For such a sunny day, it was dark under the bleachers; for such a screaming crowd, the noise seemed very far away. A warm breeze blew red, white, and blue confetti across my feet, while the band played and the people cheered.
And I felt someone behind me.
And for the second time that month, a strange hand grasped my shoulder.
I forgot all about Mr. Solomon's assignment as I reached back and grabbed the offending hand, stepped into the move, and swung the guy smoothly through the air, watching him crash onto a red balloon with a pop.
But suddenly I was the one who was breathless as I stared down at the guy who lay beneath me, and I heard the only words I totally wasn't prepared to hear.
"Hello, Gallagher Girl."
Chapter Twelve
Zach was there. Zach was staring up at me through the shadow of the bleachers, lying on his back, his shoulders pinned beneath my knees.
He was real this time. This wasn't spy genes and teen hormones running away with me. I wasn't hallucinating or daydreaming or the victim of some freaky hologram-based countersurveillance diversion.
I was just looking…
At Zach.
"Hey, Gallagher Girl," he said after … I don't know … an hour or something, "you gonna let me up now?"
But I totally didn't want to let him up because A) I had the superior position, and with any boy—much less a Blackthorne Boy—superior position is something you should hang on to when you get a chance, B) if I didn't let him up, there was a lot less chance of him retaliating by flipping me through the air like a rag doll (which I totally wouldn't have
put past him), and C) I kinda liked knowing where I stood with Zach. For once.
So instead of moving aside and pulling him to his feet like a good girl, I just leaned over him like a Gallagher Girl and said, "What are you doing here?"
But Zach didn't answer right away. Instead, he did that Zach thing he always did. He gave me a look that was so deep—so intense—that it was as if he were trying to send the answer to me over some cosmic, psychic thread or something.
Then he smirked and said, "I'm very interested in Ohio politics."
I scooted backward, stumbling to my feet as I blurted, "You can't vote."
"Yeah, but I can campaign." He pointed to the winters-mchenry button on his jacket as if to prove his point. And then it hit me—the feelings of panic that cute boys and kidnapping attempts have probably been prompting inside Gallagher Girls for a hundred years.
I'd thought about seeing him about a billion times. I'd imagined what I'd be wearing and what cool thing I would say, but I can assure you that in none of my fantasies had I been wearing my most uncomfortable jeans and a T-shirt that was two sizes too large. I'd thought about what kind of girl I was going to be—interested but indifferent, lovely but amused. And yet I was none of those things as I looked down at him and muttered, "You're a long way from Blackthorne."
"Yeah." He smiled. "Well, I heard that Macey McHenry was going to be making her first post-convention public appearance here today"—he stood and brushed some stray confetti from my hair—"and where there's one Gallagher Girl, there are usually others."
His smile deepened, and at that moment I seriously thought I would scream (but for a totally different reason.)
"We're like smoke and fire that way," I stuttered, trying my best to act cooler than I felt.
He smiled his slow, knowing smile. "Something like that."
And then a whole new kind of panic hit me—ZACH WAS THERE! Because he knew Macey was going to be there? And because he thought I might be with Macey?
(Note to self: Modify Liz's boy-to-English translator to account for multiple interpretations at once!)
That couldn't be it—could it? Was it possible that Zachary Goode had broken out of his top-secret spy school because this was his first chance at seeing me outside of my top secret spy school?
Oh.
My.
Gosh.