Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

A door stood on my left, number fourteen. I pressed my ear against it but heard nothing. I tried the handle. Locked. Of course.



"Yes," Abby's voice was saying, growing closer.



I was desperate. I knocked. "Ms. McHenry, are you in there? May I have a word?" I asked, still clinging to my cover.



"Absolutely," Abby said behind me. "A four-hundred- foot perimeter should be more than ample."



I was really desperate. I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair. And tried the lock.



I felt the lock turn just as Abby pushed free of the crowd, and in the next second I was surrounded by darkness.



I felt someone grab for me, but I dodged it.



A hand grabbed my hair—or what it thought was my hair—and pulled the wig free. Abby's voice was louder now—right outside—and inside the tiny compartment everything went still.



There was a faint yellow glow in a small crack beneath the door, and in the light I saw Zach look from the wig and then to me and then back again.



"You aren't supposed to be here, Gallagher Girl." It wasn't playful. It wasn't fun. He wasn't smiling or flirting. He was…Mad.



Mad like I'd never seen him. Mad like I didn't even know he could be. I've always known that Zach was strong (a girl doesn't spar with a guy in P&E for a semester and not figure that out), but right then he was like stone.



The first thing that hit me was the shock. The second…was the anger.



"You're telling me that I shouldn't be here?" I snapped. Sure, my aunt and half the United States Secret Service were probably right outside the door at that moment, and yet I couldn't stop myself,



"It's dangerous," he said.



"In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself."



Unfortunately, the train picked that moment to lurch, and despite the best protection-and-enforcement training in the world, I found myself stumbling, falling into Zach's outstretched arms.



I started to pull away, but he held me.



"Shhh," he said as the voices in the hall outside faded for a second.



And then the scariest thing of all happened: Zach looked like he wanted to kiss me…



But he didn't.



He was the same boy who had dipped me movie-style in front of my whole school in the middle of finals week, and yet there we were, crammed together in the dark of a moving train, adrenaline and drizzle hanging all around us, and he didn't make a single move.



"Nice disguise," he told me, smiling at last.



"You too," I said. I thought about that moment—what it meant, how long I wanted it to last, and what I was willing to give up to find the truth. So that's why I added, "It looked even better in Boston."



There are moments in a spy's life when time speeds up, and then there are seconds that last a lifetime. And this… this was one of those instances that seemed to go on for years. In the narrow space, with Zach's arms still wrapped around me and voices still echoing outside, I watched his expression shift from confusion to shock to the look of someone desperate for a plan.



"Yeah, I—"



Someone was knocking. My eyes were wide as they stared into his.



"Here," he said, gesturing to the collapsible overhead sleeping bunks that, before that moment, I'd only ever seen in old movies.



More knocking.



Outside, someone yelled, "Who's got a key for this?"



But by the time the door burst open, Zach and I were nowhere to be seen.



(Note to self: don't become a spy if you're even a little bit claustrophobic.)



"What's going on, Zach?" I whispered through the pitch blackness of the little collapsible bunk. That we had cob lapsed. With ourselves locked inside.



His arm was around my waist. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. Sure, I could hear Aunt Abby in the tiny compartment saying, "Macey, I don't want to argue about this anymore. Just wait in here," but I didn't really care.



"You were in Boston, Zach."



"Shhh," he whispered, pulling me closer with a jerk around my middle.



Outside our tiny bunk I heard more voices coming from compartment fourteen. I would have known Macey's speech pattern anywhere. But the other voice was familiar too, and yet I couldn't quite…



"You know," the deeper of the two voices said, "I've been told this is my best suit."



Preston!



I heard more talking and music, but all of that seemed a million miles away as I lay there, my mind racing faster than the train.



"That's how you knew about the laundry chute," I hissed, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. "Why were you there, Zach?" I whispered, growing desperate.



"Not now." His voice was soft but strong.



"And don't say it was because we were in danger, because at the time we weren't in any danger."



"You want to take a nap or something?" he whispered.



"Yeah, and while we're on the subject, why are you here?"



"I could ask the same thing of you, Gallagher Girl, except we should be shutting up now."



Which was a very good idea because the voices outside had stopped. Macey and Preston weren't talking anymore, but the spy (not to mention the girl) in me knew somehow that they were still out there. Because there were sounds. Sounds I recognized. Sounds I really didn't want to think too much about. Because I think they were the sounds of kissing.



And I was currently smashed up against a boy that I had kissed!



And at that moment kissing needed to be the furthest thing from my mind!



"What were you and Mr. Solomon talking about?" I said, because, frankly, I really needed to say something!



But Zach must have been immune to the kissing sounds. Or kissing thoughts, because he snapped, "You don't get it, do you?" He twisted me somehow so that our faces were inches away from each other in the black. "This is dangerous,



Cammie," he said, not Gallagher Girl. "This is—"



"Yeah. I kinda figured that out the day I woke up with a concussion."



"Don't make light of this."



"What about 'concussion' is synonymous with 'making light'?"



"You shouldn't be here," he said again slowly, like I wasn't bright enough to keep up.



"You're here," I snapped back.



"Listen, this is no place for…"



"A girl?"



The train may have been swarming with armed guards…My roommate and the potential future first son of the United States may have been making out a few feet away…The world as I knew it may have been on the verge of being over if Zach and I had gotten caught…



But I. Didn't. Care.



"A student?" I tried again. "What, Zach? Tell me what you are that I'm not."



And then my eyes must have adjusted to the black, because I swear I could see him—really, truly see him—as the cockiest boy I'd ever known looked at me and whispered, "I'm someone who doesn't have anything to lose."



Everything else went away then—the noise from outside, the rocking of the car, the pressure, and the fatigue. I don't know what would have happened next. Maybe I would have cried. Maybe I would have given in. Or maybe I would have demanded more answers to the questions I barely dared to ask.



But we'll never know.



Because just as Zach touched my face, the world fell out from underneath us. Gravity took hold. One moment I was lying in the arms of one of the most complex (and gorgeous) boy spies ever, and the next I was landing like a ton of bricks on the hard, cold floor of a moving train while one of my best friends stared down at me. And the boy on top of me. And said, "Well, this wasn't on my agenda."



At least Preston was gone—or at least I thought Preston was gone. I couldn't be too sure because it was taking me a second to get my bearings.



"Ms. McHenry!" a male voice shouted from the other side of the door. "Secret Service! Is everything okay?"



I stared up at Macey. Zach was splayed on top of me, one of his legs tangled with Macey's backpack. A tray of food had fallen with us and was now splattered all over the floor.



Macey looked at us, the most unusual look on her face, as if she knew that, with a single word she could bring that door—and our entire world—crashing down. She smiled, savoring the moment before she slowly said, "Everything's fine. I just knocked over a tray."



"Shall we send a porter to—"



"No!" Macey snapped. "I want to be alone, or is that too hard to understand?"



I heard retreating footsteps.



Macey dropped to the bench across from us while Zach and I tried to right ourselves.



"Hi, Zach," she said, her right leg swinging as she sat with it crossed over her left.



"Hey, Macey," he said, as if he fell out of ceilings and into the private chambers of the most highly protected girl in the country every day. "Sorry to drop in," he said with a look that told me he thought he was entirely too clever, "but Cammie just had to be alone with me. You know how she gets."



I smacked his arm.



He flinched. "You know, you're going to hurt me one of these days, and then you're going to feel really bad about it."



"Yeah," I started, "well, maybe if you would be honest with me for one—"



"Um, just so you know," Macey said, cutting me off as she leaned back, enjoying the show, "Abby will be back in approximately two minutes, so you lovebirds might want to make this quick."



I totally expected the boy in front of me to recoil at the word "lovebirds." But he didn't. Instead he grabbed the bag he'd been carrying and turned to Macey. "Thanks." He placed his knee on the bench and leaned toward the dark window, staring into the black as he said, "This is my stop anyway."



Well, from what I could tell, the train wasn't stopping. It wasn't even slowing down.



"Hey, McHenry, you mind?" He gestured to the door then stepped back as Macey opened it and checked the aisle.



"Oh, officer," she called to the sentry stationed in the hall outside. "Can I see your gun?"



As the man turned his back on us, Zach dashed out into the hall and to the door at the end of the car. I started to follow, but he stopped suddenly and turned to me. "Hey, Gallagher Girl," he said, looking at me more deeply than he ever had, "promise me something."



The train was faster now. Night streamed through the windows. And Zach stepped even closer.



"Be"—he reached up and gently touched the place where my bruise had been as if it were still fresh and swollen—"careful."



And then Zach stepped to the end of the car and slid open the door. The noise was overpowering for an instant. We were going over a great ravine, nothingness streaming on both sides as Zach spread his arms out wide. He looked back at me for one fleeting second.



And jumped into the night.



"So…" the voice behind me was strong and even. I turned to see a very sorry-looking Macey and a very impressed-looking Aunt Abby staring at me and the fading parachute that was Zach. "I take it that's the man in your life."



Chapter Twenty



When an operative is compromised mid-mission, there are a lot of things that have to be said. And done. For example, it's great if you have a legend or two you can whip out to distract the catcher from the catchee's actual intentions. Also, misdirection is always useful, so you can place blame on anyone but yourself. Or you can retreat.