Mother still devoured spaghetti while father chewed on beans as if they were laborious and me, I counted my steps back and forth and up the stairs. Exactly what a peculiar, odd-teethed 11 year-old girl would do in boredom, she'd rather yell at her siblings or close-by neighbors but I had none of that. It took me an exact 32 steps to climb down in a 16 climb staircase. 64 steps approximate of climbing down and getting back up once. When going to elementary school at 6 o'clock sharp, I had to climb down to get ready it was a huge effort and when returning from school, I had to climb up to exhaustively fall onto my bed. All of this effort because my legs were short or I thought they were. If my front foot reached for the next step on the stairs, the one behind could not support it and stay there at its pace, therefore, I'd be falling face first down the rest of the stairs and I'd have another scar on the delicate area of my face which mostly marked the nose and the chin, save for my eyes and cheeks. Mainly, the stairs were too humungous. I couldn't reach for one at a time. Therefore, I found an easiest way of climbing down with both of my feet on one stair. I leapt, I leapt and I leapt. Just as a kangaroo. For the first in my entire childhood of learning to walk, I made it down the stairs by myself. Father nor Mother helped me down. As I jumped from the last stair paddle, I smiled so heavily in the air with my eyes wide open. I screamed with the euphoria of success and yelled all over the house saying, "I made it! I made it! I did it, mother. I did it, father!''. Both of them clapped with harmony watching me run around with joy. That's how i came to know the term 'Stealth', somehow. Agility, silence and concentration were my first credentials to learn throughout my struggle of going up and downstairs. I'd mark a spot on the next stair, focus on it and jump and land on the next one as if it didn't require much effort, but it was a slow and laborious process which I'd had to master. I failed. I couldn't get to the downstairs without consuming half of the time so I tried to find a better and quick way. I first tried skating down the stairs which resulted in bumping against the wall hard and causing me a black eye that I'd had to be embarrassed about in school for a whole week. They'd laugh and yell, ''Look the spy girl!''. They'd say things like; ''I wonder if her parents are ninjas.'' ''She'll break her neck and stay distorted in a coffin. I tell you that.'' ''She looks like a Russian spy.'' ''Dude, I'm so excited. What else will she break next week?'' ''She must be watching the bond movies?'' Bond movies? I had no idea about that so I went back home and watched each of them multiple times then I had the euphoria of watching spy movies and getting really fascinated in every single scene. I remember one scene where a spy investigates a crime. He dusts objects, a doorknob, knife handle, surface of a table, laptop, or any device, with fine aluminum powder. The powder would stick to the grease so the fingerprints can be visible, therefore, He'd either photograph or lift off the object with stick tape which he'd later use to study it's patterns, the rough lines, and match it with a suspect. Then the work was done and I was amused enough to try to learn it. I dipped my hand in red ink and put the prints on a paper and left it under the couch and scattered same ink on the front of my shoe and walked lightly around pretending not to have ink on my shoes that left imprints on the floor. I also left my prints on a transcendence window with sun shining through it. I changed my clothes, ran outside few meters away and came back in the house as a spy receiving few evidence. I investigated the fingerprints on the window and studied its patterns carefully and tiptoed swiftly where the blood (red ink) came, from the couch. I pulled a knife out from my holster (my pink belt) stabbing the couch searching for evidence, I stabbed it hither and thither tearing it apart. I crouched looking under it to find nothing but a paper covered with blood (red ink again). I pulled it out and ran to compare its pattern and ridges to the ones on the window. They matched. The suspect was found guilty. It was Glenda Merritt. Mother and father came back to see the living room in mess. I was grounded but I always snuck my way out. I learned to walk with no one noticing me, sit without having someone to suspect me and acquired a great skill to slide over the floor, let it be the kitchen, living room, my own bedroom and last but not least, over the stairs. I learned to slide over its arms. It has always been my first success without failure.