"You guys go eat," I said, stepping away from the crowd and starting down the hall. "I'll find her."
I pulled open the heavy library doors and stepped inside the massive bookshelf-lined room. Comfy leather couches and old oak tables surrounded a roaring fire. And there, in the center of it all, was Macey McHenry. Her head was resting on the latest edition of Molecular Chemistry Monthly, pink highlighter marks were on her cheek, and a puddle of drool had run from her mouth to the wooden desktop.
"Macey," I whispered, reaching out to gently shake her shoulder.
"What? Huh…Cammie?" She struggled upright and blinked at me. "What time is it?" she cried, jumping up and knocking a stack of flash cards to the floor.
I bent down to help her pick them up. "The welcome-back dinner is about to start."
"Great," she said, sounding like someone who didn't think it was great at all.
Her glossy black hair stuck out at odd angles, and her normally bright blue eyes were dazed with sleep. Even though I knew better, I couldn't help but say, "So, did you have a nice break?"
She cut me a look that could kill (and will—just as soon as our head scientist, Dr. Fibs, perfects his looks-can-kill technology).
"Sure." Macey blew a stray piece of hair away from her beautiful face and pulled the last of the flash cards into a pile. "Right up until my parents saw my grades."
"But you got great grades! You covered nearly two semesters' worth of work. You—"
"Got four A's and three B's," Macey finished for me.
"I know!" I cried. After all, I had personally tutored Macey in the finer points of macroeconomics, molecular regeneration, and conversational Swahili.
"And according to the Senator," Macey said, keeping up her unspoken vow never to call her father by name, "there's no way I am capable of earning four A's and three B's, so therefore I must be cheating."
"But …" I struggled to find the words. "But…Gallagher Girls don't cheat!" And it's true. Not to sound dramatic or anything, but a Gallagher Girl's real grades don't come in pass or fail—they're measured in life or death. But Senator McHenry didn't know that. I looked at the gorgeous debutante who had flunked out of every prep academy on the East Coast and was now earning A's and B's at spy school, and I realized the senator didn't know a lot of things. Not even his own daughter.
The library was empty around us, but I still lowered my voice as I said, "Macey, you should tell my mom. She could call your dad. We could—"
"No way!" Macey said, as if I never let her have any fun. "Besides, I already know what I'm going to do."
We'd reached the heavy doors of the library, but I paused for the answer. "What?"
"Study." Macey cocked a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Next time I'll get all A's." And then she smiled as if, after sixteen years of practice, she'd finally found the ultimate way to defy her parents.
I heard voices in the corridor outside, which was strange because at that moment the entire Gallagher Academy student body was waiting in the Grand Hall. Something made us freeze. And wait. And despite the heavy doors between us, I could clearly hear my mother say, "No, Cammie doesn't know anything."
Well, as a spy (not to mention a girl), there are many, many sentences that will make me stop and listen, and, needless to say, "Cammie doesn't know anything" is totally one of them!
I leaned closer to the door while, beside me, Macey's big blue eyes got even wider. She leaned in and whispered, 'What don't you know?"
"She didn't suspect anything?" Mr. Solomon, my dreamy CoveOps instructor, asked.
"What didn't you suspect?" asked Macey.
Well, of course the whole point of not knowing and not suspecting is that I neither knew nor suspected, but I couldn't point that out because, at the moment, my mother was on the opposite side of the door saying, "No, she was being debriefed at the time."
I thought back to the long, quiet ride from D.C., the way my mother had stared at the frosty countryside as she'd told me that she hadn't watched my interrogation—that she'd had things to do.
"We can't tell her, Joe," Mom said. "We can't tell anyone. Not until we have to."
"Not about black thorn?"
"Not about anything." And then Mom sighed. "I just want things to stay as normal as possible for as long as possible."
I looked at Macey. Normal had just taken on a whole new meaning.
After they left, Macey and I slipped back to the Grand Hall and the sophomore table. Mom had already taken her place at the front of the room. I know that Liz whispered, "What took you so long?" as we sat down. But beyond that, I wasn't sure of anything, because, to tell you the truth, I was having a little trouble hearing. And talking. And walking.