"I kind of like things slightly out of tune. It makes me feel... intoxicated almost... but in a good way. Like I'm at a carnival in a dream. Not sure that makes sense, but I do have pretty good pitch recognition. I see colors for different key signatures, notes, etc."- Christine Anderson

Prologue

Most people get normal jobs during their high school career.

Is bounty hunting considered normal?

"Ok, ok. Let's not panic. Let's not- oh, who am I kidding? WERE GOING TO DIE!" Screamed my best friend, as she dramatically collapsed, and landed in the bathtub.

"Chloe, get a hold of yourself! Were in a bathroom! Hasn't CSI taught you anything? Everything is a weapon!" I hissed through my teeth; as I viciously yanked open some of the drawers in the bathroom, hoping to find something to defend Chloe and I with. Chloe then sat up a bit, and said, "No, no. I'm ready to die, Esmeralda. This is the end. I have the ability to accept that. Even though I never got to sell my kidney to buy a pony, or do cartwheels on the Great Wall of China, I'm ready to die."

There was then a loud banging on the door, reminding me and Chloe that we weren't alone.

"Hey, this guy has hairspray!" I stated as I flung open a cabinet door to find a pink spray bottle. Chloe and I were currently in the house of our latest charge, Mathew Coy (26, Caucasian, lives at 5769 Wilson Street. No known relatives, no known girlfriend.) He was originally arrested for shoplifting, made bail, and missed his court date. So, my cousin, who owns a bonds agency, and sometimes gives us small and easy cases, sent us after him. Well, actually I blackmailed him into giving me and Chloe cases, because we kind of owed somebody money for a blackjack incident last spring.

As it so happens, it turns out Mathew is totally sober, clean, slightly rich, and has a knife collection.

Hey, who knew?

"I think there are more pressing issues at the moment, than what hair products this guy uses!" Muttered Chloe, as she closed her eyes, her blonde hair everywhere, and laid in the bathtub as if she was in a coffin.

"Weren't you just five seconds ago insisting that we were going to die?" I asked, as I read the label on the hairspray bottle. I sat it on the counter, and continued to go through drawers.

"Oh, we are. But I don't want to spend my last moments on earth discussing hairspray. I'd rather be depressed and think of all the things I didn't get to do! Let's see, I didn't get to go to Vegas, have a lesbian experience, spend time in a hospital…"

"I WILL GIVE YOU THIRTY SECONDS TO OPEN THAT DOOR!" Screamed Mathew from the other side, as I took a brief moment to panic and then continued looking for weapons.

"…roller skate in the school hallway, work as a barmaid, get stuck in an elevator…"

"TWENTY SECONDS!"
Hum, a hairdryer…

"…have sex in a graveyard, sing karaoke, cheat on a boyfriend, see London…"

"TEN SECONDS!"

Ok, ok, I can save us with hairspray and a hairdryer. Why does this dude have these things? It didn't say he had a girlfriend in his file…
"…pass my drivers test, despite the fact that I've taken it six times, jump off a cliff and live, lick a pole in winter, meet a nun…"
"I'M COMIN IN!" Mathew yelled. He then proceeded to kick the door open. Dang, this guy has strong legs! I was standing just far away enough from the door so it wouldn't hit me. There he stood in the doorway, knife in hand. I then held up the hairspray…

…and sprayed him in the eyes.

"OMIGOD! BITCH!" He insulted me, as he put a hand to his eyes and cowered backwards.

"I am not a female dog, thank you very much!" I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, as I whacked him upside the head with the blue hairdryer. Mathew Coy then collapsed into a heap on the floor.

Holy crap, I am amazing!

But, just then, another guy appeared behind him. Thing is, this guy had a gun. He didn't look threatening, in fact, he was pretty cute. He had dirty blonde hair, and dashing brown eyes. He was about my age. He was simply standing over the man, looking at me with a perplexed look on his face.

Wait, did I just use the word dashing? Dang you Jane Austen!

Anyways, even though he didn't look threatening, my eyes were stuck on that gun. A gun for god's sake! Thus, you really can't blame me for what I did next.

"DIE!" I shouted, as I brought the hairdryer down on the second guy's head. He then collapsed on top of Mathew.

Wow, they would be a really awkward gay couple!

"OMIGOD! Esmeralda, you just knocked out a hot guy!" Chloe shouted. She had apparently gotten out of the bathtub, and was now standing beside me.

"I don't get it, Coy didn't have any known relatives. Who is this guy?" I said, as I ripped my gaze away from the small hand gun, and looked at my best friend. Chloe, in return, shrugged and said, "Beats me. Why don't you look for a wallet or something?"

"Chloe, this isn't CSI. We can't just go searching unconscious people!" I protested, albeit weakly.

"First of all, they search dead people, not unconscious people. Second of all, he's hot, and he's knocked out! He's not going to know."
I then gave in. Hey, I am a teenage girl. I simply rolled my eyes in response to Chloe's comment, bent down, and began feeling in the pockets of the unconscious teen.

"Feeling him up…" Muttered Chloe, in a singsong voice, as she did a little jig behind me. "This was your idea!" I hissed, as my hands found a leather wallet. I took the wallet out, and opened it. Chloe crouched behind me so she could see.

"Alex Rider, Chelsea Britain."