CON: Rebecca Baxter, despite her many good qualities, is a cover hog.
PRO: There's nothing like a completely unsupervised, possibly illegal covert operation to take a girl's mind of the terrorist organization that is after her - not to mention her Culture
& Assimilation homework.
CON: The girl really should have been doing her Culture & Assimilation homework.
PRO: When you haven't had a real CoveOps lesson in months, you'll take any practical experience you can get.
CON: When you haven't had a real CoveOps lesson in months, you can't help but feel really, really rusty.
_____________
I know the streets Roseville. I've walked them with my classmates. I've held hands on them with my first (and technically only) boyfriend. I've seen them filled with football fans and parade spectators, with ladies selling cakes and candies for the church auxiliary, and kids out for a Saturday matinee.
It's all-American as a town can possibly be, with its white gazebo and movie marquee and town square, but it seems different as I stood in the library bell tower, staring down at the square. There was nothing there but me and sky - no walls, no guards - and yet I felt stranded. Like the ravens, I know I couldn't fly away.
"You have good cover here," Bex told me.
I could hear Macey through the comms unit in my ear, saying what I already knew: "The square is clear." I could see Liz in the van, circling the block.
"Liz is tracking you from the van," Bex said. "We've got back-up relays outside of town in case the van is compromised."
Bex kept talking, but all I could think of was how the air was colder. The stars felt brighter. The breeze was softer as if blew against my check. It was as if all my senses were in overdrive, and I couldn't help but think most people feel like that sometimes -
when they're alone or in the dark. When they hear a noise in the closet or a creak on the floorboards, they sense it. It's not about being scared - it's about being alive. The nerves work harder, carrying messages to the brain, getting it ready for fight or flight, and that night, well, let's just say that night my nerves had their work cut out for them.
"Cam?" Bex asked as if I hadn't heard her. But she was wrong. That night I heard and saw and smelled everything. "I'm gonna get into position. Are you satisfied with this position?"
I scanned the square and nodded. "Yes."
"You're safe here." She touched my arm almost as if she were trying to get my scent, as if she might soon be chasing me around the world.
And then I watched her go.
Standing alone in the tower, I reminded myself of all the things in the world that I knew to be absolutely true: Rebecca Baxter was the best spy at the Gallagher Academy and the absolute last person who would lie about my safety. I had GPS trackers in my watch, my shoes, my ponytail holder, and my stomach (thanks to a new edible model Liz had been trying out).
My roommates and I all carried panic buttons that could summon an army within the blink of an eye. They could track me anywhere in the world (and ,Liz firmly believes, the moon).
And yet I couldn't shake the feeling that the square seemed smaller from where I stood, or maybe the world just felt bigger.
I held a pair of binoculars to my eyes and scanned the streets, telling myself that I was as safe as I could possibly be. I was prepared. I could handle anything. I ready for everything . . .
Except for the sight of a tall figure with broad shoulder, appearing as if from nowhere at the edge of the gazebo, and saying, "Hello, Gallagher Girl."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Perspective is a powerful thing. Seriously. I highly recommended it. There are things you just can't see unless you take a good step back and watch very, very closely.
I mean, if I'd been standing in the town square and not the bell tower, I might have heard the girl say, "Well hello yourself," but I might have missed the way the boy stumbled backward as she turned. I might not have noticed the way his shoulders fell and his head jerked in the manner of someone who had not found what he was looking for.
I might never have realized that Zach was disappointed to find another girl in the gazebo.
"Macey?" Zach asked as if he couldn't believe his eyes, which was maybe the most flattering thing ever. Because no one has ever mistaken me for Macey McHenry. Ever.
But it was dark, and even without access to the world's greatest closet for deception and disguise, Macey was still the daughter of a cosmetics heiress. And in a wig and Zach's old jacket, she made for a good decoy, or at least good enough.
"Where's Cammie?" Zach asked.