He pointed to himself and said, "Spy."
Zach cocked his head and placed one shoulder against the cold stone wall, and suddenly I became acutely aware of the fact that we were…
Alone.
"So," he said, "that was Jimmy?"
"Josh," I corrected.
"Whatever," Zach said, waving the detail away. "He's a cutie."
And … well… Josh is a cutie, but I highly doubted that Zach meant it seriously, so I just rolled my eyes. "What do you want, Zach? If you came to make fun, go ahead," I said, laying myself bare (or as bare as a girl can be in a government-approved school uniform). "Mock away."
He studied me for a long time, his face fighting a smile before saying, "Gee, you know, I would…but you just took the fun out of it."
"Sorry."
I took a quick step, but Zach blocked my path. "Hey," he whispered. "Why'd you freeze out there today?" Suddenly he wasn't the boy who had winked at me in D.C., and bore no resemblance to the guy who had sunned himself on the gazebo steps. So far I'd seen three different faces for Zachary Goode, and at the moment I didn't have a clue which was real and which was legend.
"I'm fine," I said. "I'm over it."
"No you aren't, Gallagher Girl. But you will be."
Walking to my mother's office on Sunday night, I couldn't help wondering when it was all going to get easier. Josh wasn't even my boyfriend anymore, yet my life was still full of boy-related drama. Hadn't I spent a good portion of my winter break trying to put those things behind me? But that was before I knew that I'd stink at countersurveillance—that the drama would follow me wherever I went.
A few minutes later Mom appeared in the doorway of her office. "How are you, kiddo?"
"Fine."
But one of the downsides of having a top government operative for a mother is that, most of the time, she knows when you're lying—even to yourself.
"No," Mom said. I heard the click of the door as it locked into place. "You're not."
I could have told her it was nothing; I might have informed her that I was as fine as I could be, considering that Eva Alvarez had barged into our room at six a.m. in the morning (on a Sunday) asking to borrow Macey's curling iron. But my mother knew better, so I just walked over to the leather sofa, sank into the soft cushions, and said, "I saw Josh."
And my mom said, "I know."
Of course I knew she'd know, because—well, she is a spy, and my headmistress, and there was probably a tape of the whole ordeal floating around somewhere. (Note to self: find and destroy that tape.) But right then Rachel Morgan was looking at me not as a spy, but as a mother. Maybe that's why I had to look away.
She sank to the couch beside me. "I know it may not seem like it, but this is a good thing, Cam. Seeing him was a good thing."
But it didn't feel like a good thing.
"The tea we gave Josh is quite effective, but sometimes certain triggers can cause people to remember the things we need them to forget. Josh has seen you. He's talked to you. We know that he doesn't remember following you on your CoveOps final. He has no recollection of coming back here and being debriefed. The Gallagher Academy is just an elite boarding school to him," my mother said. "Josh is no longer a security threat."
So now we knew that Josh would never know the truth.
I've been punched hard before, lots of times, by people who know what they're doing, but something about my mother's words made me lose my breath. I know it's crazy— me thinking that maybe one day Josh would dump DeeDee the Adorable and suddenly remember the truth about me and love me anyway. I know that was a crazy dream. But it was my dream. And a part of me hated to watch it die.
"I know this is hard, kiddo," Mom said one final time. "So that's why I thought you might like something to take your mind off of it." And then Mom reached behind her desk and pulled out a large white box wrapped in a beautiful blue ribbon.
Well, obviously I'd gotten presents from my mother before—good presents (signed first editions of A Spy's Guide to Underground Moscow don't grow on trees, you know), but I had a feeling this present was different. I felt like there was some kind of string attached.
"Go ahead," Mom said. "I think it should fit."
I untied the ribbon and let it fall to the floor, took the top off the box, and peeled away the layers of tissue paper.
"It's a dress," I said, stating the obvious—except it wasn't just a dress. It was red…and floor-length…and strapless! And I know normal mothers probably buy normal daughters strapless dresses all the time, for dances and proms and cello recitals and stuff, but the last time my mother had held a dress like that she'd been getting ready for a New Year's Eve party on board the yacht of a Middle Eastern arms dealer, so something about this dress felt…different.
"It's beautiful," I said.
Mom walked over to the microwave to pop in some frozen burritos. "I'm glad you like it. I thought it would look good on you."
Which, to tell you the truth, I sort of doubted, but I didn't think it was the right time to point that out.
"Uh, Mom…"
"I also thought it might come in handy in a week or so."
I sat there staring into the box, thinking that whatever was coming, it was big. It was important. And it required formal wear.