He slid into the seat beside Bex, who smiled and tossed her hair in a move that they don't teach in P&E.
Oh my gosh! Is this what it's like to have class with boys? I mean, I know I used to go to school with boys before I started at the Gallagher Academy, but there really isn't that much hair-tossing in kindergarten through sixth grade. (Although, I do remember some hair-pulling that resulted in some real tossing, but then Mom forbade me from using the Wendelsky Maneuver on civilians ever again.)
One boy remained at the front of the room, but instead of waiting on Dr. Steve, Zach walked to the back of the class. "I'm Zach," he said, sliding into the chair behind Grant—the one next to me—"and I think I've found my guide."
From the front of the room I faintly heard the word. "Excellent!" but I didn't necessarily agree.
Gallagher Girls have missions—hard ones. All the time. But as soon as COW was over, I gathered my books and fought the feeling that I was completely unprepared for what I had to do. As I started for the door I told myself all the reasons I shouldn't feel the way I was currently feeling:
In the clandestine services it does help to have as
many allies as possible, so knowing a Blackthorne
Boy or two could come in handy someday.
Mr. Solomon had been a Blackthorne Boy (and
maybe my dad had been too). They turned out
all right.
As Liz had previously stated, having unlimited
access to boys could be a good thing, scientifically
speaking.
Zach had only been following orders on the Mall
the day before.
He'd been nice.
He'd offered me chocolate.
It wasn't his fault he'd been…better than me.
"So, we meet again."
Yes, Zach actually said that, even though, if you wanted to be technical about it, we hadn't actually met in D.C. Not really. I mean, his cover identity had spoken to my cover identity, but talking to someone who doesn't know you're a spy is completely different from standing together in the middle of your top-secret school of covert learning.
Girls pressed against us from all directions, like a tide that was going out and coming in at the same time, but Zach and I didn't get caught up in the current.
He surveyed the great stone walls and ancient pillars that surrounded him. "So this is the famous Gallagher Academy."
"Yes," I replied politely. I was his guide, after all, not to mention someone who's had three and a half years of Culture and Assimilation training. "This is the second-floor corridor. Most of our classes are down this hall."
But Zach wasn't listening. Instead, he was staring—at me. "And you're…" he started slowly "…the famous Cammie Morgan."
Okay, first of all, I have no idea how Zach knew my name, but that wasn't as intriguing as the way he seemed oblivious to the crashing bodies and whispering girls.
Josh used to look at me like he wanted to kiss me, or laugh at me, or get psychiatrists to study me—all of which I totally preferred to the look Zach was giving me then, not as if I were famous, but as if I were infamous. And when you're the girl who's known for being invisible, there's nothing quite as scary as being seen.
"Come on," I mumbled, after what seemed like a very long time. I started down the hall. "Culture and Assimilation is on the fourth floor."
"Whoa," he said, stopping suddenly. "Did you just say you're taking me to culture class?" he asked, a mocking smile growing on his lips.
"Yes."
And then Zach grinned. "Boy, when they say you've got the toughest curriculum in the world…they mean it." But it didn't take a genius to know he didn't mean it. At all.
I told myself he was there to "forge friendships." I reminded myself that I'd promised my mother I wouldn't break any more rules (and I'm pretty sure pushing visiting students down the stairs is frowned upon). I called on every ounce of strength and composure I possessed as I started toward the fourth floor, pushing through the crowds. "Culture and Assimilation has been a part of the Gallagher curriculum for more than a hundred years, Zach."
We turned down the corridor to the tea room. "A Gallagher Girl can blend into any culture—any environment. Assimilation isn't a matter of social graces." I stopped in the hallway with my hand against the door frame. "It's a matter of life and death."
I thought I'd made a pretty good point, and the condescending look had just started to fade from Zach's face when gentle strains of music came floating into the hall. I heard Madame Dabney say, "Today, ladies and gentlemen, we will be studying the art of … the dance!"
And then Zach leaned down; I felt his breath warm against my ear as he whispered, "Yeah…Life. And. Death."
I stepped into the tea room and saw that the silk curtains had been pushed away from the tall windows that lined the room's far side, and a bouquet of fresh orchids sat atop the grand piano. Chairs and linen-covered tables circled the edge of the room, and Madame Dabney stood alone beneath the crystal chandelier. Our teacher floated across the gleaming parquet floor, a monogrammed handkerchief in her hands, as she said, "I have been saving this very special class for the arrival of our very special guests."
"Did you hear that?" Zach whispered. "I'm special."
"That's a matter of—" I started, but before I could finish, Madame Dabney said, "Oh, Cameron dear, would you and your friend like to demonstrate for the rest of the class?"
What I wanted to do was disappear, but Madame Dabney pulled us into the center of the tea room. "You must be Zachary Goode. Welcome to the Gallagher Academy. Now, I must ask that you place your right hand firmly in the center of Cameron's lower back." Even a highly trained pavement artist can't hide when the person they're hiding from has his arm around her waist.