"And here the view is infinitely better." The voice cracked through the comms unit I was wearing. Grant caught my eye, and I could see his cheeks start to get red. I popped a red M&M into my mouth, then put the bag back in my pocket. The Morgan girl and a black girl, Baxter, stood about thirty feet from the bench Jonas and I were sitting on. The Morgan girl was cute, but in a simple way. She didn't stand out like the Baxter girl, who was gorgeous. The Baxter girl looked our way, and it wasn't hard to tell that she was talking about us. I looked at Grant, the same boy who, according to that short brunette civilian from one of our field exercises, is the "spittin' image of Brad Pitt." I laughed. "Ooh," Baxter said. "I want one!"

I looked over at Grant. "Fifty bucks if you go up to her right now and say it's a deal." I could tell he was still in shock. After all, he had just found out that a school, slightly similar to our own (but only slightly) existed for girls. And knowing Grant like I do, I'm sure he was terrified that there was a possibility that girls, girls, could be better than us. I nudged him in the ribs and nodded towards the Baxter girl. "She seems like she'd be a great catch."

He gave me a death glare. "If she'd be such a great catch, then I'll give you fifty if you do."

I looked over at him. "Sorry, man. She's not my target – she's yours." I sighed. "But if you're going to be so generous with your money, then be ready to pay up, because by the end of the day, I'll have carried on a full conversation with the Morgan girl."

Grant rolled his eyes. "There is no way."

I slapped his back before standing up. "Be listening, my friend. You'll hear on the comms." The girls began walking away. "Duty calls," I said, and left Grant on the bench.

I weaved in and out of the pedestrian traffic, making sure to always keep the Morgan girl in sight. Every now and then I would catch sight of Grant, either across the street at the bus stop, in line at a street vendor, blending in unnoticed to the two girls we were following. For over an hour I remained hidden in the shadows, and in that hour I realized what Joe meant, what my mother meant when they said that she was good. It was hard keeping her in sight, and a couple times I thought I had lost her. She and the Baxter girl had split up, and as she headed to the elevator, I saw my chance. "Grant," I whispered, regardless of the fact that he couldn't hear me, "you better be listening." I reached out and pushed the elevator button just as she walked up. "Hey," I said.

"Hi," she replied. She pushed the elevator button again. I glanced at her school uniform – plaid skirt, white shirt, and a sweater bearing the crest and name of her school. Totally different from the uniform at Blackthorne.

"So, the Guggenheim Academy—"

"Gallagher Academy," she corrected. I rolled my eyes.

"Well I've never heard of it before," I lied. I seriously hoped Grant could hear this.

She looked somewhat annoyed as she said "Well, it's my school."

I smiled as I asked "You in a hurry?" I didn't add that it was four-forty, and she only had twenty minutes – I figured that would raise some questions. She rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Actually, I'm supposed to meet my teacher at the ruby slipper exhibit." Oh, fancy that. "I've only got twenty minutes, and if I'm late he'll kill me." I laughed, knowing that, with this girl, with that teacher, that could be the absolute truth.

"How do you know?" I asked, trying to not sound too amused.

She bit her lower lip. "Because he said, 'Meet me at the ruby slipper exhibit.'"

"No," I smiled and shook my head, wondering how a girl who could miscomprehend a question like that ever landed a spot in such an elite school. However, I had seen her file, had listened to my mother as she rattled off detail after countless detail about her and her father. Her father… "How do you only have twenty minutes?" I pointed to her wrist, trying to refocus. "You're not wearing a watch."

"My friend just told me." The lie seemed to be effortless, and I tried to not be too impressed by the fact that, had I not known better, I would have believed her, no question. So she can lie, I thought to myself. Big deal. Poker players do it all the time.

She rocked back and forth on her heels again, and reached up a hand to push a wisp of hair out of her eyes. "You fidget a lot," I pointed out.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I have low blood sugar." I closed my eyes, trying to remember if I had somehow missed seeing that in the file Joe handed me. "I need to eat something." I shook my head, realizing that Joe had included everything in her file: that her friends called her Cammie, that she was right-handed, that her favorite candy was M&Ms (and I promise it was a total coincidence that that particular candy was my snack of choice that day), even that her first name was her mother's maiden name. If Cameron Morgan had a blood sugar disorder, Joe would have included it. Any doubt I had about this girl's IQ went out the window at that point.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the candy, holding it out to her. "Here. I ate most of them already."

She stepped back, obviously caught off guard. "No thanks," she said. "Thanks, though."

"Oh," I said, wondering if maybe Joe had gotten her favorite candy wrong – if maybe Joe Solomon had been wrong. Not likely. "Okay."

At that moment the elevator doors slid open, and she stepped out. "Thanks again for the candy," she said as I stepped out of the elevator too. She began walking toward the museum, and I followed. I was surprised when we actually made it ten feet before it occurred to her that something wasn't right.