"Wait." He grabbed my arm (but in a nice way). "You've got a secret identity, don't you?" He grinned. "Come on. You can tell me. You're Wonder Woman's illegitimate daughter? Really, it's okay. I am fine with it—just as long as your father isn't Aquaman, because, to tell you the truth, I always got a really superior vibe off of him."
"This is serious," I said through my laughter. "I've got to go."
"But who's going to make sure I get home safely? These are dark and dangerous streets." Across the square, a group of older women was leaving the movie theater. "See, I'm not safe out here by myself."
"Oh, I think you'll survive."
"Will I see you tomorrow?" Gone was the silly tone, the flirting cadence. If he hadn't been holding me I might have fainted—seriously. It was just that sweet and strong and sexy.
Yes, my heart cried, but my brain spoke of a biochemistry midterm, seven chapters of COW reading, and two weeks' worth of lab reports for Dr. Fibs.
Sometimes I really hate my brain.
But most of all, I heard Mr. Solomon's voice, and it was telling me that a good spy always varies her routines. The people at the Gallagher Academy might not notice one stray girl two nights in a row—but three would be pushing my luck, and I knew it.
"I'm sorry." I pulled away from him. "I never know when my mom has classes or when I'll get to come. We live out in the country, and I can't drive yet, so … I'm sorry."
"Will I just see you around, then? You know, for self-defense tips and stuff?"
"I …" I stumbled, knowing I'd finally made it to the edge of the cliff, and I had to decide if it was worth the fall.
I attend the best school in the country. I can speak fourteen languages, but I can't talk to this boy? What good is a genius IQ? Why bother teaching us the things we know? What's the use in …
And then I saw it.
I turned to Josh. "Do you like spy movies?"
He looked at me, then muttered, "Um…sure."
"Well…" I inched closer to the gazebo, which was very Americana. Very Sound of Music. Very Gilmore Girls. But the really important thing about the Roseville gazebo wasn't that it had awesome twinkle lights. No, it was better—it was the loose stone jutting out from its base.
(FYI, for the most part, spies love loose stones.)
"I saw this movie," I said, pacing myself. "It was an old movie … in black-and-white…and this girl wanted to communicate with this boy, but they couldn't, because it was too dangerous."
"Why? Because he was a spy?"
He? Sometimes the sexism in this country amazes me, but then I remembered that society's tendency to underestimate women is a Gallagher Girl's greatest weapon, and I consoled myself by remembering how it had taken less than two seconds for me to level Josh flat and hard onto the pavement.
"Yes," I said. "He was a spy."
"Cool." He nodded.
"You can leave me notes in there." I removed the stone, revealing the small hole in the mortar. "And just replace the stone backward, so I'll know there's a note." I slid the stone in so that the painted face was on the inside. The effect was of one gray piece of slate in a snow-colored field. "And when I leave a note, I'll turn it around the other way. See?" I said, feeling perhaps a little too proud of myself. "We used to do this all the time … in Mongolia."
Doesn't she know there's such a thing as e-mail? I imagined him wondering. Instant Messenger? Cell phones? Even tin cans tied together with string probably seemed high-tech compared to what I was proposing. He either thought I was crazy or from some really bizarre experiment where they freeze people for decades, even though I know for a fact that technology isn't to a prototype phase yet.
He looked at me like I was crazy, so I said, "You're right. It's stupid." I turned. "I've got to go. It was …"
"Cammie." The word stopped me. "You're not a normal girl, are you?"
Okay, so maybe Josh was pretty smart, too.
Chapter Sixteen
Summary of Communication On October 18, during a routine Driver's Ed assignment, The Operatives noticed that the "fill sign" was marked (in other words, the stone was turned) at the designated dead letter drop, so Agent Morgan faked a stomachache when everyone else was engaged in a Gilmore Girls marathon and went to retrieve the following:
Okay, so if your dad's not Aquaman, is he The Flash?
Translation: Please think I'm funny, because my self-esteem is fairly low, and humor may be all I have going for me. (Translation done by Macey McHenry.)
After a brief reply from The Operative, The Subject wrote back the following week: Today my shop teacher gave me detention for not properly sanding a birdhouse. Then my dad told me I should start helping him at the pharmacy two nights a week. When I got home, I found out that my mom made 18 different kinds of banana bread, and I had to taste-test each one. It was torture. How was your day?
Translation: I feel very comfortable sharing things with you because you are separate from my ordinary, mundane life. Leaving these notes and having clandestine meetings is exciting. Having a relationship with you is new and unique, and I'm enjoying it. (Translation done by Macey McHenry, with assistance from Elizabeth Sutton.)
The Operatives took this message as a positive sign and fully expected The Subject to continue communication. A level of trust seemed to be building, and The Operatives felt as if The Subject may soon be ready to be called on to act. The Subject was making excellent progress.
Then they received the following: