"An asset is an individual recruited and utilized by an operative to gain covert information," Eva recited.
Our teacher acted like he hadn't heard her. His voice dropped. "Listen up and listen well," he said, as if a single person in the room was not paying attention to him. "The most important thing any of you will ever do is make people trust you. You will become someone you aren't in order to befriend someone you hate." He studied us all in turn.
"We develop assets, ladies and gentlemen. We find people who have information that we want and then we take it," he continued. "Or persuade them to give it to us. We find traitors." He paused and stared. "We lie."
I wish I could say the sick feeling in my stomach was because I'd signed up for a lifetime of deception and betrayal. But none of that was as terrifying as the look on Bex's face as she turned to me and mouthed the words: Phase Two.
That night, the secret room changed from an ancient, deserted space into a modern observation post. Evapopaper lined the walls. The sound of boys filled the air as my roommates and I listened to the bugs in the East Wing and made lists of boys and classes and opportunities to "develop a plausible pretext for a relationship," which is pretty basic spy stuff. And maybe pretty basic girl stuff, too. So it would have been fine—it would have been good—if there hadn't been a line marked Zach right next to an arrow marked Cammie.
"Bex should do it. She's the better actress." I turned to Bex. "You're way better at cover legends than I am … and flirting…and—"
"I am doing it," Bex said. "I'm taking Grant." She pointed to the chart. "And that senior with the wavy hair. And…"
"But Zach's our leading suspect," I exclaimed. "Why do I have to get close to Zach?"
My three friends froze around me, and neither Bex nor Liz seemed to know what to say; but Macey just shrugged. "Because there are one hundred girls and fifteen boys at this school, and for some reason, that one keeps coming back to you." She raised an eyebrow. "You're the genius, Cam," she said. "You do the math."
I thought about the elevator ride in D.C.; the way Zach had volunteered me to be his guide; and finally, the way he'd looked when I'd found him in the corridor right before the world went black. Zach did keep coming back to me, and every good spy knows that there are no coincidences… only plans and missions and lies. "So," Bex went on, "either he's a rogue operative trying to use you for some clandestine purposes. Or—"
Liz cut her off. "He likes you!"
And immediately I started hoping that Zach's interest in me really was about rogue operatives and clandestine missions, because … well… clandestine missions I can handle.
The Operative waited until an opportune time (while leaving the tea room) to approach The Subject.
"Hey, Gallagher Girl," Zach said, then flashed me his signature I-know-something-you-don't-know smile. "What can I do for you?"
I looked deep within me. I summoned my inner super-spy. "Mr. Smith says our midterm papers have to be a joint project. And my mother said that I should make an effort to 'embrace the collaborative nature of this exchange experience,'" I said, as if I were quoting verbatim instead of making it up on the spot.
Zach raised his eyebrows. "And you want to embrace me?"
"Only in the academic sense. Look, do you want to do this project or not?"
I could feel the stares of the girls who passed us, which is one of the truly terrible things about being a spy: when people are looking and talking about you behind your back, you're kind of trained to notice.
"So?" I asked, feeling more in control again.
"Sure, Gallagher Girl." He started down the hallway, waiting until half the eighth grade class was between us before yelling, "It's a date!"
Chapter Twenty-one
I had a date! (Sort of.) With an enemy agent! (Kind of.) The girl in me was excited and terrified, but the spy in me knew this was my greatest undercover assignment yet.
There was a time not so long ago when I'd thought that maybe dating and lying to the sweetest, cutest, nicest boy in the world might have prepared me for a life of deception, but now I know I was wrong. Totally and completely wrong. Because it turns out, real spies don't make a life lying to the sweet boys. Nope. The real lying takes place with the other kind.
"She's got to look sexy," Liz said the next night as the four of us gathered in the suite, getting me ready for my mission. Or date?
Oh my gosh—is it a date? I wondered. "Is it a date?" I asked out loud.
Macey shrugged. "Hard to say. Will there be food or entertainment?" I shook my head. "The winning of stuffed animals through competitive means?" Another shake. "Then probably not."
Liz, I noticed, was writing everything down. "But what if there's kissing?" she asked.
"Liz, there will be no kissing. Or hand holding. Or dancing—unless we're studying C&A, and then…There will be NO kissing!"
Liz looked a little confused, so Macey explained. "You can have dating without kissing, but kissing without dating is entirely different." Macey walked to the bed and started sorting through the nine million tops we'd already ruled out as "too dressy" or "too casual" or "too cle**age-dependent" (since I don't exactly have cle**age).
"She's ready!" Bex exclaimed, spinning me around.
Well, I didn't feel ready. With Josh I'd always felt nervous; with Zach I did, too, but in a very different way. I didn't even look ready, not the kind of ready I'd looked like with Josh. Then there'd been lip gloss and skirts and shoes that may not have been conducive to running four miles in the dark. Now I just looked like…me.