A/N English is not my first language, so if you find grammar mistakes please tell me so I don't make the same mistakes twice. This is my first fanfic, please don't be so hard on me. I WILL TRY to upload things once a week.

Again. I am sooo sorry for not updating earlier. But never mind that now. It's finally here! The next chapter! Hope u like it.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything but the plot. All credit goes to Ally Carter

I know that I'm a really bad person and I don't earn this right. But please, please, please review. U don't know how important it is to me to get a review.

Also, I have a question: I pretend to get Rachel or Abby pregnant in this story or the next if I do make one) and then Cammie latter on. How old do u think the people should be so that it doesn't get too weird the age differences. Review or PM me ur answers.

I hope you enjoy it


JOEPOV

When I woke up I was breathing heavily and Abby was looking at me with concern.

"Was it the dream again?"

"No. This time Matt wasn't dead. Cammie was walking through the front door with him right after her."

"So why are you out of breath?"

"I kind of was running to hug him first."

"That's a good dream."

We looked at the clock and it was already 9am, not that we actually needed to look but it was habit, so we decided to take a shower and head down to breakfast.

RPOV

I woke up and looked at the clock. 8:32:42am. Great. I better get ready and head down.

LPOV

"Jonas?"

"Yes Lizzie."

"Time to get up."

"Ugh. I'm coming."

BPOV

I woke up before Grant today. He looked so cute when he was sleeping, but I will deny it if he ever questioned me. I got up and ready in exactly 2min and 11sec.

"Grant, get your butt in the shower right now!"

NPOV

8:49am. Why do we have to wake up so EARLY to read these books?! Just then I felt something press against my bare chest.

Macey. I just can't wait till I man up to put the ring that is in the box inside my pant's pocket.

ZPOV

I woke up and looked at the other side of the bed expecting to see Cammie realizing that it is already morning and time to wake up while complaining that sleep never lasts long enough until I give coffee to her.

*Sigh* She's not here, she's somewhere far away and she's going to stay there for 3 months. Well. Time to get ready.

I was the first one to get in the kitchen. I made breakfast (our maid was on a early vacation) and as I was finishing the room began to fill with people.

LPOV

Hummm. The smell was delicious!

"Wow, Zach, where did you learn to cook like this?" Bex asked.

"You haven't even tasted." Zach replied smirking a little.

"You know what I mean!"

"Well, I have known how to cook breakfast since I was little. And living with Cammie that can't make a decent breakfast to save her life has been good to put my cooking into practice."

"So she got her mom's talent in the kitchen then." Abby said making everybody laugh.

"In my defense, I never needed to cook, Matt always did it."

"No. She can't make breakfast because she is so grumpy in the mornings. But she can make lunch and dinner like nobody else I know. You know the food that we always serve at dinner when you guys come?" Everybody nodded their heads. "Well, Cammie makes it and I help a little to go quicker."

After the best breakfast I have had in my whole life, yes that includes Gallagher's, we returned to our seats from last night to continue reading.

"Can I go first?"

"Sure thing Lizzie." Jonas said

"Chapter Three"

There are many pros and cons to living in a two-hundred-year-old mansion. For example: having about a dozen highly secluded and yet perfectly inbounds places where you can sit and discuss classified information: PRO.

The fact that none of these places are well heated and/or insulated when you are discussing said information in the middle of the winter: CON.

"That's true." Agreed Bex.

Two hours after our welcome-back dinner, Macey was leaning against the stone wall at the top of one of the mansion's tallest towers, drawing her initials on the window's frosty panes. Liz paced, Bex shivered, and I sat on the floor with my arms around my knees, too tired to get my blood flowing despite the chill that had seeped through my uniform and settled in my bones.

"She's going to get a cold."

"Don't worry Rachel. First, as her Godfather I know that she can take care of herself, and second, it has already happened."

"So that's it, then?" Bex asked. "That's everything your mom and Mr. Solomon said? Verbatim?"

Macey and I looked at each other, recalling the conversation we'd overheard and the story we'd just told. Then we both nodded and said, "Verbatim."

At that moment, the entire sophomore class was probably enjoying our last homework-free night for a very long time (rumor had it Tina Walters was organizing a Jason Bourne-athon), but the four of us stayed in that tower room, freezing our you-know-whats off, listening for the creaking hinges of the heavy oak door at the base of the stairs that would warn us if we were no longer alone.

"I can't believe it," Liz said as she continued to walk back and forth – maybe to keep warm, but probably because... well... Liz has always been a pacer. (And we've got the worn spots on our bedroom floor to prove it.)

"I have not!"

"Sorry Liz, but yes you have. And just like Cammie said 'we've got the worn spots on our bedroom floor to prove it." Macey said

"Cam," Liz asked, "are you sure the East Wing couldn't have been contaminated by fumes from the chem labs?"

"Of course she's sure," Bex said with a sigh.

"But are you absolutely, positively, one hundred-percent sure?" Liz asked again. After all, as the youngest person ever published in Scientific America, Liz kind of likes thing verified, cross-referenced, and proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Everybody laughed as I turned beat red.

"Cam," Bex said, turning to me, "how many ventilation shafts are there in the kitchen?"

"Fourteen – unless you're counting the pantry. Are you counting the pantry?" I asked, which must have been enough to prove my expertise, because Macey rolled her eyes and sank to the floor beside me. "She's sure."

"Wow, she really knew that school like the palm of her hand." Nick said impressd

In the dim light of the cold room I could see snowflakes swirl in the wind outside, blowing from the mansion's roof (or... well... the parts of the roof that aren't protected with electrified security shingles). But inside, the four of us were quiet and still.

"Why would they lie?" Liz asked, but Bex, Macey, and I just looked at her, none of us really wanting to point out the obvious: Because they're spies.

Again. Everybody laughed

It's something Bex and I understood all our lives. Judging by the look on her face, Macey had caught on, too (after all, her dad is in politics). But Liz hadn't grown up knowing that lies aren't just the things we tell – they're the lives we lead. Liz still wanted to believe that parents and teachers always tell the truth, that if you eat your vegetables and brush your teeth, nothing bad will ever happen. I'd know better for a long time, but Liz still had a little naivete left. I, for one, hated to see her lose it.

"Oh well…" I said with a shrug of my shoulders.

"She isn't the only one." I could have sworn that I heard my best friends saying it too.

"What's black thorn?" Macey asked, looking at each of us in turn. "I mean, you guys don't know either, right? It's not just me-being-the-new-girl thing?"

"It's not black thorn, it's Blackthorne. Can't you guys het it right?"

"Shut up Grant."

Everyone shook their heads no, then looked to me. "Never heard of it," I said.

And I hadn't. It wasn't the name of any covert operation we'd ever analyzed, any scientific breakthrough we'd ever studied. Black thorn or Blackthorne or whatever it was, it had made my mother miss some quality mother-daughter interrogation time. It had also forced my Covert Operations instructor to hold a clandestine conversation with my headmistress. It had crept inside the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women (or at least its East Wing), and so there we were, not quiet sure what a Gallagher Girl was supposed to do now.

I mean, we had three perfectly viable options: 1) We cold forget what we'd heard and go to bed. 2) We could embrace the whole "honesty" thing and tell my mother all we knew. Or 3) I could be... myself. Or, more specifically, the me I used to be.

"I prefer the first option."

"But where would the fun in that be, Rachel."

"When you get a daughter you will understand Abby."

"The forbidden hall of the East Wing is almost directly beneath us," I began slowly. "All we have to do is access the dumbwaiter shaft on the fourth floor, maneuver through the heating vents by the Culture and Assimilation classroom, and rappel fifty or so feet through the ductwork." But even as I said it, I knew it couldn't be nearly as easy as it sounded.

"So..." Macey said, "what are we waiting for?" She jumped to her feet and started for the door.

"Macey! Wait!" Everyone looked at me "The security department did a lot of work over the break." I pulled my legs closer, wrapped my arms tighter. "I don't know what kind of upgrades they made, what they might have changed. They were all over those tunnels and passageways, and..." I trailed off, grateful that Bex was there to finish for me.

"We don't know what's in there, Macey," she said, even though the fact that we didn't know what lay waiting in the East Wing was kind of the point, and I could tell by the look on her face that Macey was getting ready to say so.

"Surprises," I finished slowly, "as a rule... are bad."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

Macey sank to the floor beside me while I told myself that everything I'd said was true. After all, it was a risky operation. We didn't have adequate intel or nearly enough time to prep. I can list a dozen perfectly logical reasons why I stayed on that stone floor, but the one I didn't tell my friends was that I had promised my mother that my days of sneaking around and breaking rules were over. And I kind of hoped my vow would last longer than twenty-four hours.

"Me too, Cammie, me too."

"So, what do we do now?" Liz asked.

Bex smiled. "Oh," she said mischievously, "we'll think of something."

"Now, you girls are in big truble."

COVERT OPERATIONS REPORT SUMMARY OF SURVEILLANCE By Cameron Morgan, Rebecca Baxter, Elizabeth Sutton, and Macey McHenry (hereafter referred to as "The Operatives")

When faced with the knowledge that faculty members of the Gallagher Academy of Exceptional Young Women were planning a rogue operation, The Operatives began a research and recognize mission to determine the following:

1. What was such a big freaking deal that no one wanted The Operatives to know about it?

2. Why were The Operatives no longer allowed in the East Wing? (A change that had added ten and a half minutes to their average daily commute between classes!)

3. Who or what was Black Thorn? Or maybe Blackthorne? (Is it possible that Headmistress Morgan and Mr. Solomon were taking on a group of terrorists-slash-florists?)

4. What does Mr. Solomon look like with his shirt off? (Because, if you're going to set up an observation post, you may as well be trough.)

"I'm not sure if I'm completely confortable with you girls thinking that of a professor." Joe said blushing looking at us girls that were also blushing.

"Don't worry Joey, I'm sure that this was just one of the most innocent thoughts that the students had involving you." Abby said as Joe's face got more and more red by the minute

When I woke up the next morning I tried not to think about the night before, but it's kind of hard to forget covert and potentially dangerous missions when A) The dirty tower floor left a stain on your best school skirt. B) At breakfast, your mother says, "Good morning, Cam. Did you girls have fun last night?" which everyone knows translates to I'm acting perfectly normal because I totally have something to hide. And C) Avoiding the mysteriously off-limits East Wing means you have to find alternate routes to sixty percent to your daily destinations.

"I just can't imagine that Cammie is this sarcastic, she barely shows it."

"Then you have to see her in the mornings."

On my way downstairs I walked slowly past the door that opened into the East Wing. It was just another door – dark, solid wood, and an old doorknob. There were hundreds of doors like it in the mansion, but this one was forbidden, so like any good spy, I wanted to open that one.

I felt Kim Lee fall into step beside me as she glanced at the door and said, "Going around is such a pain." Of course she didn't think about the fact that half of our teachers could have been behind that very door at this very moment, planning an attack on some rogue florists!

I, of course, was having trouble thinking about anything else.

"Wow, I think that's a first." Abby said

Not even the sight of Mr. Smith appearing currencies while factoring in exchange rates, could make me stop obsessing about that door and the secrets it was masking.

Even Madame Dabney's lecture on the art of perfect thank-you notes and their obviously underutilized coded message potential couldn't pull my mind away from the East Wing.

We already had two hours' worth of homework and the promise of a pop quiz on the poisonous plants of Southeast Asia; all the teachers were acting like they had no idea what was going on, or had sworn ta take the secret to their graves (which could have been true, actually).

It was business as usual at the Gallagher Academy, and as we started downstairs after Culture and Assimilation (C&A), it almost felt like the break had never happened.

Almost.

"Well, this is it," Liz said. Bex and I started for the elevator that was concealed in the narrow hallway beneath the Grand Staircase.

"What is it?" I asked. Then I turned and saw that Liz wasn't following us to our next class.

Instead, she hooked her thumbs in the straps of her backpack and took a step away. "I've got Advanced Organic Chemistry."

"It was a shock that you wouldn't have CoveOps with us anymore."

But Bex and I didn't have Advanced Organic Chemistry. Bex and I had Covert Operations. From that moment on, the two of us were going to be training for a life of missions and fieldwork while Liz prepared for a career in a lab or an office. I thought about the forms we'd filled out last semester, the choice I'd made to walk away from any hope of a safe, normal life – from boys like Josh. So it wasn't any wonder that my voice cracked when I said, "Oh. Okay."

Bex and I stared into the mirror that hid the elevator's entrance, then waited for the red beam to scan our retinal images and clear us for our second semester in Sublevel One. I tried not to think about how, for the first time since seventh grade, Liz wouldn't be beside us.

"It's better than Sublevel Two, at least you don't have to prickle your finger."

Bex must be thinking the same thing, because pretty soon she said, "Are you sure you want to spend the two and a half years doing experiments and cracking codes?" A wicked twinkle appeared in her eye as she studied Liz's pale reflection. "Because the CoveOps class is gonna do underwater exercises eventually, and you know Mr. Solomon will have to take his shirt off."

"I told you it was just one of the many thoughts students have towards you Joey."

A portrait of Gillian Gallagher hung on the wall behind us; I saw her eyes flash green, then the mirror slid aside, revealing the small elevator to the Covert Operations classroom. Liz watched the doors slide closed behind us, then Bex turned around and yelled, "But Mr. Mosckowitz might be topless sometime, too!"

"Yuck. That is a scary thought." Macey said while making a disgusted face

And then I heard Liz laugh.

"She'll be okay without us, right?" Bex asked.

We heard the clanking of a suit armor falling to the floor and Liz's distinctive "Oopsy daisy."

Everybody laughed as I blushed

As the elevator started to move, Bex said, "Don't answer that."

Now everybody was with tears in their eyes

Here's the thing you need to know about Sublevel One: It's big. Like, I've-seen-football-stadiums-that-are-smaller big. And while the rest of the mansion is made of old stone and ancient wood, there's nothing about the frosted-glass partitions and stainless steel furniture of the Covert Operations classroom that could ever be confused with a two-hundred-year-old mansion that housed privileged girls.

Bex and I stepped off the elevator, our footsteps echoing as we passed the CoveOps library, full of books so sensitive you can never ever take them out of the Subs. (They're made out of paper that will disintegrate if it's ever exposed to natural light, just to be on the safe side.) We passed bid burly guys from the maintenance department, who smiled and said, "Knock 'em dead, girls." (Knowing the guys from our maintenance department, they may very well have meant it literally.)

"They sure did." Grant said

I slid into my chair, trying not to think about Liz or the door or anything other than the fact that I was finally back in the one part of the Gallagher Academy that never pretended to be anything other than what it is.

"The door?" Grant asked

"Yeah. That one to the East Wing…" Zach said

That was before Tina Walters leaned toward me, grinning and snapping her gum as only a third-generation spy-slash-gossip-columnist's daughter can do. "So, Cammie, is it true they sent a SWAT team to drag you out of your grandparent's house on Christmas morning?" Tina didn't wait for a response. "Because I heard you put up a good fight, but that they eventually pulled your Christmas stocking over your head and rolled you up in the tree skirt?"

"OMG. I can't believe she asked that. Never mind. It is Tina Walters we are talking about." Rachel said

There will probably come a day when national security will rest in the hands of Tina Walters. Luckily, that wasn't the day.

"I was with her, Tina," Bex said. "Do you honestly think they could have taken both of us?"

Tina nodded, conceding the point. Before she could dig further, a deep voice said, "Static surveillance." Mr. Solomon came strolling into class without so much as a hello. "It is the root of what we do, and it has one golden rule – name it!"

"You have always liked the dramatic entrances haven't you Joe?"

"Yes I have Rachel, yes I have."

And then, despite everything, I half expected to see Liz's thin arm shoot into the air, but of course it was a different voice that answered. "The first rule of static surveillance is that the operative must use the simplest, least-intrusive means possible."

Well, my first thought was that Sublevel One had become contaminated with some kind of hallucinogenic chemical, because the girl who spoke sounded like Anna Fetterman. She looked like Anna Fetterman. But there was no way Anna Fetterman belonged on the Covert Operations track of study!

"And why is that?" Rachel asked

"The book is going to explain."

Don't get me wrong, I love Anna. Really I do. But I once saw her give herself a bloody nose while opening a can of Pringles. (I'm soooo not even making that up.) And that's not the kind of thing that usually screams Let me parachute onto the roof of a foreign embassy to bug the ambassador's cuff links, if you know what I mean.

"Oh, now I get where Cammie is coming from."

But did Mr. Solomon act shocked? No, he just said, "Very good, Ms. Fetterman," as if everything were perfectly normal – which... hello... it wasn't. I mean, Anna was taking CoveOps, my mom was hiding something from me, and there was an entire section of our school that even I couldn't access! Everything was not perfectly normal!

Everybody laughed

Joe Solomon had been an undercover operative for eighteen years, so naturally he was completely calm as he relaxed against his desk and said, "We deal in information, ladies. It's not about operations – it's about intelligence. It's not about cool gadgets – it's about getting the job done." Mr. Solomon looked around the room. "In other words, don't bother to plant cameras in the living room if your target never shuts the blinds."

I started writing everything down, but then Mr. Solomon slid Eva Alvarez's notebook off her desk and into her open bag. "No notes, ladies."

No notes? What did he mean no notes? Was he serious? (By the way, it was probably a good thing Liz wasn't on the CoveOps track, because her head would have been exploding about then!)

I stopped reading when I felt eyes on me.

"What?"

"Well, aren't you going to deny it?" Jonas asked

"Even I can't deny this."

At the front of the room, Joe Solomon turned to the board and started diagramming a typical static surveillance scenario. Anna was gripping her pen so hard it looked like she was about to pull a muscle, but Mr. Solomon must have that whole eyes-in-the-back-of-his-head thing, because he said, "I said no notes, Ms. Fetterman," and Anna jerked away from her pen as if it had shocked her. (It might have – we do have some very specialized writing instruments here at the Gallagher Academy.)

"No, it didn't." Joe answered even before Bex formulated the question. "But we do have some pens that can shock you."

"This is not a required course, ladies. You no longer have to be here." Mr. Solomon turned around. His green eyes bore into us, and at that moment Joe Solomon wasn't just our hottest teacher, he was also our scariest. "Six of your classmates have already chosen a relatively safe life on the research and operations track of study. If you can't remember a fifty-minute lecture, then I'd encourage you to join them."

He turned back to the board and continued writing. "Your memory is your first and best weapon, ladies. Learn to use it."

I sat there for a long time, absorbing what he'd said, what it mean, knowing that he was right. Our memories are the only weapons we take with us no matter where we go, but then I thought about the second part of his statement – Don't make things harder than they have to be. I thought about what I'd overheard the night before. The look in my mother's eye on the long, quiet ride home. And finally... Josh. And than I realized that my life would be a whole lot easier if there were some things I could forget.

"And, yet she wanted her memory back after that horrible summer." Rachel said under her breath

"Well, you can't deny that if the same had happened with you, you wouldn't want the same."

"Yeah. I guess you are right Abby."

"Okay. Who wants to read next?" I asked holding up the book


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