I didn't realize just how dangerous it is to be recognized by…
Your ex-boyfriend.
"Isn't that.,." Macey started, but I couldn't wait for her to finish.
"Josh."
My mind raced with all the reasons I shouldn't panic. After all, it was homecoming and it seemed like the entire town of Roseville had come out for the show. And not only that, but at that moment I looked more like Macey than like me as I stood there in my long black wig and blue contacts, and jeans that the real me would never wear for fun on a Friday night. But the hope I clung to the hardest, as I stood twenty feet away from my first boyfriend, was simple: I was still the girl nobody sees.
But there had always been one exception to that rule. And he was standing right in front of me.
"Has he…filled out a little?" Macey asked, squinting her eyes to see better through her fake glasses. "He seems…hotter," she added, as if she totally approved.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to pretend it didn't matter. But when he turned and started walking away from us, I did what any spy (not to mention ex-girlfriend) would do: I followed him.
I should have waited for Macey, but instead I found myself pushing through the marching band, which was lining up to take the field at halftime. I headed after the boy who was walking freely through the crowd—not hiding. No disguise. I marveled at the fact that there are boys in the world who are exactly what they seem.
From a pavement artist standpoint, following a boy like Josh Abrams is about as easy as it gets. After all, he's untrained, unaware, and utterly unconcerned about the Essentials of Elementary Countersurveillance (my favorite book when I was seven). And yet, something about that mission was harder than anything I'd done in a long time. Maybe it was the fact that I was on totally unfamiliar ground. Maybe it was the way the crowds crushed around me, making it difficult to follow against the current. Or maybe it was the sight of another boy who had come from nowhere and now stood blocking my path.
"What are you doing here, Gallagher Girl?" Zach's voice was low but strong. He gripped my forearm and ushered me out of the way of a convertible that was driving the freshman homecoming attendant around the track.
"CoveOps assignment," I lied. "You?"
"I thought you weren't supposed to leave school," he told me.
"Yeah, because you're so into sticking around campus these days. Seriously, Zach, do you ever stay at Blackthorne?"
But he didn't answer (which, Macey tells me, is a typical reaction for both boys and spies, so I don't know which he was being then).
"I had a feeling you might try something like this." It sounded like the most truthful thing he'd said to me in ages.
"Just tell me …" Zach started, and for the first time his anger seemed to fade. "Just tell me you didn't do this to see Jimmy."
"Josh," I corrected Zach for about the millionth time, but he didn't smile, and somehow I knew that the joke was long since over. "No," I said, meaning it. "I'm just…here."
I didn't look for him, but somehow I knew that Josh was standing with a group of friends ten feet away. Zach was right in front of me. There I was, caught between two boys who couldn't have been more different. If I'd been another girl with another cover, I don't know what I would have done; but right then, only one thing mattered.
"Why were you in Boston, Zach?" The air was crisp and cool around us. Soft music started on the loudspeaker as the homecoming court made their way to the center of the field. I felt more than a new season blowing in the breeze, so maybe that's why I looked at the boy I hadn't really seen in months and said, "Why are you here, Zach?"
I stepped closer to him, waiting for him to reach out, to tease, to smile. And more than anything, I wanted him to say I am here for you.
The space between us shrank, but as I took another step forward, Zach took a step back. Last spring, he'd teased me, he'd flirted with me—I'd been the one who was hard to get. But standing under those bright lights, I could see that somehow, in the last few months, Zach and I had changed places. I didn't like the game from that side of the field.
"Come on," he said, taking my hand (but not in a nice, romantic way). "We're taking Macey home."
"We're not doing anything."
"Fine," he said, starting away. "I'll go find Solomon, get his opinion."
"Zach," I started, cutting him off, but he wheeled on me.
"Do you even know who's out there?" he snapped louder now, and then just as quickly he stepped closer. "Do you even care?"
"The Circle of Cavan is after my sisterhood, Zach. Not yours. They're hunting my friends. They're sending Gallagher Girls down laundry chutes, so don't show up here and lecture me about what's at stake." He drew a breath as if to speak, but I knew better than to let him. "If Joseph Cavan's followers want to settle the score with Gillian Gallagher's great-great-grand- daughter, then they're going to deal with all of us, and that doesn't necessarily include you."
The announcer was talking over the loudspeaker, saying something about the homecoming queen and her deep love of puppies or something, but I just looked at Zach, trying to shake the feeling that I hadn't really seen him in months. If ever. "Why do I feel like I can't trust you anymore?"
I wanted him to lash out. I wanted him to fight, to protest, to argue—to do anything but look deeper into my eyes and say, "Because the Gallagher Academy doesn't admit fools."
Hundreds of people filled the stands around us. They were teachers and accountants, stay-at-home moms and men who worked at the toilet paper factory—regular people doing their best to live regular lives. They couldn't have been farther from Macey McHenry (both the spy and the girl) if they'd tried.