I Think My Dad Is a Spy Read Online Free Page A

don’t really know her, know her; I just know her!” said Dad raising his voice. “Look, I am just doing mother a favour and you are just going to have to trust me Chelsea!” he said in a final manner.
    If you ask me I didn’t think Dad was making much sense and I don’t think Chelsea believed him either. He was definitely acting very strange and secretive.
    â€œWell Joseph if I don’t have anything to worry about then why were you whispering to this Zoe woman on the phone as I got out of the shower?” Chelsea argued.
    â€œOooh, good comeback,” I murmured, trying to pull the creases from my jeans out behind my knees. They were cutting off the blood supply to my legs.
    â€œI, oh…” stammered Dad.
    â€œWell then you shouldn’t have any objection if I go with you to the airport this morning. Then we can both pick up this Zoe person together!” Chelsea said with a flourish.
    â€œNO! YOU CAN’T!” boomed Dad. His outburst so startled me I lost my balance and fell backwards into the long damp grass scraping my arm on the garden tap.
    â€œOWWW!” I cried loudly as I jumped up rubbing my grazed arm. “OH GRAPES!” I yelled even louder when I realised I had mud all over my brand new jeans.
    Oh why did I wear these jeans to spy in? I thought spinning around so I could get a good look at the huge muddy wet stain on my bottom. It was then that I realised I was standing up outside the window. On the other side was Dad, his face turning purple with rage.
    â€œSOPHIE! WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU DOING OUT THERE?” he bellowed, his angry breath fogging up the glass.
    I panicked and dropped to the ground, hoping he hadn’t really seen me at all.
    â€œGET UP OFF THAT WET GRASS AND GET INSIDE THIS INSTANT!” he hollered louder than before.
    My heart was pounding so fast. I looked down at my slightly grazed arm and squeezed it hard to make the bleeding look worse than it was. If I was going to get out of this mess alive, I needed to look like I was on the verge of nearly dying!
    â€œOw, Ow, Ow,” I cried crawling on my hands and knees. I then stood up and limped to add a sprained ankle to my list of injuries. Dad and Chelsea were now standing outside on the porch expecting an explanation. With Chelsea in that ugly dressing gown I think I should have been the one asking for an explanation on what on earth made her buy such a hideous robe!
    â€œSo what were you doing under the kitchen window?” Dad snapped tapping his foot impatiently on the wooden deck. I could tell he didn’t believe my sprained ankle routine. If he thought my injuries were serious he would’ve come running. I think my father was growing more unsympathetic as he got older, or more suspicious. Here I was his only daughter crawling around in the wet muddy grass in my brand new jeans, blood gushing out her arm, tears streaming down her face, (they may have been fake tears but they were still tears no less!) and yet…nothing. No sympathy at all.
    I realised I had to do something drastic. I had to make this an Oscar winning performance.
    â€œOw, ouch, eeek, oh Daddeeee,” I whined loudly as I held out my bloodied arm in front of him…but still no sympathy!
    â€œWELL! I am waiting for an answer Sophie and it better be a good one,” he said angrily and still tapping his foot on the deck.
    I wasn’t about to give in just yet. I could be just as stubborn as he was.
    I took a deep breath in and began my story:
    â€œYou see…I forgot my bag so I was running back home as fast as I could to get it and that’s when my ankle gave way and I skidded head first across the lawn and landed underneath the kitchen window. Then that’s when you saw me,” I said quite pleased with myself.
    Partly that was the truth, I had forgotten my bag. It was still sitting in the hallway where I had left it.
    â€œReally!” said Dad sounding unconvinced,