Hi, everyone! I have some exciting news (for me, at least): I finished Family Feud today, and have started the next one! I'll have the rest of this one up by the end of the week, and hopefully by next week I'll publish the next one! Until then, enjoy!

~Karsen

"So I'm Gillian Gallagher's descendant? So that's why they let me in."

"Macey," Cammie cut in, "it's not—"

"True?" Macey asked, and I knew she had a point. There wasn't any other reason Gallagher would have accepted her. Then Macey McHenry, Gallagher Girl, turned and ran.

"Macey," Cam called, but I grabbed her hand.

"Cam—"

"Not now, Zach," she snapped, jerking her hand away. She dashed off, and I knew that I had let both of them get away.

EXCUSES TO USE TO AVOID BEING KILLED BY THE ONE MAN WHO WAS EVER EVEN REMOTELY CLOSE TO BEING YOUR FATHER

A list by Zachary Goode

Ignorance – "What? She's gone? Honestly, Joe, I had no idea. I didn't even see her – you know how she blends in, all chameleon-y. I had no idea she was there."

Brainwashing – "Yes, Joe, I know she's gone – my mother brainwashed me to tell her to run away, and I couldn't control it!"

Heart attack – "What? She's gone? No, that's not – oh! My heart! Joe, I'm having a heart attack!" pass out right here.

Blubblering – "I – sob – I'm so – sob – sorry. I let – sob – her get away."

Don't avoid it - "Joe, I know you're going to kill me, because I should have told you that Macey ran, but please, please, PLEASE do it fast. That's all I ask."

I wanted to kill someone. And, when you think about it, that's sort of a scary thought, considering my educational history. Jonas's voice was shaking a couple mornings later when I called him from the hotel phone (before you say that I'm lying about this part, I need to clarify something: we do have our own phone line… somewhat. It's a long story that involves one particularly long blizzard three years ago, a pair of tweezers, three AA batteries, an old stereo, and 300 yards of fishing wire). I figured Macey would run back to the mansion, and Cammie would find her, and they would have a girly cry-fest, and tell each other they loved each other, and hug each other, and go through about 12 boxes of Kleenex and twice as many packages of Oreos. But instead she didn't come back. I had stayed at the hotel, pacing back and forth in the room, downing cup after cup of coffee (which I don't even like), throwing wads of paper into the trash can (my record was 347 made baskets in a row from the opposite side of the room), doing anything to keep my mind off of the situation at hand. Joe had told me to trust him, but when Jonas called, I had trusted long enough.

"What?" I asked. I was totally confused.

"Cammie," he said. "I intercepted a call. Cammie, Liz, and the Baxter girl are gone, too." He paused, took a deep breath. "They're gone."

I picked up the nearest object (which happened to be an alarm clock) and threw it across the room (unfortunately, it didn't do nearly as much damage as I was hoping, because it was plugged in, and the process of unplugging itself took away a lot of momentum). "I should have known," I said. "What do I do?"

The human mind is a strange thing. Only when people are at their weakest do they ask for guidance, and right then I felt like I couldn't even hold up the phone. "Well," Jonas said slowly, "I'll keep watching the phone lines. You just…" he trailed off.

"Stay there." Grant's voice was firm, strong, so different from Jonas's at the moment. "Don't go anywhere. We can't have you MIA, too. Your mom would love to find you on your own with no backup."

"But they don't have backup," I argued.

"They have each other," Grant countered. He paused. "Get to the D.C. campaign rally. Something might come up."

I hung up, shaking my head. Cammie, you idiot, I wanted to scream. I kept kicking myself for not kidnapping her myself when I first thought to. Then, at least, she'd be safe.

And I'd see her more often.

But, more importantly, she'd be safe. With me.

The taxi ride to D.C. seemed to last forever, but I got there hours before the rally even started. I headed to the nearest payphone and dialed Joe's number. "They're okay," he said right when he picked up.

"How'd you know it's me?" I asked. "That wasn't very covert of you, saying something to a number you didn't know."

Joe laughed. "Zachary Goode, as much as your argument is a good one, you're just going to trust that I'm better."

I groaned. "But they're okay?" I asked.

"I told you to trust me, didn't I?"

"Yeah," I argued. "I tried that, and she ran away. What happened?"

Joe laughed. "Is that phone secure?"

My shoulders slouched. "No," I mumbled.

"Then just know that they're okay, and you'll see them in a couple of hours."

"How'd you know I was in D.C.?" I asked.

Joe's laugh filled the phone, and I couldn't help smiling at the sound. "Spy," he said, and at that moment all doubt I ever had about Joe being the best spy on earth went away, because he knew my catchphrase! I wanted to be mad for his stealing my single-favorite line, but I was too impressed. "Okay, Joe," I said. "Bye."