Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

by Ally Carter

  Maybe it was some inherent hotness that Bex had seen and I'd missed. Maybe it was the way the man with the white hair had straightened in the dark tunnel and moved with grace that didn't belong with the rest of his body. But for some reason, I thought back to the way Mr. Solomon had stood in "Art's" uniform and told us how the art of deception and disguise isn't complex—it's simple: just give the eyes something new to look at so that the mind doesn't truly see.

  My mind flew from Boston and back again, the deja vu growing stronger, the pieces of a puzzle falling into place. I closed my eyes and saw eyes and not eyebrows, a mouth and not a mustache. I stripped away the cover piece by piece until I stood in the dark, finally seeing.

  "Zach."

  I have to admit that at that moment I had seriously mixed feelings about the situation. I had seen Zach! Sure, he was wearing a disguise. Sure, all boys (much less Blackthorne Boys) are probably experts at the art of deception!

  But that didn't change the fact that I'd thought I'd seen him a dozen times before actually coming face-to-face with him in Ohio. And at that moment, I knew better. I breathed, realizing that, on the one hand, I hadn't had Zach on the brain in Boston. My mind hadn't been playing tricks on me. I wasn't boy—or any kind of—crazy.

  On the other hand, I'd had him on my tail, and as a spy I didn't know which was worse.

  The Secret Service was standing guard at the ends of the tunnel, but a small service hatch was open, a cart loaded with trays of food and crates of beverages was waiting to be wheeled on board. Zach walked slowly toward it, and then in a flash he vanished.

  For a second I had to blink, but there wasn't a doubt in my mind where he'd gone. The only thing left to wonder…was why.

  I could see Bex nearing the end of the tunnel, still keeping her distance from Mr. Solomon. As soon as she left the tunnel and got back reception on her comms unit, she would tell Liz that she had eyes on our teacher. In the distance, the string quartet was playing the same song we'd heard in Ohio, following the same speeches. Steam gushed from the train beside me. I heard the metallic groan of a machine that wouldn't be held back for long.

  And I did the only thing I could.

  I got on board.

  Chapter Nineteen

  I learned a lot that day. Like never let Bex pick the snacks during road trip stops. Always bring a spare pair of shoes. And a half hour later, I knew to add one more thing to the list:

  Never, ever volunteer to do surveillance on a moving train.

  Especially if the train is also occupied by your aunt, one of your best friends (who doesn't exactly know you're there), and thirty-seven members of the United States Secret Service!

  The train was seventeen cars of narrow aisle and armed guards, of tight compartments and people high on polling numbers and caffeine. So I lowered my head and squeezed down the aisle and tried not to forget that, when faced with being somewhere you're not supposed to be, rule number one is simple: be someone else.

  I picked up the nearest clipboard and moved purposefully down the crowded aisle. The engines squeaked, coming to life. The compartments buzzed. And I kept moving, smiling,

  acting like I was thrilled to be a part of history.

  Zach could have been anywhere, and judging from his disguise-and-deception abilities so far, he could have been anyone. So I kept pushing my way down the corridor, rocking with the moving train, until one of the interns called to me. "Hey, where are you going?"

  "New speech for Peacock," I said, flashing the clipboard and rolling my eyes.

  "Oooh," one of the guys said, making a sympathetic face. "Compartment fourteen," he said, pointing to the next car. "Have fun," he mocked, and I knew Macey's cover was still firmly in place as I opened the door to the connecting car.

  I eased down the crowded aisle, not knowing what I'd find. But just then I knew I might have made the biggest mistake of my life. Behind me, I heard a very distinct voice coming through the crowd, saying, "Peacock is moving."

  I was away from school. And in a disguise. And wearing a very little black dress while my favorite (and only) aunt was coming up behind me!

  A door stood on my left, number fourteen. I pressed my ear against it but heard nothing. I tried the handle. Locked. Of course.

  "Yes," Abby's voice was saying, growing closer.

  I was desperate. I knocked. "Ms. McHenry, are you in there? May I have a word?" I asked, still clinging to my cover.

  "Absolutely," Abby said behind me. "A four-hundred- foot perimeter should be more than ample."

  I was really desperate. I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair. And tried the lock.

  I felt the lock turn just as Abby pushed free of the crowd, and in the next second I was surrounded by darkness.

  I felt someone grab for me, but I dodged it.

  A hand grabbed my hair—or what it thought was my hair—and pulled the wig free. Abby's voice was louder now—right outside—and inside the tiny compartment everything went still.

  There was a faint yellow glow in a small crack beneath the door, and in the light I saw Zach look from the wig and then to me and then back again.

  "You aren't supposed to be here, Gallagher Girl." It wasn't playful. It wasn't fun. He wasn't smiling or flirting. He was…Mad.

  Mad like I'd never seen him. Mad like I didn't even know he could be. I've always known that Zach was strong (a girl doesn't spar with a guy in P&E for a semester and not figure that out), but right then he was like stone.

  The first thing that hit me was the shock. The second…was the anger.

  "You're telling me that I shouldn't be here?" I snapped. Sure, my aunt and half the United States Secret Service were probably right outside the door at that moment, and yet I couldn't stop myself,

  "It's dangerous," he said.

  "In case you haven't noticed, I can take care of myself."

  Unfortunately, the train picked that moment to lurch, and despite the best protection-and-enforcement training in the world, I found myself stumbling, falling into Zach's outstretched arms.

  I started to pull away, but he held me.

  "Shhh," he said as the voices in the hall outside faded for a second.

  And then the scariest thing of all happened: Zach looked like he wanted to kiss me…

  But he didn't.

  He was the same boy who had dipped me movie-style in front of my whole school in the middle of finals week, and yet there we were, crammed together in the dark of a moving train, adrenaline and drizzle hanging all around us, and he didn't make a single move.

  "Nice disguise," he told me, smiling at last.

  "You too," I said. I thought about that moment—what it meant, how long I wanted it to last, and what I was willing to give up to find the truth. So that's why I added, "It looked even better in Boston."

  There are moments in a spy's life when time speeds up, and then there are seconds that last a lifetime. And this… this was one of those instances that seemed to go on for years. In the narrow space, with Zach's arms still wrapped around me and voices still echoing outside, I watched his expression shift from confusion to shock to the look of someone desperate for a plan.

  "Yeah, I—"

  Someone was knocking. My eyes were wide as they stared into his.

  "Here," he said, gesturing to the collapsible overhead sleeping bunks that, before that moment, I'd only ever seen in old movies.

  More knocking.

  Outside, someone yelled, "Who's got a key for this?"

  But by the time the door burst open, Zach and I were nowhere to be seen.

  (Note to self: don't become a spy if you're even a little bit claustrophobic.)

  "What's going on, Zach?" I whispered through the pitch blackness of the little collapsible bunk. That we had cob lapsed. With ourselves locked inside.

  His arm was around my waist. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. Sure, I could hear Aunt Abby in the tiny compartment saying, "Macey, I don't want to argue about this anymore. Just wait in here," bu
t I didn't really care.

  "You were in Boston, Zach."

  "Shhh," he whispered, pulling me closer with a jerk around my middle.

  Outside our tiny bunk I heard more voices coming from compartment fourteen. I would have known Macey's speech pattern anywhere. But the other voice was familiar too, and yet I couldn't quite…

  "You know," the deeper of the two voices said, "I've been told this is my best suit."

  Preston!

  I heard more talking and music, but all of that seemed a million miles away as I lay there, my mind racing faster than the train.

  "That's how you knew about the laundry chute," I hissed, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. "Why were you there, Zach?" I whispered, growing desperate.

  "Not now." His voice was soft but strong.

  "And don't say it was because we were in danger, because at the time we weren't in any danger."

  "You want to take a nap or something?" he whispered.

  "Yeah, and while we're on the subject, why are you here?"

  "I could ask the same thing of you, Gallagher Girl, except we should be shutting up now."

  Which was a very good idea because the voices outside had stopped. Macey and Preston weren't talking anymore, but the spy (not to mention the girl) in me knew somehow that they were still out there. Because there were sounds. Sounds I recognized. Sounds I really didn't want to think too much about. Because I think they were the sounds of kissing.

  And I was currently smashed up against a boy that I had kissed!

  And at that moment kissing needed to be the furthest thing from my mind!

  "What were you and Mr. Solomon talking about?" I said, because, frankly, I really needed to say something!

  But Zach must have been immune to the kissing sounds. Or kissing thoughts, because he snapped, "You don't get it, do you?" He twisted me somehow so that our faces were inches away from each other in the black. "This is dangerous,

  Cammie," he said, not Gallagher Girl. "This is—"

  "Yeah. I kinda figured that out the day I woke up with a concussion."

  "Don't make light of this."

  "What about 'concussion' is synonymous with 'making light'?"

  "You shouldn't be here," he said again slowly, like I wasn't bright enough to keep up.

  "You're here," I snapped back.

  "Listen, this is no place for…"

  "A girl?"

  The train may have been swarming with armed guards…My roommate and the potential future first son of the United States may have been making out a few feet away…The world as I knew it may have been on the verge of being over if Zach and I had gotten caught…

  But I. Didn't. Care.

  "A student?" I tried again. "What, Zach? Tell me what you are that I'm not."

  And then my eyes must have adjusted to the black, because I swear I could see him—really, truly see him—as the cockiest boy I'd ever known looked at me and whispered, "I'm someone who doesn't have anything to lose."

  Everything else went away then—the noise from outside, the rocking of the car, the pressure, and the fatigue. I don't know what would have happened next. Maybe I would have cried. Maybe I would have given in. Or maybe I would have demanded more answers to the questions I barely dared to ask.

  But we'll never know.

  Because just as Zach touched my face, the world fell out from underneath us. Gravity took hold. One moment I was lying in the arms of one of the most complex (and gorgeous) boy spies ever, and the next I was landing like a ton of bricks on the hard, cold floor of a moving train while one of my best friends stared down at me. And the boy on top of me. And said, "Well, this wasn't on my agenda."

  At least Preston was gone—or at least I thought Preston was gone. I couldn't be too sure because it was taking me a second to get my bearings.

  "Ms. McHenry!" a male voice shouted from the other side of the door. "Secret Service! Is everything okay?"

  I stared up at Macey. Zach was splayed on top of me, one of his legs tangled with Macey's backpack. A tray of food had fallen with us and was now splattered all over the floor.

  Macey looked at us, the most unusual look on her face, as if she knew that, with a single word she could bring that door—and our entire world—crashing down. She smiled, savoring the moment before she slowly said, "Everything's fine. I just knocked over a tray."

  "Shall we send a porter to—"

  "No!" Macey snapped. "I want to be alone, or is that too hard to understand?"

  I heard retreating footsteps.

  Macey dropped to the bench across from us while Zach and I tried to right ourselves.

  "Hi, Zach," she said, her right leg swinging as she sat with it crossed over her left.

  "Hey, Macey," he said, as if he fell out of ceilings and into the private chambers of the most highly protected girl in the country every day. "Sorry to drop in," he said with a look that told me he thought he was entirely too clever, "but Cammie just had to be alone with me. You know how she gets."

  I smacked his arm.

  He flinched. "You know, you're going to hurt me one of these days, and then you're going to feel really bad about it."

  "Yeah," I started, "well, maybe if you would be honest with me for one—"

  "Um, just so you know," Macey said, cutting me off as she leaned back, enjoying the show, "Abby will be back in approximately two minutes, so you lovebirds might want to make this quick."

  I totally expected the boy in front of me to recoil at the word "lovebirds." But he didn't. Instead he grabbed the bag he'd been carrying and turned to Macey. "Thanks." He placed his knee on the bench and leaned toward the dark window, staring into the black as he said, "This is my stop anyway."

  Well, from what I could tell, the train wasn't stopping. It wasn't even slowing down.

  "Hey, McHenry, you mind?" He gestured to the door then stepped back as Macey opened it and checked the aisle.

  "Oh, officer," she called to the sentry stationed in the hall outside. "Can I see your gun?"

  As the man turned his back on us, Zach dashed out into the hall and to the door at the end of the car. I started to follow, but he stopped suddenly and turned to me. "Hey, Gallagher Girl," he said, looking at me more deeply than he ever had, "promise me something."

  The train was faster now. Night streamed through the windows. And Zach stepped even closer.

  "Be"—he reached up and gently touched the place where my bruise had been as if it were still fresh and swollen—"careful."

  And then Zach stepped to the end of the car and slid open the door. The noise was overpowering for an instant. We were going over a great ravine, nothingness streaming on both sides as Zach spread his arms out wide. He looked back at me for one fleeting second.

  And jumped into the night.

  "So…" the voice behind me was strong and even. I turned to see a very sorry-looking Macey and a very impressed-looking Aunt Abby staring at me and the fading parachute that was Zach. "I take it that's the man in your life."

  Chapter Twenty

  When an operative is compromised mid-mission, there are a lot of things that have to be said. And done. For example, it's great if you have a legend or two you can whip out to distract the catcher from the catchee's actual intentions. Also, misdirection is always useful, so you can place blame on anyone but yourself. Or you can retreat.

  But we were on a moving train.

  And I didn't have a parachute.

  And Aunt Abby was staring right at me.

  I expected her to smile like she'd done when she pulled me out from under her bed, but instead she glared at me with a look that was equal parts fury and fear, as Macey and I darted back into compartment fourteen.

  "Sit," my aunt commanded, and we each sat on the lower berth while my aunt began to pace. "Do you know what you've done?" she asked, but it wasn't really a question. "Do you know what could have happened tonight?"

  Her voice shook. I feared for a second that the Secret Service might come
through the door again, but the train was loud and the rain was hard and we kept barreling through the night. I glanced around the small space. It was no use. I, Cammie the Chameleon, had absolutely no place to hide.

  "Do you have any idea how dangerous this all is? If the Secret Service caught you … If a member of the media caught a glimpse of what you can do … If there are two girls in the school—in the world—who should know better than to take chances like this, it should be the two of you!"

  "I thought rules were made to be broken," I said, confused at first but growing angry. "I thought being a spy was rules-optional," I said, throwing her own words back at her.

  "Being a spy means you never have the luxury of being careless!" The train rocked and the night grew darker as my aunt leaned closer and said, "Trust me, Cameron. That is one lesson you don't want to learn the hard way."

  Maybe it was the sound of the rain, or the look in her eyes, but I couldn't stop thinking about the way she'd changed in my mother's office, morphed from the Abby I knew into a woman I had never seen before. And just that quickly I realized the smiling, laughing, dancing woman who had walked into my life after four and a half years was just another cover—a Gallagher Girl pretending to be something that she's not.

  "Where were you, Aunt Abby?" I heard myself ask. "Dad died, and you weren't there," I said, remembering a time in my life that I'd done everything to forget. I heard my voice crack, felt my eyes blur. I told myself it was the steady rocking of the train that made me feel unsteady, but I knew better as I shouted, "He died and you didn't even come to the funeral. You didn't call. You didn't visit. Dad died, and ever since then you've been a ghost."

  Abby turned her back to me. She started for the door, but those words had been alive in me for years, the doubts and questions stacked end to end, and I couldn't stop them if I'd tried.

  "We needed you!" I thought about my mother, who still cried when she thought no one could see her, and before I even realized it, I was crying too. "Why weren't you there when we needed you?"