Twenty-four hours before, I had been afraid to even look at it, but so much can happen in a spy's life in that amount of time—a father can get reborn, a friendship can live and die, a true love can dissolve like the paper its love notes are written on. Twenty-four hours before, I had been sitting on top of our walls, but now I knew on which side I belonged.
The two boxes lay at the bottom of the page, like a fork in the road that I had grown tired of straddling. Beyond our walls was a boy I could only hurt, and inside them were people I could help. It was probably the hardest decision of my life, and I made it by drawing an X. That's one of the golden rules of CoveOps: don't make anything more difficult than it has to be.
It was true; things were hard enough already.
"Hi, Josh. Hello, Dillon, so nice seeing you again," I practiced as I paced the shadows of the sidewalk—waiting, not really thinking about what I had to do, but instead trying to figure out a way to accidentally-on-purpose kick Dillon in the head—hard.
Beep. Beep beep. Beepbeepbeep.
I glanced down at my watch and saw the red dot on the screen moving closer to my position as the tracker became a constant Beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeeeeeeep.
I temporarily deactivated it just as I heard Dillon's echoing, "I'm telling you, this is gonna be off the—"
"Hi, guys." Okay, so my chameleon-ness wasn't entirely gone, because it was pretty obvious they hadn't had a clue I was there. Dillon even dropped his rope. (By the way, what kind of wuss needs a rope to climb a twelve-foot stone wall? I'd totally been doing that since second grade!)
But the fact that I'd caught him off guard didn't stop Dillon from being super cocky (once he'd managed to round up his rope and all). "Well, well, well." He strolled toward me. "There she is. How was school today?" he asked, as if he was going to be really clever and trip me up.
"Fine." I swallowed. I didn't want to look at Josh. If I did, I feared my nerve would crumble. More than anything, I wanted Dillon to pick a fight. I could yell at Dillon; I could scream; I could earn my Gallagher glare from him. Josh was another story.
"We were just coming to see you," Dillon said, inching closer.
"Really?" I said, adding an artificial nervousness to my voice. "But …" I glanced between the two of them. "You don't know where I live."
"Oh, sure we do," Dillon said. "I saw you Saturday. Walking back to school. With your friends."
"But… I'm homeschooled." And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Teenage Drama goes to—Cammie Morgan! "I don't know what you're talking about."
The streetlight above us flickered off and on, and in that half second of darkness, Dillon stepped closer.
"Give it up, rich girl. I SAW you!"
Behind him, Josh whispered, "Dillon …"
"Yeah, you don't own this town, you know. I don't care what your daddy—"
"Dillon," Josh said again, growing louder.
Now I couldn't help looking at Josh. I couldn't stop looking at him.
"I'm so sorry," I whispered. It was the admission of guilt Dillon had been waiting for. He just didn't know it was for the wrong crime. "I'm so sorry. I'm so …"
"Cammie?" Josh asked, as if trying to recognize me. "Cammie, is it—"
I nodded, unable to meet his gaze through my tear-blurred vision.
"See!" Dillon said, mocking me. "I told you—"
"Dillon!" Josh cut him off. "Just… get out of here."
"But—" Dillon started, and Josh stepped in front of me. He was trying to shield me from Dillon, but really he'd just taken away the best chance I'd ever have to claw the little jerk's eyes out. (Literally, eye-clawing was going to be on the P&E final.)
"Dillon, just go," Josh said, forcing his friend to back away. But that didn't stop D'Man from smugly saying, "See you around."
I wanted to punch and kick and make him feel as much pain as possible, but I remembered that no amount of P&E training would help me make him hurt the way that I hurt. Even at the Gallagher Academy they don't teach you how to break somebody's heart.
As Dillon walked away, I thought of the lies I had planned to tell Josh, and for a second I thought I couldn't do it. I couldn't hurt him—then or ever. But just as soon as Dillon disappeared, Josh spun and shouted, "Is it true?"
"Josh, I—"
He stepped closer. His voice was harder. "You're one of them?"
One of them?
"Josh—"
"A Gallagher Girl." All my life, that term had been revered, almost worshipped, but on Josh's lips it was an insult, and in that instant he stopped being the boy of my dreams and started being one of Dillon's hoodlums at the pharmacy; he was ganging up on Anna; he was judging me, so I snapped, "So what if I am?"
"Humph!" Josh said then shook his head, staring into the dark night. "I should have known it." He kicked at the ground like I'd seen him do a thousand times, and when he spoke, it was almost to himself. "Homeschooled." Then he looked at me. "So what was I? Some kind of joke? Was it like, hey, who can make a fool out of a townie? Was that—"
"Josh—"
"No, I really want to know. Was it charity case week? Or date your local delivery boy month? Or—"
"Josh!"
"Or were you just bored?"
"YES!" I yelled at last, wanting it to stop. "Yes, okay. I was bored, and I wanted to see if I could get away with it, okay?"
Mr. Solomon was right—the worst kind of torture is watching someone you love get hurt.