[Gallagher Girls 01] I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You
Page 20
"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.
"Cammie, this is not an ordinary school—it can't be, with such exceptional students. What you did was reckless and careless, and if you tried a stunt like that in the field, lives would be put at risk and operations could fail. You know that. Don't you?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"That being said, as someone with a good deal of experience"—she glanced at Mr. Solomon, who nodded—"it was a rather impressive display."
"It was?" I looked between the two of them, expecting a trapdoor to open up and send me zooming to the dungeon. "I'm not… in trouble?"
Mom tilted her head, weighing her words. "Let's just say, you've had one of the more extensive Covert Operations exercises this school has ever allowed."
"Oh," I said, and the word sounded heavy.
"But, Cam," Mom said, leaning forward, "why didn't you come to me?"
She sounded hurt. It was torture—the hard kind.
"I don't know." Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. "I just…" It was too late; my voice was cracking. "I didn't want you to be ashamed of me."
"Her ashamed?" Mr. Solomon said, and it took me a split second to remember that he was even in the room. "You think she could have gotten away with as much as you did at your age?" He laughed, then smiled. "That wasn't your mom in you—that was your dad."
He stood and strolled to the window. I saw his reflection in the sunny glass as he spoke. "He always said you were going to be good." Okay, so maybe he was still a little hot…"Cammie, I think I've been pretty hard on you this semester," Joe Solomon said, as if letting me in on a secret. "You know why?"
Because you hate me was the answer that sprang to mind, though I knew it wasn't the right one.
"I've already lost one member of the Morgan family I care about." He looked between me and my mom. "So I'd give about anything for you to never come into my classroom again." Shocked and hurt, I could do nothing but stare at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out my form where I'd marked the Covert Operations box. "Are you sure you don't want to find a nice safe desk or lab somewhere?" I didn't answer, so after a moment he refolded the form and put it back in his pocket. "Well, if you're going to be in the field—you're going to be ready. I owe your old man that much." Sadness seeped into his voice, and for the first time I saw Joe Solomon as human. "I owe him more than that."
I glanced toward my mother, who gave him a sad, knowing smile.
"Have a good break, Cammie," Mr. Solomon said, sounding like his old self as he reached for the door. "Rest up. Next semester won't be the cakewalk you just had."
That was a cakewalk?! I wanted to scream, but Joe Solomon was already gone. I wanted answers from him. How well had he known my dad? Why did he come to t
he Gallagher Academy now? Why did I get the feeling there was more to the story?
But then my mom spoke, and I realized we were alone. My defenses fell, and I felt like I could curl up beside her and sleep straight through Christmas.
"Cammie," she said, moving to sit beside me. "I'm not glad you lied to me. I'm not glad you broke the rules, but there is one part of this that has made me very proud."
"The computer stuff?" I guessed. "Because, really, that was all Liz. I didn't—"
"No, kiddo. That's not it." She reached down and took my hand. "Do you know that your dad and I weren't sure we wanted you to go to school here?"
I've heard a lot of crazy things in my life, but that one took my breath away. "But… you were a Gallagher Girl…. I'm a legacy…. It's …"
"Sweetheart," Mom stopped me. "When we came here, I knew I'd be taking away everything that isn't inside these walls. I didn't want this to be the only life you know." She smoothed my hair. "Your dad and I used to talk about whether this was the best place for you."
"But what… how did you decide?" I asked, but as soon as I had said the words, I knew it was a stupid question.
"Yeah, kiddo, when we lost your father I knew I had to get out of the field…"
"And you needed a job?" I tried to finish for her.
She shook me off. "I needed to come home."
When did I start crying? I really didn't know. I really didn't care.
She smoothed my hair and said, "But the thing I worried most about was that you'd spend your childhood learning to be hard and strong and never learn that it's okay to be soft and sweet." She straightened beside me, forced me to look into her eyes. "Doing what we do, it doesn't mean turning off the part of yourself that loves, Cam. I loved your father…I love your father. And you. If I thought you would have to give that up … to never know that… I would take you as far away from this place as we could go."
"I know," I said. Not a lie.
"Good. I'm glad you're smart enough to know that," she said, then pushed me away. "Now go on. You've got tests to take."
I ran my hands across my face, searching for stray tears, then I stood and headed toward the door. But before I could leave, she stopped me.
"It would have been okay, you know, kiddo? To mark that other box."
I looked back at her, and I saw not the headmistress or the spy or even the mother, but the woman I'd seen crying.
And just when I thought I couldn't love her more.
"I wouldn't touch that if I were you."
Josh spun around at the sound of my words. Still, his fingers were perilously close to Gilly's sword. "We're pretty good at keeping things protected around here," I said, inching closer.
He put his hands in his pockets. That was probably the safest place for them, but the gesture reminded me of the first night we'd met. I longed for that dark street, for the chance to do things over.
"So," he said. "A spy, huh?" His eyes never left the sword. I couldn't blame him. I didn't want to look at me, either.
"Yeah."
"That explains a lot."
"So they told you?" I asked.
He nodded. "Yeah, I got the grand tour."
Somehow, I found that really hard to believe, but I wasn't exactly in a position to say, Did you see the nuclear powered hovercraft we keep in the basement, so I just nodded, too.
"Josh, you know you can't ever—"
"Tell anyone?" He looked at me. "Yeah, they told me."
"I mean, ever, Josh. Ever."
"I know," he said. "I can keep a secret."
The words stung. They were supposed to.
There we were, in a room dedicated to secret lives and secret triumphs. He could see it all from where he stood. My sisterhood was bare to him. I was exposed, but there was more between us than ever before.
"I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I'm not… normal."
"No, Cammie, I get the spy thing," he said, spinning on me. "But you didn't just lie about where you go to school." His voice was harsh, but wounded. His eyes seemed almost bruised. "I don't even know who you are."
"Yes, you do," I said. "You know everything that matters."
"Your dad?" he asked.
I froze. "It's classified—what happened—I couldn't tell you. I wanted to, but—"
"Then just tell me he died. Tell me your mom can't cook and you're an only child. Don't…make up a family. Don't make up another life." Josh looked over the railing along the Hall of History, into the towering foyer of the Gallagher Mansion, and said, "What's so great about normal?"
I might have been the genius, but Josh was the one to see the truth. For a while there, I had needed another life, a trial life—normal on a temporary basis. The problem was looking into the wounded eyes of someone I cared about and telling him that I would never be free to really love him, because … well… then I'd have to kill him.
Then, I realized where we were—what he was looking at. JOSH KNOWS! I mentally screamed. There doesn't have to be any more lying. He's inside. He's one of us (kind of). He's…
But Josh was heading down the stairs. I bolted forward, yelling, "Wait, Josh. Wait! It's okay now. It's…"
When he reached the floor, he stopped and pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Do you want these?" I saw the earrings lying in his palm.
"Yes," I said, nodding, biting back tears. I flew down the stairs, and he shuffled them into my hands so quickly I never even felt his touch. "I love them. I didn't want to—"
"Sure." He walked farther away from me. I probably know a dozen different ways to subdue a guy Josh's size—not that I would have used any of them. (Okay, so I thought about it…)
Oh my gosh, he's leaving, I thought—not knowing whether to feel sad at his loss or thrilled with the fact that we were letting him walk out that door—his memory of our secrets intact. Surely they're not going to let that happen, I wondered, unless they trust him … unless he's been cleared … unless someone decided that he didn't need to drink the tea and go to sleep and wake up feeling like he's had a crazy dream he can't remember.
Unless it's okay for me to love him.
He reached for the door, so I blurted, "Josh," knowing that if the Gallagher Academy was going to take a chance on him, I had to at least try to make things right. "I… I go to Nebraska over winter break. My grandparents live there— my dad's parents. But I'll be back."
"Okay," he said as he reached for the door. "I guess I'll see you around."
It was fast—like blink-or-you'll-miss-it fast—but Josh smiled at me—quickly, sweetly, and that was enough to let me know that he'd meant it when he said he'd be seeing me. More important, it proved that he'd be looking.
I was just starting to imagine what it was going to be like—a new year, a new semester, a new start with no secrets standing between us, but then he stopped and said, "Oh, tell your mom thanks for the tea."
He opened the door and walked outside. I stood in the middle of the empty foyer for a long time. After all, in the movies, the dramatic good-bye is often followed by the good-bye-er flying back through the door to sweep the good' bye-ee into a very dramatic, very sexy kiss. And if there was any dramatic, sexy kissing potential in my future, I wasn't going to sway from that spot.
I felt something soft and warm rub against my leg and looked down to see Onyx wrapping her tail around my ankle. She purred, consoling me, sounding like a very lucky cat, and I knew things had come full circle.
Behind me, girls started rushing down the stairs toward the Grand Hall and a few last-minute study sessions before the first day of finals, but as they passed me, I knew what the main topic of conversation was going to be over breakfast. (You think regular girls love gossip—try Gallagher Girls!)
Still, I didn't mind their stares. Instead, I stood swaying in the current of bodies that was floating off to start the day, but I didn't budge until Bex appeared beside me.
"Hey." She shoved a book and a bagel into my hands. "Come on," she said with a tug at my arm. "We've
got our COW final, you know. Liz made flash cards."
I followed my friend up the stairs, and I got lost in a sea of girls who were dressed like me, and were trained like I was, and who were entrenched in my same world.
Is this the world I would choose if I could go back—be ignorant and blissful and happy—if I could live a white picket life on a white picket street and be ignorant of the unpleasant deeds that have to be done in places most people can't find on a map? I don't know. Maybe I would if my mind was like an Etch A Sketch and I could shake it and erase all that I know. But I'm in too deep now. I know what goes bump in the night, and I know how to fight it.
Bex and I walked up the stairs. Then Liz joined our steps, then Macey. I don't know what's going to happen next semester. I don't know if Josh will ever talk to me again. I don't know what he'll remember, or what we'll face in CoveOps, or even what Mr. Smith will look like come September. But I know who will be beside me, and as every good spy knows—sometimes that's enough.
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