A/N: Wow, alright, I'm nervous. Hi, there! So, this is my first Gallagher Girls story. It kind of feels like I'm attending a new school halfway through the semester, so believe me, I'm shaking. I hope you enjoy!

[Cammie]

"State your name, please."

"Cameron Ann Morgan."

"Codename?"

"Chameleon."

"And how long have you been undercover?"

"Eleven months."


The room's warm. No, scratch that. Beyond warm. It feels like the sun is hovering just above my head. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but seriously, it's hot in here.

I remain still in my chair, ankles crossed and hands resting on my plaid skirt. 9.4 feet in front of the wooden table before me (believe me, I counted as I waited) stands a high structure similar to an outstretched judge's bench. Professor Smith sits in the center, scribbling down my responses. To his left: Joe Solomon, a.k.a. the dreamiest teacher to ever step foot in the school. Two more of my educators and Dr. Steve make up the rest of the panel, as well as the rest of the team. My eyes briefly flicker towards the unknown figure at the end, wearing sunglasses and a dark sweatshirt with BI written on it. A faint scar runs along the side of his neck, and his hair shows no gleam from an excessive use of hair gel, although it's tousled in all the right places.

"Miss Morgan, please describe the mission you were given on July 28, 2013."

Miss Morgan. Once.

I process the answer in my mind first, and then reply, "Rebecca Baxter, Elizabeth Sutton, Macey McHenry, and I were assigned the mission of protecting the Abrams family from any harm. Information regarding why was withheld and labeled as classified."

"What were your covers?"

The four files I've memorized by heart cross my mind, but I ignore them, instead correcting him, "Are."

His eyebrows shoot up before he questions, "Excuse me?"

"You asked me what our covers were, as if it were past tense. This mission is still ongoing, therefore you should be asking me what our covers are."

Either the heat's getting to my head, or I just saw Mystery Boy smirk.

Smith lets out a small sigh, and I can see the annoyance in his eyes. "What are your covers?"

Satisfied, I answer, "We're students from the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women who were given the opportunity to temporarily live off campus and attend Roseville High. We report back to Gallagher two times every month about the environmental and cultural differences. The school pays for our house bills and gives us money for food and other vital necessities."

"And your allies?"

"Agent Solomon poses as a regular teacher from Gallagher. He drops by every two weeks to check up on us, which is when we update him about the mission. Every other agent involved contacts us through disposable phones and cryptic emails."

The older man nods while Dr. Fibbs and Mr. Solomon take notes. "How do you go about looking after the Abrams family?"

"Operative McHenry works in the bookstore across the street from the Abrams and Son Pharmacy. The windows give her a clear view of the building. Every Saturday morning, Operative Baxter attends the same gym as Mrs. Abrams, and the two occasionally chat while exercising. Operative Sutton strolls around with her camera at the beginning of each month. Civilians believe she's just taking pictures for our report back to Gallagher, but really, she's keeping surveillance. There's not a face in town she hasn't seen and investigated. I-"

I'm kind of head-over-heels for Joshua Abrams, so believe me, I'm keeping tabs on him.

Noticing my abrupt stop, every adult slightly leans forward. I shake my head and go on, "I work at the café where Joshua Abrams and his friends hang out, as well as babysit Joy Abrams whenever needed. We've set up several security cameras around the town and our laptop has access to every computer plugged in. Any suspicious activity is monitored by us."

After a few scribbles, he puts his pen down and looks me dead in the eyes. "Miss Morgan, do you know why you and your friends were assigned this mission?"

Miss Morgan. Twice.

With a nod, I respond, "We're the top of our classes, most likely even the top of our grade. We were recommended by our teachers and approved by Headmistress Morgan."

"You do remember that the CIA was hesitant about sending four teenage girls into something like this, yes? It was your achievements at Gallagher that slowly changed their minds."

"Yes, sir."

"So," he starts. Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, Smith continues, "You can imagine how shocked we were when we learned of the incident that took place on May 29, 2014, involving one of our best students."

Here we go.

I bite my bottom lip, preparing for the real part of the interrogation to begin. Smith opens his mouth, but Mr. Solomon jumps in, "Miss Morgan, what was going through your mind at the time?"

Miss Morgan. Three times.

Making sure to keep the shakiness out of my words, I state, "I saw danger, and I prevented it."

"Do you know the name of the victim?"

Victim?! I tightly clutch a piece of my skirt to keep myself from yelling. "No. My mother said it's for the best that I remain unaware. If I knew his name, I'd get connected, and if I got connected, I'd feel remorse."

"And do you?"

My eyebrows rise as I blurt out, "Am I supposed to feel remorse for the guy who almost slit my throat?"

The large room stays quiet for exactly twenty-nine seconds. Dr. Smith lifts his elbows onto the bench, stacking his right arm on top of his left.

"Many officials, on this panel included, believe that your mental state rules you incompetent for the remainder of this mission."

"Yeah, well, they're wrong."

Feeling my fists clenching, I take in and let out a breath, composing myself. Not even bothering to control the raising of my voice, I reply, "I'm a spy-in-training. I know the risks to this business, and I accept them. This is a real mission, not some CoveOps test. We've been protecting this family for nearly a year. I'm not letting you pull me or my friends out just because I did my job."

Straightening up, Dr. Smith commands, "Calm yourself, Miss Morgan."

Four times.

In a sharp tone, I snap, "This is calm, and it's Operative."

The five narrow-eyed adults stare at me, as if I were a new discovery in a lab. Not the boy at the end, though. His smirk widens into an amused grin.


After eleven hallways, four staircases, and an elevator, I finally reach the main floor of our headquarters, which is disguised as a rundown gas station. Liz is the first to spot me. She hops off the orange couch and rushes over, Bex at her heels. Macey steps away from the vending machine, granola bar in hand, and walks toward us.

Her thick accent lacing her voice, my British best friend asks, "How did it go?"

With a shrug, I tell her, "Well, it was hot."

Bex lets out a sigh of relief, mumbling, "Wow, I thought it was just me, since I was the first one in there."

Liz shook her head, saying, "I think the AC was intentionally turned off. See, glucose is our body's energy, and we use it for thinking. We'd need glucose to come up with answers to their questions. If the room's temperature were too hot, we'd use more energy to cool down versus if it were too cold and we were trying to heat up, giving us less glucose for our minds. They probably did this so we wouldn't completely think about our answers and maybe let something slip. It's kind of genius, actually, that-"

Noticing our stares, the small girl stops and begins to fiddle with her hands. I shake my head and go on, "They started talking about how what happened affected my mental state, how I'm unfit to continue the mission."

Macey's perfectly plucked eyebrows rise. "They think you're crazy?"

"Basically, yeah. I made it clear, though, that none of us are being replaced."

The girls nod, their own thoughts beginning to run through their brains. In a quiet voice, Liz questions, "Did they mention Josh?"

Bex and Macey snap their heads toward me, suddenly curious. I sigh before replying, "Not specifically."

Macey crosses her arms over her chest, saying, "That's good, right? They'd definitely pull you off if they knew how you felt."

I nod and look around, although any eavesdropper would've had several twists and turns before they reached this destination, and we definitely would've heard. Turning back to my friends, I mutter, "Who do you think that guy at the end was?"

Liz furrows her eyebrows, confusion in her eyes. "What guy?"

"The one by Dr. Steve, with the sunglasses and the scar on his neck. He wasn't there for any of your interrogations?"

Bex, tilting her head to the side, suggests, "Maybe they brought him in just for you."

"Was he hot?" Oh, the reasons to love Macey McHenry.

I chuckle and state, "I barely saw his face."

"You saw a scar and shades. That's enough to classify him as attractive or not."

I roll my eyes and, dodging the continuance of that conversation, say, "We should head back."


"Yeah, Liz is fine; she just ran into a tree. The bruise on her forehead is healing up."

On the other end of the line, Mom responds, "I'm feeling grateful that she can work her way through a lab. If that girl were an agent in the field, we'd constantly have to worry about her injuring herself with her own weapon."

I laugh and lean against the island in the kitchen. "Every spy needs their own personal genius. We're lucky enough to have the best."

After updating her about the mission, my mom sighs and asks, "How's it going over there, kiddo?"

"It's alright. I just finished a pretty heavy shift, though. If I have to make one more cup of coffee…"

Noticing my voice trailing off, Mom chuckles and replies, "Well, if there's anyone who can inhale the scent of caffeine for hours while still managing to stay sane and alert, it's you. Now, tell me why you're all alone on a Thursday night at 9:16 PM."

I look over to the security camera in the corner above the fridge and crack a small smirk. "Macey's working an extra shift at the bookstore because the school funding doesn't cover the excessive amount of ice cream that we desperately need."

I can feel the older woman grinning, making my smile widen as I continue, "Bex is keeping her company, and Liz is renting out some movies for tomorrow night."

"Ah, yes. You four are celebrating the last day of Roseville High with way too much junk food and way too many action films."

"Including but not limited to Nicholas Sparks, as well."

Mom lets out a few smooth laughs before saying, "Alright, kiddo, I have to finish up this paperwork. I'll call you soon, okay? I love you."

Waving at the camera, I respond, "Love you, too, Mom."

With that, I pull the device away from my ear, hang up, and turn it off. Tossing it in the trash, I pull open a drawer full of disposable phones, supplied to us by Gallagher, of course. I randomly pick one, turn it on, and set it on the counter. After closing the drawer, I rub my hands together and walk over to the pantry.

I swear, if Bex ate the last of my gummy bears-

"Mmmph!"

I wiggle and jump, but it's to no avail. A hand's clasped over my mouth, and an arm snakes around my stomach, tightly holding me back.

"Excuse me, sweetie, but the bus has arrived."

I shake the flashback out of my mind and harshly blink. In front of me stands an elderly woman, cane at her side. I politely smile and thank her before hopping off the bench and following the small crowd through the bus doors. Passengers begin to fill the seats against the walls of the vehicle. I sit down in the center, giving me a good view of everything. Once the bus begins to move, my hands find their way to the pocket of my green sweatshirt.

How many times the bus driver licked his hand and slicked back his hair: 8.

How many times the toddler in the back stuck his hand in his mouth: 5.

How many times the old woman clutched her purse and glanced at the biker sitting two feet away from her: 14.

And this was all in the span of four minutes. The bus halts at its next stop, and five more civilians enter. I look down and reach under my seat, immediately feeling the backpack that Macey purposely left when she was on this bus as a blonde in a sun dress, before she turned into a businesswoman taking twelve different taxis back to Roseville.

The things we do to make sure we're not being tailed.

I move the backpack towards my feet, already knowing that shoved inside are my next disguises.

"Is this seat taken?"

Lifting my head, I'm met with the sight of a teenage boy in a denim jacket and a red baseball cap. I shrug and mumble, "Go ahead."

He plants himself to my right, taking his hands out of his pockets. I pay no attention to him, instead looking at the new passengers: A middle-aged female with grocery bags, a young boy holding a skateboard, an elderly male chatting with the old woman, and a man reading a newspaper. I suspiciously eye the man, who could really use a haircut.

"Nice weather we're having, huh?"

A teasing smile tugs at my lips as I turn towards the figure beside me. "You've been staring at me for three minutes, and that's the best you can do?"

His lips form a smirk after he questions, "And how do you know that?"

"Contrary to what you believe, you weren't being very subtle."

He shakes his head while chuckling, "No, how did you know it's been three minutes? You're not wearing a watch."

Internally, a million thoughts run through my mind as I wonder how this one stranger could've noticed something nobody else ever has. Externally, I shrug and state, "Educated guess."

After a few seconds of silence pass, the boy lets out a breath and comments, "You fidget a lot."

I furrow my eyebrows, leading him to nudge his head towards my tapping heel, which made my whole right leg move. I immediately stop and turn to him with a small grin. "You know, you're really observant."

"Yeah, well, you're nice to observe."

Slightly leaning closer, he says, "This is when you're supposed to laugh and realize that we're both outsiders who nobody really understands. Then you get my name tattooed on your neck until it all goes terribly wrong, and you have to turn it into a snake biting your ear."

I can't help but let a chuckle slip out. The smirk on the teenage boy's face turns into a full grin as he mumbles, "Step one completed."

Just seconds later, the bus ceases. With a sigh, he stands up, saying, "This is my stop. I guess I'll see you around."

My eyebrows amusingly rise while I ask, "Are you sure about that?"

A small smile on his face, he nods. "I'm positive."


WHAT OPERATIVE MORGAN HAD TO UNDERGO ON HER WAY BACK TO ROSEVILLE:

1. Riding a bike to a thrift store and tossing it into an alley. NINE MINUTES

2. Purchasing a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt from the aforementioned thrift store and putting them on over a Gallagher uniform, which makes the operative extremely hot and sweaty. THREE MINUTES

3. Switching between three buses. SEVENTEEN MINUTES

4. Putting in extensions, slipping on black glasses, and changing into a floral dress, all in a very cramped gas station bathroom. FIVE MINUTES

5. Switching between seven cabs (one which was "coincidentally" shared with Operative Baxter, disguised as a nurse, and another which was accompanied by an incredibly talkative driver). THIRTEEN MINUTES

6. Taking out the extensions (which can be a very painful process), changing into Adidas shorts and a green sports bra, and leaving the backpack (now consisting of a Gallagher uniform, sweats, extensions, glasses, a dress, and heels) in a bathroom stall at a McDonalds for Operative Sutton to find. FOUR MINUTES

I sigh at the list I made in my head and continue jogging. Seven more minutes and I'll be riding into Roseville in Macey's white Mercedes, which was left at a Wal-Mart just outside of town for this situation. An odd feeling looms over my head, causing me to slow down. As I run past a library, I turn my neck around. Some girls exit the building, but behind their chatting group, I catch a small glimpse of a flannel shirt. Flannel shirt… The same flannel shirt that I saw when a guy held the door for me as I walked out of McDonalds.

I'm being tailed.

Spotting a gap between two stores, I jog into the space. Not hearing or seeing anything behind me, I descend to a steady walk. After a few paces, I reach the end of the alley. As soon as I hop out, my eyes slightly widen.

Dressed in sunglasses and a flannel, a boy's leaning against the back wall of one of the buildings, standing less than a foot in front of me. As an instinct, I quickly aim my arm towards his face. Before my fist can come into contact with his nose, his right hand catches it, twisting my wrist around and pulling me closer. I use this as a chance to swing my leg up, my foot hitting his chest and knocking him to the ground. He grabs my ankle, pulling me down. I straddle his body, sitting down on his firm stomach, and push his arms to the ground.

To my surprise, he smirks. Smirks! "You know, I could get used to this position."

I roll my eyes and yell, "Why are you following me?"

Instead of answering the question, he chuckles and mutters, "Cammie the Chameleon. They say you're legendary."

I tighten my grip around his wrists. Looking straight into his eyes, though, makes me lose all focus, and if he wanted to, he could've easily thrown me off. Green eyes. Like the boy from the bus. Like the talkative taxi driver. Those two wore hats, but the tousled hair beneath me seems familiar. My eyes widen as I reach my right hand towards his neck and semi-harshly stroke it. Foundation rubs off on my fingers, revealing a scar.

A faint scar runs along the side of his neck, and his hair shows no gleam from an excessive use of hair gel, although it's tousled in all the right places.

Noticing that I've caught on, his smirk only widens. "Zach Goode. I'm your new teammate."

He lifts his head up and brings his mouth close to my ear, then whispers, "Don't worry, you don't have to get my name tattooed on your neck just yet."

Wow, this was fairly long. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

What do you think Cammie did (beginning of the chapter)? What happened to her in that flashback? Does it have anything to do with her budding feelings for Josh, the boy she's been protecting for months? How will the new Zach Goode play into this? I'd love to hear your theories, as well as regular comments, so please be sure to drop a review!