"Yes," I said, feeling the weight of the situation settling down on me.
"The latest polls have the race neck and neck," my mother said. She was too calm. Too easy. "It's understandable then that Macey's parents are going to want her with them as much of that time as—"
"No!"
"—possible," Mom went on as if I hadn't said a word.
I glanced at Macey. She'd been quiet all day, but standing in my mother's office, her silence seemed infinitely louder.
"That will, of course," Mom said slowly, "be something we will not allow."
I'd already opened my mouth to protest when I heard her and stopped short.
"You mean," Macey was saying beside me, "you mean I won't have to…go?"
"No," Mr. Solomon said. "Frankly, Ms. McHenry, the risk is too high. We want you at home where you belong."
I've lived with Macey for a long time, but one thing every spy learns eventually is that you never know everything, and I'd never seen Macey look like she looked then. I thought about the girl who had crawled out of the limo, and the girl she had become before this crazy election started changing her back. It was as if the word "home" was a code— a signal—and that alone told her she was safe and she could lower her guard.
"Assuming that's okay with you?" my mother asked, and Macey nodded.
Mr. Solomon stepped away from the door, so like any good operatives (not to mention teenage girls in trouble), we bolted for it.
"Oh, Cammie," Mom called for me, and I stopped while Macey moved on ahead. Mr. Solomon and Aunt Abby followed my roommate outside and closed the door as my mother stepped closer. "Don't worry about Macey, Cam." But it wasn't a soothing phrase. It was an order. "The Secret Service is very good at what they do. For all our differences, my sister is very, very good at what she does. I do not want you worrying about Macey."
"Okay."
"I mean it."
"So do I," I said. And in that moment, I really did.
"I knew you were in the compartment." Macey's voice sliced through the Hall of History. Down in the Grand Hall, girls were eating, people were gossiping, but Macey just sat on the top step looking into the foyer as if she didn't have the strength to stand.
"I didn't hear you or anything," she went on as I walked closer. "It was just a…feeling." Then she looked at me. "You know?"
"Yeah," I said, and I did.
"The top sleeping compartment was hanging too low, and the magazine on the bench had shifted, and I just…knew."
Then she looked at me. "I'm good at this, right?"
"Yeah. You are."
"When your mom called me in, I thought… I thought she was gonna kick me out." She shrugged a little. "Usually that's when I get kicked out."
I've seen Macey without makeup and in her fat jeans. I've heard what she says in her sleep and seen the way her lips move when she's reading and the words just won't sink in. I know Macey McHenry, but that night, sitting on that staircase, I realized I'd never know what it's like to be her.
The McHenrys have five houses, but this is Macey's only home. She's the most famous daughter in America, but Liz and Bex and I are her only family.
"No one's gonna kick you out, Macey." I tried to laugh. "You know too much. By now we'd have to kill you."
It took forty-seven seconds, but eventually Macey smiled. Eventually she laughed.
"So, Preston?" I said, because, honestly, I was sort of about to explode. And…okay … so it had taken me practically twenty-four hours to mention it, but I'd had other things on my mind. Like my sanity, my future, and whether or not Zach's sudden disinterest in kissing had anything to do with the fact that my hair tends to get frizzy when it's raining. But that didn't stop me from leaning closer and whispering, "Did I or did I not hear you kissing Preston?"
"There are people I could hire to kill you and make it look like an accident."
I gripped the banister and propelled myself up a couple of steps. "He's not so bad."
"Seriously. There wouldn't even be an inquest." Macey took a step then added, "Besides, do I have to tell you that secret boyfriends are the hottest?"
In spite of everything, I smiled. "Point taken."
Chapter Twenty-one
I still remember the day—the moment—when I found my very first secret passage. I had been at school three days. My mom had just started her job. My dad had just died. And I'd just arrived at the school I'd heard about my entire life (or, well, the parts of my life that came after the part where I figured out that my mom and dad had more covert reasons for missing my kindergarten graduation).
I was wandering the hallways, wondering about this building that was bigger and older and more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. Wondering how long it would take for me to realize that my mom would never go away again and my dad would never come back.
Wondering if I really belonged at the Gallagher Academy and if I was truly worthy to carry both the Morgan and Cameron family names.
But then I stopped in the hallway by the library.
A window was open. The school still had the stale feeling of a building that had been underoccupied for a long time, and I watched as a breeze blew through the windows and pushed some dust along the stone-tiled floor, rolling dirt through the cracks like water in a river. But at one point, instead of rolling along, it dropped out of sight as if there were a waterfall in the grout that could barely be seen by the naked eye, disappearing beneath a wall of solid stone.