"Cammie!" I heard Josh cry through the dust, but I couldn't answer him—not then. Mr. Solomon was on the floor. He had planned for every contingency but one—the persistence of a regular boy who has the misfortune of loving an exceptional girl.
"Cammie!" Josh said through the dust that was swarming around the forklift as he climbed down to stand atop the pile of rubble. "We. Need. To. Talk."
"Yes," said a voice behind me. I turned to see my mother standing there. My strong, beautiful, brilliant mother. "We do."
Mr. Solomon was stirring. Bubblegum Guard was fanning the dust out of the air, and Bex was grinning like this was the most fun she'd ever had in her entire life. It was over—the test, the lies, everything. It was over, so I did the only thing I could.
"Josh," I said, "I'd like you to meet my mom."
Chapter Twenty-nine
After I had learned the truth about my parents, and before I came to the Gallagher Academy, the only time I wasn't worried was when they were both within my sight. I think that's when I started being The Chameleon. I'd creep into their bedroom and watch them sleep. I'd lie silently behind the sofa, listening to the sounds of the TV as they relaxed in the evening. But even for me, the night of the CoveOps final was a long one.
23:00 hours: Operatives return to headquarters and are instructed to go upstairs and go to bed.
23:40 hours: Tina Walters reports that Headmistress Morgan has locked herself in her office with The Subject.
01:19 hours: The Operative succeeds in getting all the sawdust and gunk out of her hair.
02:30 hours: Majority of sophomores stop studying for COW final and go to bed.
04:00 hours: The Operative still can't fall asleep. The Operative realizes that the best-case scenario would involve a glass of "memory modification" tea and The Subject waking up in his own bed in a few hours without a single memory of what happened the night before. The Operative doesn't let herself think about the worst-case scenario.
At seven o'clock the next morning, I'd had enough of waiting, so I knocked on my mother's office door. I thought I was prepared for anything—that after the day I'd had before, nothing could knock me off guard ever again.
I was wrong.
"Hi," Josh said.
"What… Huh … How …" I could tell by the look on his face that he was seriously beginning to doubt my newly revealed genius status, but I couldn't help it—he should have been gone before then. I wasn't supposed to have to face him. We weren't supposed to have that awkward moment of standing crowded together in the doorway of my mother's office. The two halves of my life weren't supposed to collide.
"Were you here all night?" I asked when I finally regained my ability for coherent thought.
His eyes were red and heavy, but he didn't look like someone who was eager to go to sleep. In fact, he looked like someone who was never going to sleep again.
He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I called and told my mom I was staying at Dillon's. They…they didn't know anything about…They were cool with it."
"Yeah," I said. "We don't exactly show up on caller ID."
It wasn't supposed to be funny, but "Old Josh" would have laughed or smiled that slow, melting smile. "New Josh" just stood there—looking at me.
"Cammie." My mother's voice carried clearly through the doorway and echoed through the Hall of History. "Come in here, please."
I stepped inside, brushing against him for a moment that didn't last nearly long enough.
"I'll…" He motioned to the benches at the top of the stairs. "Your mom and that guy—they said I could wait."
But I didn't want him to wait. If he did, I'd have to look him in the eye; I'd have to say things that only make sense in a language even I don't know. I wanted him to walk away and not look back. But before I could say so, Mom said, "Cameron, now!" and I knew we were out of time. In so many ways.
She didn't hug and kiss me—which was strange. Not unexpected, but it gave seeing her an unfinished feeling, like I should stay standing by the door, waiting for her "How's it going, kiddo?" before I took a seat on the sofa and asked what was for supper. I glanced around and saw Mr. Solomon in the corner of the room. "Sleep well?" he asked.
"Not really." Not a lie.
"I enjoyed visiting with Josh," my mom said. "He seems nice." He is. "It was nice to meet him finally."
"Yeah, I …" Then I realized something was wrong. "Wait!"
Mom smiled at Mr. Solomon and—can you believe it— he actually smiled back. With teeth and everything! (Okay, so I might have thought he was kind of hot then. But only for a second or two.)
"Honey, you're good," Mom said to my look of utter disbelief. "But give us some credit."
Oh my gosh! I sank onto the leather sofa. "How …" There were so many ways to finish that sentence: how long had they known? How far were they willing to let me go? How did they find out?
"You've been very busy," Mom said. She sat down in one of the beautiful leather chairs across from me and crossed one perfect leg over the other.
"You mean you didn't wonder how we found you last night?" Mr. Solomon asked.
No, I hadn't wondered. Everything had happened so fast, and hours later I was still riding that same wave of emotion. I felt like an idiot—a great, big, hand-caught-in-the-cookie-jar fool.