I thought about the elevator ride in D.C.; the way Zach had volunteered me to be his guide; and finally, the way he'd looked when I'd found him in the corridor right before the world went black. Zach did keep coming back to me, and every good spy knows that there are no coincidences… only plans and missions and lies. "So," Bex went on, "either he's a rogue operative trying to use you for some clandestine purposes. Or—"
Liz cut her off. "He likes you!"
And immediately I started hoping that Zach's interest in me really was about rogue operatives and clandestine missions, because … well… clandestine missions I can handle.
The Operative waited until an opportune time (while leaving the tea room) to approach The Subject.
"Hey, Gallagher Girl," Zach said, then flashed me his signature I-know-something-you-don't-know smile. "What can I do for you?"
I looked deep within me. I summoned my inner super-spy. "Mr. Smith says our midterm papers have to be a joint project. And my mother said that I should make an effort to 'embrace the collaborative nature of this exchange experience,'" I said, as if I were quoting verbatim instead of making it up on the spot.
Zach raised his eyebrows. "And you want to embrace me?"
"Only in the academic sense. Look, do you want to do this project or not?"
I could feel the stares of the girls who passed us, which is one of the truly terrible things about being a spy: when people are looking and talking about you behind your back, you're kind of trained to notice.
"So?" I asked, feeling more in control again.
"Sure, Gallagher Girl." He started down the hallway, waiting until half the eighth grade class was between us before yelling, "It's a date!"
Chapter Twenty-one
I had a date! (Sort of.) With an enemy agent! (Kind of.) The girl in me was excited and terrified, but the spy in me knew this was my greatest undercover assignment yet.
There was a time not so long ago when I'd thought that maybe dating and lying to the sweetest, cutest, nicest boy in the world might have prepared me for a life of deception, but now I know I was wrong. Totally and completely wrong. Because it turns out, real spies don't make a life lying to the sweet boys. Nope. The real lying takes place with the other kind.
"She's got to look sexy," Liz said the next night as the four of us gathered in the suite, getting me ready for my mission. Or date?
Oh my gosh—is it a date? I wondered. "Is it a date?" I asked out loud.
Macey shrugged. "Hard to say. Will there be food or entertainment?" I shook my head. "The winning of stuffed animals through competitive means?" Another shake. "Then probably not."
Liz, I noticed, was writing everything down. "But what if there's kissing?" she asked.
"Liz, there will be no kissing. Or hand holding. Or dancing—unless we're studying C&A, and then…There will be NO kissing!"
Liz looked a little confused, so Macey explained. "You can have dating without kissing, but kissing without dating is entirely different." Macey walked to the bed and started sorting through the nine million tops we'd already ruled out as "too dressy" or "too casual" or "too cle**age-dependent" (since I don't exactly have cle**age).
"She's ready!" Bex exclaimed, spinning me around.
Well, I didn't feel ready. With Josh I'd always felt nervous; with Zach I did, too, but in a very different way. I didn't even look ready, not the kind of ready I'd looked like with Josh. Then there'd been lip gloss and skirts and shoes that may not have been conducive to running four miles in the dark. Now I just looked like…me.
"No," I said. "This won't work. He's a spy. He'll figure out that I'm…spying."
"It's perfect, and no he won't," Macey said. She placed a lip brush in her mouth and circled me, surveying what she saw.
"But shouldn't I look…better?"
"Cam, he's seen you in P&E," Bex said, obviously referring to my tendency to be, shall we say, perspiration-challenged.
"And he's seen you totally dressed up," Liz added.
"What he hasn't seen," said Macey, positioning me in front of the mirror, "is casual Cammie."
I felt like Barbie's less-than-perfect friend.
"Everything about tonight has to seem normal, Cam," Bex warned, not seeing the irony in the amount of effort it took to achieve the look of utter effortlessness.
"She's right," Macey said. "Guys are like dogs—they can always tell when you're needy."
"Just remember your cover," Liz said, handing me my backpack.
"And remember to let him lead the conversation—see what he'll give you before you know what you'll have to take," Bex said, quoting one of Mr. Solomon's best lectures.
"Right," I said, reminding myself that we were just going to be in the library. What kind of terrible things could happen in the library, for crying out loud?
"And, Cam," Macey called after me. "Be yourself."
No matter where I went that semester, I couldn't get away from those words: be yourself. But I could never be all of myself, especially then, because a solid twenty percent of me wanted to spike Zach's morning orange juice with truth serum and be done with it. (Actually, that was Bex's idea, but we were saving it for an emergency.)