Before anyone came back to my hospital room, I put on the clothes I had been wearing before I had run into the stupid police car and hid the unflattering night gown thing the hospital supplied. I silently kicked out the window in my- the- room and made my escape.

     My Gosh, I hate cops!

     "Eh-hem," someone cleared their throat in front of me, making me jump.

     "Okay, this is the second time today that someone has scared me! That's not okay with me!" It's not very good for me, either, since I'm supposed to be the most developed spy there is. I didn't say that part out loud because I had absolutely no idea who this woman was. Thus, I asked brilliantly and completely originally and unexpectedly, "Who are you? And why are you here?"

     Smiling slightly, she said, "My name is Meena. I'm your ride."

     "I don't need a ride," I said. "I'm a very independent person. And I'm seventeen; I can drive."

     "Delilah, I realize all of this. Just get in the car." Her smile was gone and she seemed slightly irritated. I decided to be cooperative until I knew what was going on. Of course, that didn't mean I couldn't still ask questions, now, did it?

     I squinted at Meena as I sat in the patent brown leather of the front seat.

     "I call shotgun," I joked feebly in an attempt to break the awkward silence in the car. Meena just looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I looked out the window at the landscape flying by, mad that she hadn't at least appreciated my trying, seeing as we were stuck together. About ten minutes later, I looked back at her. "Okay, look. I don't know you; you don't really know me. I can't try and make friends with you; I don't think I wanna be enemies. Can't you just help me out a bit here? And why are you wearing a suit? You look like a stuck-up, pompous brat."

     "Oh. Well, thank you. I always love hearing that. Job requires it. Remember, I'm your ride. Why are you wearing that? You look like a slut-stripper."

     "Job requires it," I said snidely. I scanned her flat brown pixie cut, clear face without makeup, gray pantsuit with pink camisole, and black flats. Then I thought of my outfit from bottom to top. Red stiletto heels, ripped and skinny blue jeans, red stomach shirt, word, brown leather jacket, face covered in layers of makeup, and long, shiny blonde hair worn down. "You realize that most of the people I have to track down are men. Today I was tracking a man. Tomorrow or the next day I'll probably be tracking a man, and I don't exactly know if I have time to change."

      Meena was looking at me amusedly. "You don't have anyone to track tomorrow. Or the next day," she added quickly before I could interrupt.

     "Well then, I'll be tracking someone the day after that. The point is, I'm tracking someone some time soon."

     "Okay. Well, see, my point is that you are not going to be tracking anyone in the near future. At all. And I really don't think that you've thought about the fact that I was sent to be your 'chauffeur' for a reason."

     "Hmmm... First of all, you have absolutely no idea what you're saying about my job. And, second of all, of course I've thought about that. I just haven't been nosy enough to ask. I mean, I know that I'm an amazing spy and all, much more amazing than you'll ever be," I added, "and that it's my job to be nosy, but you kinda hafta appreciate the fact that I'm trying to be cooperative."

     "I suppose I can sort of appreciate that. Even if it was completely unnecessary."