"Tina," I sighed, "it wasn't like that."
Eva Alvarez was trying to sign Macey's cast, which was difficult because the campaign manager didn't want anything to obscure the big Winters-McHenry sticker already plastered on Macey's forearm. Bex was picking apart one of the rolls from the basket on the table (even though the teachers hadn't made their entrance yet and, therefore, eating could be punishable by death—or at the very least some serious Culture and Assimilation extra homework if Madame Dabney caught you.)
"And, Macey"—Tina whirled on the girl beside me— "rumor has it you were spotted In a compromising position with a certain future first son."
And just like that, everything got quiet again.
The entire junior class turned and stared, but I kept doing exactly what I had been: studying Macey. The snob who had come to us a year before would have scoffed; the girl who had covered two years' worth of advanced encryption in nine months might have rolled her eyes; but the girl beside me simply said, "Someone needs better sources."
It was the first time she'd spoken, and something in her tone made me wonder whether or not the girl by the lake was gone for good.
"So, who thinks we'll have to stay in Code Red all semester?" Anna Fetterman asked, not even trying to disguise the fear in her voice.
My roommates and I all looked at each other, the scene that we'd witnessed outside playing over all of our faces.
"Well, they are going to give you a full-time Secret Service detail, aren't they?" Tina asked.
Macey nodded.
"Maybe the Secret Service … you know"—Liz hesitated and then lowered her voice to a whisper—"knows."
But all I could think about were the agents who had questioned me after Boston, the lies I'd already had to tell to keep our secret safe.
"Mom wouldn't," I started. "She wouldn't agree to that."
"It would be a pretty good test, though, wouldn't it?" Bex asked. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was already gearing up for the challenge—the thought of bringing the outside world inside our walls, the danger, the risk, the possibility of knocking a member of the United States Secret Service unconscious at some point during the semester.
"What if you get a guy agent?" Courtney Bauer joined in the conversation. "Aren't all the Secret Service guys really hot?"
"They're okay," Macey said nonchalantly, as if she'd seen hotter (and I'm pretty sure she had).
"What if he's like, Mr. Solomon hot?" Anna asked and then blushed.
As much as I wanted to join in and feel excited about a possible (hot) newcomer, all I could think was that there was too much risk and danger already. I remembered the feeling in my stomach as the elevator took us to the roof in Boston. I could have stopped it then. If I'd been focused, if my mind had been anywhere except on a certain boy, my school and my sisterhood might still be safe. But instead, a generation of geniuses were sitting around stealing dinner rolls and discussing the theoretical biceps of the person who might jeopardize our entire way of life (and whether or not he would actually take a bullet for Macey if the need arose).
Suddenly the doors at the back of the room swung open, and my mother appeared, leading our teachers down the center of the huge room.
I saw the new face of Mr. Smith, our Countries of the World instructor, who is one of the more paranoid government operatives on the planet and chooses to prove it by getting a new face every year during summer vacation. I heard the muttering of more than a hundred teenage girls as they realized that this year Mr. Smith's new face was…hot.
And then a hush went through the crowd, because our teachers were not alone.
Macey's parents were walking through the doors, waving and shaking hands, followed by a member of the United States Secret Service. I'm pretty sure if there had been any babies to kiss, The Senator would have done it.
There are a lot of scary things about being a Gallagher Girl, but having people who don't belong in your school walk inside it is high on the list. And I knew that we were being welcomed back to a very different school.
"Ooh," Liz said beside me. With wide eyes, she watched
Macey's parents greet our Culture and Assimilation professor, Madame Dabney.
Across the table, Bex grinned and whispered, "Pop quiz?"
"Welcome back, ladies," my mother said from the front of the room. "I can honestly say that I have never felt so glad to have you all here …" She paused; her gaze swept over the room, which instantly grew dim as the sun slipped below the horizon. If I hadn't known better, I might have sworn I heard my mother's voice crack as she finished, "safe and sound."
No one whispered. No one giggled or teased. What had happened to Macey (and to me) hadn't been some wild tale that we'd carried back from our summer vacations. It was real. And no one felt like laughing anymore.
"As you know, the eyes of the world are now upon the Gallagher Academy," Mom went on. I couldn't help glancing at the McHenrys to see if they guessed my mother's secret meaning, but the two of them kept nodding the same somber nods that must be second nature for anyone with their name on a ballot.
"We must learn and we must persevere. We must be careful and we must be brave. And most importantly"—right then it seemed as if a hundred girls sat up a little straighter, literally rising to the challenge—"we must protect our sisterhood." Her voice grew a little stronger. "And our sisters."