Did she notice the contact's note? Sure, she was smart, she qualified in the near genius range the agency told me, but so soon? I had only lived under her roof for three days. I struggled to keep the panic from my face. "Oh, Is there anything you want to know?" I asked releasing my white knuckled fingers from their death grip on the chair. I slowly relaxed, not wanting to arouse any more suspicions.

"Well," She continued " There isn't much we know about you. Other than the fact you came here from Italy as an exchange student. One that might I add, seems to have no accent, or problem with the English language." She gave me a look of curiosity.

My heart slowed, and my breathing eased, as I tried to work myself into the part I was playing. I smiled and tried to seem as if I was trying hard to figure out the words I needed to use.

"Umm.. I have studied English for 7 years in school and I have always been told I have excellent pronunciation." I lied, nervously fingering the side of the chair. I looked up at her face and she smiled.

"Okay, I know, that it was in your information packet. Other than that, I still wonder why I never hear you speaking with an accent." She rolled her eye's "Nevermind, I'm babbling on and on about nothing."

"Oh, it's quite all right, I do the same thing myself." I admitted. I was playing the part of calm, and contained, but inside, I was a wreck. Not a very good thing for an agent, like me. Crap, the accent! The accent, I knew I was forgetting something. I thought, for accents had never been my strong point, and was what blew my cover that one time.

Juliana smiled knowingly. "On the other hand I would love to get to know you better, maybe later you could-" She was cut off by the sound of the front door swinging open, and the thud as a heavy bag hit the wooden floor of the entryway. I could smell the sweet scent of Ann's vanilla perfume fill the air.

"Hey mom! I'm home." Ann called cheerfully while walking into the room to give her mother a hug. I took that moment to slink back up the stairs to my room, take out my journal, and finish this entry, as I am doing now. As I just finished recording my conversation. I can hear her walking up the stairs.

I heard the door opening, and through my peripheral vision saw Ann, she smiled at me, then pulled away the partition, and sat on her bed tugging her school binder out of her bag. She started practicing her French.

"Salut," She said reading from her paper "Je ma pail-"

"-Je mappelle." I interrupted, correcting her pronunciation.

"Huh?" She shot me a confused glare, and I realized that I had just made a mistake. She doesn't know I speak french. She only knows I speak Italian and I am "Learning" English. Crap.

"How do you know that?" She sneered "You, don't speak french."

"How would you know?" I challenged. Why! Why did I do that?

"Qu'est-ce que tu fais le week-end?" She asked as if daring me to answer. Translation: What do you do on the weekends? A pretty simple question.

I replied with out thinking. "Je sors avec les copins, et je etudié." Saying that I go out with friends, (Not very true) and that I study, (very true.)

"You speak french!" She gasped incredibly surprised.

"Yeah, I do." I replied breezily, as if it was really no big deal, and it was just one to blow off calmly.

"Why wasn't that in your packet?" She asked curiously. A good question, but not one I feel like answering.

"Long Story, I don't want to get into it."

"Okay, that's fine. But one question." Good, I won't have to make a long, boring intricate story; short and sweet made easy.


"Will you help me with my french homework when I get stuck?" She asked with an angelic smile that made me nauseous.

"Yeah, sure, whatever." I answered vaguely.

I glanced at the purple clock on the wall. 5:45, I have 15 minutes to get to the library.

"I've got to go." I said while grabbing my coat. As this was happening, I realized, only after my coat was on, that my CIA badge was missing from my pocket.

"What's that?" Ann asked pointing to my badge which was lying on my bed but luckily is in a wallet like case.

"Oh, It's nothing." I replied hastily grabbing my badge, and leaving the room. Off to one more contact meeting. ~Kalyia (Marissa)

Dear Diary,

I keep thinking about what happened with Marissa. I know something is going on, she's keeping secrets. She speaks french, which wasn't on her records from the exchange student company, and when I glanced at her journal I didn't see the name she signed, but It wasn't Marissa. I know that much. She is hiding something, something big. Not something irrelevant like.I don't know, a boyfriend, she is keeping something from all of us. Plus, she has a cell phone, and someone called her on it the other day, speaking in another language, she claimed it was Italian, and that it was one of her friends calling, but I don't believe it. I don't she's an alien from another planet. Ha ha, I'm kidding.

This all seems like Déjá vu... I just can't remember where from. I'll remember, and I'll figure out what's going on. I always do.