When we reached the foyer, I could have sworn that the entire student body was holding their breath as my mother pulled open the double doors and stepped outside.
Warm sunlight beamed down. My stomach growled, and for a second I wondered what our chef was making for the welcome-back dinner. But when I saw three big black SUVs pulling through the gate, I totally lost my appetite.
"Secret Service," my mother whispered to us as they started down the winding lane. I remembered that even Macey's protectors wouldn't know what we really do behind our walls.
An efficient-looking man with a touch of gray sprinkled through his dark hair climbed out of one of the vehicles and walked toward us. "Ms. Morgan? Agent Hughes. We spoke on the phone."
"Yes," Mom said. "You're the agent in charge of the McHenry family's security detail. That is the term, isn't it?" she asked, one hand against her chest as if this were totally new territory for her.
The man smiled and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he told her. "Now, I don't want you to worry about anything. Our agents will be responsible for Ms. McHenry's security. They'll answer any questions you have and keep you informed of what the Service needs from you. No one is
expecting you to think like a security professional."
"That is a relief," my mother told him in the most utterly believable, non-ironic voice I've ever heard.
(Have I mentioned lately that my mom is the BEST SPY EVER?!)
"Oh, I'm sorry," my mother said, looking from Agent Hughes and then to us. "Please allow me to introduce Macey's roommates. This is Elizabeth Sutton and Rebecca Baxter, and my daughter, Cammie."
But Agent Hughes wasn't listening. He was too busy staring at me—the girl who is hardly ever stared at.
"You were on the roof?" he asked, but it wasn't a question. He stepped closer; his gaze flashed across the bandage on my head, then his eyes searched mine. "Don't you worry about anything, young lady. We're going to take good care of all of you."
I nodded and looked away, thinking about my cover—I was supposed to be scared and tired and ready to let someone else fight for Macey.
Then I remembered that the best covers always have their roots in the truth.
"And the walls circle the entire grounds?" Agent Hughes asked as we walked around the campus.
"Yes," my mom said.
"According to the blueprints, you do have security cameras?" His gaze drifted along our ivy-covered walls.
"Yes," Mom said calmly. "Some."
(Actually, there are 2,546, but for obvious reasons she didn't share that.)
"Well," the agent went on, "I'm sure our people can consult with you on how to"—he seemed to be considering his words—"tighten things up a bit."
"Yes," my mom said with a glance toward me—her daughter, who had been slipping through the Gallagher Academy defenses for years. "That would be most helpful"
And then panic set in. The Secret Service was going to be "tightening" things?
"As the advance team told you last week, we'll be placing one of our agents with Ms. McHenry."
The Secret Service was going to be "placing" people?
"Full-time," Agent Hughes added. "Someone to go with her to classes. Live here. Accompany her everywhere she goes."
The Secret Service was going to be "accompanying" us places?
I looked at Bex and Liz, watched them swallow the same terror I was feeling. Our school has prepared us for a lot of things, but I had to wonder if anything had prepared us for that.
But the surprises were only just beginning, because then my mother smiled and said, "Of course."
The agent walked ahead, appraising our grounds, our walls, our life. At the end of our long (and heavily protected) lane, satellite dishes rose from news trucks, ready to beam pictures of our school around the world, and I knew the most dangerous thing in our history was about to happen in front of this man's very eyes.
And there was nothing any of us could do to stop it.
"Oh," Agent Hughes said when the gates parted for one last car. "Right on schedule."
The limo turned onto the drive, but instead of pulling closer to the mansion, it stopped. Men in dark suits swarmed the car, and I remembered how, a year ago, a car just like that had brought Macey to us. Like deja vu, Senator and Mrs. McHenry climbed from the backseat and stood framed between our great stone gates.
I could hear the reporters' chatter in the distance. The flashing bulbs of their cameras sparkled even in the summer sun.
And then the car door opened again.
And just like that the deja vu was over.
A year before, Macey had stepped from the backseat of a nearly identical car, but this time, instead of combat boots, she wore pumps almost exactly like her mother's. Her short skirt and diamond nose stud were replaced with modest black pants, a sweater, and a sling.
At first I hoped her clothing was the only difference; but I barely recognized the girl who allowed her mother to hug her tightly, who didn't protest when her father took her good hand and lifted their united fists toward the sky.
Bex cut me a look that said Are you sure you were the one with head trauma? but I just watched the three McHenrys push past the cameras and the questions and start toward the school. Back to us. I thought about the girl who had come to us last fall and the one who had left last spring and, finally, about the young woman who had shivered by a lake, and I wondered which one of Macey's cover identities she was going to be now.
As they came closer I waited for her to catch my eye and smile that mischievous smile she'd given me outside her parents' suite in Boston, but when I stepped forward, a broad body in a dark suit moved to block my path.