Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover (18 page)

"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.

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," but 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.