Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover

"Yeah, I—"

Someone was knocking. My eyes were wide as they stared into his.

"Here," he said, gesturing to the collapsible overhead sleeping bunks that, before that moment, I’d only ever seen in old movies.

More knocking.

Outside, someone yelled, "Who’s got a key for this?"

But by the time the door burst open, Zach and I were nowhere to be seen.

(Note to self: don’t become a spy if you’re even a little bit claustrophobic.)

"What’s going on, Zach?" I whispered through the pitch blackness of the little collapsible bunk. That we had cob lapsed. With ourselves locked inside.

His arm was around my waist. His breath was warm on the back of my neck. Sure, I could hear Aunt Abby in the tiny compartment saying, "Macey, I don’t want to argue about this anymore. Just wait in here," but I didn’t really care.

"You were in Boston, Zach."

"Shhh," he whispered, pulling me closer with a jerk around my middle.

Outside our tiny bunk I heard more voices coming from compartment fourteen. I would have known Macey’s speech pattern anywhere. But the other voice was familiar too, and yet I couldn’t quite…

"You know," the deeper of the two voices said, "I’ve been told this is my best suit."

Preston!

I heard more talking and music, but all of that seemed a million miles away as I lay there, my mind racing faster than the train.

"That’s how you knew about the laundry chute," I hissed, another piece of the puzzle falling into place. "Why were you there, Zach?" I whispered, growing desperate.

"Not now." His voice was soft but strong.

"And don’t say it was because we were in danger, because at the time we weren’t in any danger."

"You want to take a nap or something?" he whispered.

"Yeah, and while we’re on the subject, why are you here?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Gallagher Girl, except we should be shutting up now."

Which was a very good idea because the voices outside had stopped. Macey and Preston weren’t talking anymore, but the spy (not to mention the girl) in me knew somehow that they were still out there. Because there were sounds. Sounds I recognized. Sounds I really didn’t want to think too much about. Because I think they were the sounds of kissing.

And I was currently smashed up against a boy that I had kissed!

And at that moment kissing needed to be the furthest thing from my mind!

"What were you and Mr. Solomon talking about?" I said, because, frankly, I really needed to say something!

But Zach must have been immune to the kissing sounds. Or kissing thoughts, because he snapped, "You don’t get it, do you?" He twisted me somehow so that our faces were inches away from each other in the black. "This is dangerous,

Cammie," he said, not Gallagher Girl. "This is—"

"Yeah. I kinda figured that out the day I woke up with a concussion."

"Don’t make light of this."

"What about ‘concussion’ is synonymous with ‘making light’?"

"You shouldn’t be here," he said again slowly, like I wasn’t bright enough to keep up.

"You’re here," I snapped back.

"Listen, this is no place for…"

"A girl?"

The train may have been swarming with armed guards…My roommate and the potential future first son of the United States may have been making out a few feet away…The world as I knew it may have been on the verge of being over if Zach and I had gotten caught…

But I. Didn’t. Care.

"A student?" I tried again. "What, Zach? Tell me what you are that I’m not."

And then my eyes must have adjusted to the black, because I swear I could see him—really, truly see him—as the cockiest boy I’d ever known looked at me and whispered, "I’m someone who doesn’t have anything to lose."

Everything else went away then—the noise from outside, the rocking of the car, the pressure, and the fatigue. I don’t know what would have happened next. Maybe I would have cried. Maybe I would have given in. Or maybe I would have demanded more answers to the questions I barely dared to ask.

But we’ll never know.

Because just as Zach touched my face, the world fell out from underneath us. Gravity took hold. One moment I was lying in the arms of one of the most complex (and gorgeous) boy spies ever, and the next I was landing like a ton of bricks on the hard, cold floor of a moving train while one of my best friends stared down at me. And the boy on top of me. And said, "Well, this wasn’t on my agenda."

At least Preston was gone—or at least I thought Preston was gone. I couldn’t be too sure because it was taking me a second to get my bearings.

"Ms. McHenry!" a male voice shouted from the other side of the door. "Secret Service! Is everything okay?"

I stared up at Macey. Zach was splayed on top of me, one of his legs tangled with Macey’s backpack. A tray of food had fallen with us and was now splattered all over the floor.

Macey looked at us, the most unusual look on her face, as if she knew that, with a single word she could bring that door—and our entire world—crashing down. She smiled, savoring the moment before she slowly said, "Everything’s fine. I just knocked over a tray."

"Shall we send a porter to—"

"No!" Macey snapped. "I want to be alone, or is that too hard to understand?"

I heard retreating footsteps.

Macey dropped to the bench across from us while Zach and I tried to right ourselves.

"Hi, Zach," she said, her right leg swinging as she sat with it crossed over her left.