I thought I'd made a pretty good point, and the condescending look had just started to fade from Zach's face when gentle strains of music came floating into the hall. I heard Madame Dabney say, "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be studying the art of … the dance!"
And then Zach leaned down; I felt his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "Yeah…Life. And. Death."
I stepped into the tea room and saw that the silk curtains had been pushed away from the tall windows that lined the room's far side, and a bouquet of fresh orchids sat atop the grand piano. Chairs and linen-covered tables circled the edge of the room, and Madame Dabney stood alone beneath the crystal chandelier. Our teacher floated across the gleaming parquet floor, a monogrammed handkerchief in her hands, as she said, "I have been saving this very special class for the arrival of our very special guests."
"Did you hear that?" Zach whispered. "I'm special."
"That's a matter of—" I started, but before I could finish, Madame Dabney said, "Oh, Cameron dear, would you and your friend like to demonstrate for the rest of the class?"
What I wanted to do was disappear, but Madame Dabney pulled us into the center of the tea room. "You must be Zachary Goode. Welcome to the Gallagher Academy. Now, I must ask that you place your right hand firmly in the center of Cameron's lower back." Even a highly trained pavement artist can't hide when the person they're hiding from has his arm around her waist.
"Okay, now. Everyone find a partner," Madame Dabney instructed. "Yes, girls, some of you will have to take turns being the boy."
I heard my friends scurrying around me. There was laughing and giggling, and I saw Jonas and Liz manage to step on each other's feet at the exact same time, while Zach and I stood in the center of the room, waiting for further instructions.
"Ladies," Madame Dabney said, "you will place your right hand firmly in your partner's palm." I did it.
"What's the matter, Gallagher Girl?" Zach said, eyeing me. "You're not actually mad about yesterday, are you?"
The music grew louder; I heard my teacher say, "Now, ladies and gentlemen, we will begin with a basic box step. No, Rebecca, if you're going to dance with Grant, then you must let him lead!"
But Zach was smiling at me, and a knowing look filled his eyes. "It was a cover, Gallagher Girl. An op. Maybe you're familiar with the concept?"
But before I could say anything, Madame Dabney placed one hand on Zach and the other on me and announced, "Hold your partners tightly." She pushed us closer together, and before I knew it, we were dancing.
Chapter Thirteen
Life at spy school has never been boring (for obvious reasons), but the next two weeks were some of the busiest of my entire future-government-operative existence. It was practically all I could do to A) Avoid Zach. B) Keep up with my classwork. And C) Keep all the rumors separate from the facts. For example:
The Blackthorne delegation consisted of fifteen boys ranging in age from eighth grade to senior. FACT.
One of the boys was the son of an infamous double agent, and the CIA had faked his death and legally adopted him in order to develop him as a sleeper operative. RUMOR.
Dr. Steve had broken Madame Dabney's heart in a bitter love triangle with a Pakistani belly dancer in the Champagne region of France. RUMOR (probably).
And two things were absolutely, positively true: 1) There was so much talking in the common room at all hours of the night that even a highly dedicated operative couldn't get much sleep. And 2) Early morning grooming rituals start way earlier at a school where actual boys attend.
So that's why I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I sat down beside Macey in the Grand Hall one Friday morning.
"Did you know that Jonas was a finalist for the Fieldstein Honor last year?" Liz asked in Japanese but then switched to English. "Isn't that really…wow."
At the end of the table, Courtney Bauer and Anna Fetterman were making plans to highlight each other's hair using materials from the chemistry labs. (Note to self: never let Courtney Bauer and Anna Fetterman near your hair.) Mick Morrison and Bex were talking about a truly impressive Mankato Maneuver that Grant had demonstrated the day before in P&E.
Then someone pushed onto the bench beside me. "Ne, Cammie, Zach toha donattenno?" Tina Walters asked.
Okay, at this point I should probably point out that it was early, I hadn't gotten a lot of sleep the night before, and different phrases can take on very different meanings in foreign languages; but despite all that, I could have sworn that Tina Walters had just asked me if there was "something going on" with me and Zach. And I'm pretty sure that by "something," she wasn't referring to any kind of extra credit assignments!
"Tina!" I gasped, because I could see that Zach was only twenty feet away, deep in conversation with Mr. Solomon at the waffle bar. "What are you talking about?"
"You know," Tina said, nudging me. "Don't look now. He's staring at you."
Well, I don't know how normal girls react to the "Don't look now" command, but spy girls are trained to find the nearest reflective surface (which was the sterling-silver orange juice pitcher) and look.
Zach was studying me. But Mr. Solomon was, too.
"So," Tina asked again, "do you like him?"
She couldn't be serious. Then I looked up and down the long table of eavesdropping girls, and realized she was totally serious!