Chapter Ten
Evie's Notes: Happy Sunday, y'all! Hope you enjoy the new chapter! Let me know your favorite part in the comments!✨
Disclaimer: I don't own anything in bold, only my OCs đź’•
Ginny decided to use the unexpected break to call back to base while Madame White kicked Mr. Solomon's ass in the P & E Barn. Pulling out her cellphone, Ginny dialed the number for her boss back in her year of 2015.
"Agent Ballesta, it is good to hear from you. I trust that your arrival went smoothly given that you are calling in?" asked her boss and handler Hank Renold.
"Yup, everything went ok, except that I landed face first on the teacher table. So you can pass on to Agent Goode that I will be demanding my five bucks from him when I get back"
"I will let him know," laughed her handler. "He was so sure that they had fixed that glitch this go around".
"I had better head back in to the reading, Jessica has hopefully finished kicking Joe's ass at this point"
"Knowing Agent Solomon he probably deserves it"
"Oh 100%" laughed Ginny. "I'll check back in later. But as for now the mission is on track".
"Perfect, stay safe Agent Ballesta, come back to us"
"I will" promised Ginny.
Meanwhile on the Gallagher Academy Campus, Cammie and her friends were stretching their legs by jogging around the grounds.
"Are you hanging in there ok Cam?" asked Liz, as she panted trying to keep up with the others.
"Yeah, totally fine having my thoughts and feelings read out to everyone" snapped Cammie, putting on an extra burst of speed in hopes of outrunning her problems.
"Well you did submit these reports to Langley in the future" chuckled Bex, easily matching Cammie's pace.
"Still it sucks to have everyone read it and not just the director" defended Macey, choosing to keep pace with Liz.
"Whatever, I'll just be glad to be done with all of this. The only good thing to come out of this will be our ability to keep Macey safe" announced Cammie as the quartet reached the front doors of the manor.
"Hear hear to that!" cheered Liz.
"All students please report back to the Grand Hall to resume our reading" echoed Headmistress Morgan's voice through the speakers placed around the manor.
"Back into the fray once more" grimaced Cammie, leading her friends towards the dining room.
"Alright now that we are back, can I have a volunteer to read our next chapter?" asked Ginny, holding the Report over her head.
"I'll do it," offered Liz. Taking the book and beginning to read in her sweet southern accent "Chapter Ten"
"There are things spies often carry with them: pocket litter, fake IDs, the occasional weapon-slash-camera-slash-hair accessory. But the heaviest things, I think, are the secrets. They can drown you if they let them. As I sat inside Sublevel Two that day, I knew the one I held was so heavy I might never see the surface again.
"Well that sounds ominous" whispered Tracy
When class was over, the lights came on, and I listened as half of my classmates scattered to explore their new surroundings. I watched Mick Morrison corner Mr. Solomon with a dozen questions about the Marciano Theory and its proper use in urban settings, but the rest of the class stood huddled around Aunt Abby, who was doing a very dramatic reenactment of the time she'd had to sneak a nuclear engineer out of Taiwan during the rainy season. "So then I told him, I know it's a rickshaw, but that doesn't mean it doesn't float!" Abby said. Tina and Eva burst out laughing, but I knew Aunt Abby was watching out of the corner of her eyes as I left the classroom and started up the long spiraling ramp that led to the mansion above us.
"I can't wait to meet Abby next semester! She seems awesome" grinned Eva.
I knew she was listening as Bex fell into step beside me and said, "Cam, slow down," as if it were possible for me to outpace her. (Which it isn't.)
"Damn straight," chuckled Bex.
But I just kept spiraling upward, remembering the words I had listened to but hadn't heard; recalling the attackers' indifference when Preston fell to safety over the side of the roof—the things I had watched but hadn't seen. "I was an idiot!" I snapped. "You were brilliant," Bex said, and from any other girl in any other school those words might have sounded like lip service. But not this girl. Not this school. From Bex, it was an undisputed fact, and she was willing to take on anyone who said otherwise. "Two girls in this school could have done what you did," She cocked an eyebrow. "And you're the other one."
Cammie gratefully squeezed her friend's hand in thanks.
As we reached the elevators and stepped inside, I thought about how there are two types of secrets: the kind you want to keep in, and the kind you don't dare to let out. I could have looked at Bex. I could have lowered my voice, and there, in that tiny elevator a hundred feet beneath the ground, I could have been certain that no one could possibly overhear. But my mother and Mr. Solomon were the two best spies I know, and they hadn't told Macey. They hadn't told me.
"Very smart Miss Morgan, very smart" praised Mr. Solomon
As the elevator doors slid open, I heard the sound of girls coming down the stairs above us. The smell of lunch drifted from the Grand Hall. Things move through our mansion as fast as fire sometimes. And that's when I knew I had the second type of secret. I didn't dare to set it free.
Instead I carried it into the Grand Hall and sat down at the juniors' table for lunch, barely looking up until I heard Eva Alvarez announce, "Mail's here." She dropped a postcard on the table in front of me, and immediately I recognized the ruby slippers from the National Museum of American History and The Wizard of Oz and, most important, from the very place where Zach and I had first seen each other for what we really were.
"EEEEEEEE" squealed several of the students, excited to hear more about Zach.
Cammie just ducked her head to hide her blush, but inwardly she was also excited to hear about the boy.
This isn't a hallucination, I told myself. This is real, I thought as I turned it over and studied the handwriting that, last spring, I'd watched wash away in the rain. And I read the words "Be careful."
"That's it?" snapped Louisa, an enraged senior. "Two words? Boy needs to up his communication skills and stop playing with your heart"
I spent the rest of that week trying to talk to Aunt Abby alone, but the problem was, from that point on, my aunt was never alone. "Um, Aunt Abby, can we… talk?" I asked Monday night after supper, but Abby just smiled and started for the door. Unfortunately, half the sophomore class started with her. "Sure, squirt. I was just going to go to teach these guys this really cool move with a garden hose. Wanna come?" When I saw her in the foyer Tuesday afternoon, I asked, "Hey, Aunt Abby, do you maybe have some time to… catch up… tonight?" "Ooh, sorry, Camster," she told me as she started walking Macey to P& E. "Fibs has asked me to help him whip up a batch of this superpowerful coma-inducing cream I learned how to make in the Amazon. It could take all night."
"Please stop experimenting with the children Abigail" sighed Rachel
"Uhh, Headmistress Morgan you're talking to a book" pointed out Tina, only to shrink at the annoyed glare sent her way. A glare only a big sister could muster.
Everywhere I turned I heard questions like, "Hey, Cammie, has Abby ever shown you that thing she did in Portugal with a bobby pin?" Or "Well, I heard that five more senior operatives were begging to take Macey's detail, but the deputy director of the CIA himself called and asked Abby to take the job."
"Not likely, but that is certainly an interesting theory" chuckled Professor Buckingham
By Saturday, it was starting to feel like the one story Aunt Abby wouldn't tell was the only one I wanted to hear. And, by Sunday, it had started to rain. The halls seemed dimmer than usual for that early in the semester as I walked through the empty corridors on my way to my mother's office. When I passed the window seat on the second floor, I couldn't resist pulling back the red velvet curtains and peering through the wavy glass. Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky, but the trees were lush and green in the forest. Our walls were still tall and strong, and beyond them, not a single news van sat. I thought for a second that maybe the worst of it was over, but then a flash of lightning slashed through the sky, and I knew the storm was just beginning.
"Spoooooky" giggled a group of seventh graders.
"Cammie!" Mom's voice called through the Hall of History, and I turned away from the glass. Walking toward my mother's office, I couldn't help notice that she was smiling as if this were exactly how the first Sunday night after summer vacation was supposed to be—except this time it was definitely different. Because first, there was music. Loud music. Fast music. Music that was definitely not of the Culture and Assimilation variety! And second, the food didn't smell terrible.
"Rude!" protested Rachel, sulking in her seat as Joe laughed beside her.
"Sorry Mom," apologized Cammie sheepishly.
Sure, it didn't smell as good as the aromas drifting from the Grand Hall, but it didn't look like the smoke (and/ or hazardous materials) detectors had gone off yet, and that was a very good sign. But as soon as I reached the door to my mother's office, I could see that what really set this Sunday night apart was that, this time, my mother was not alone. "Hey, squirt. I'm crashing." My aunt winked as she pulled a grape from a bowl of fruit on the corner of my mother's desk. "Your mom and cooking," Abby said, grabbing me by the hand and spinning me around to the music, "this, I had to see."
"No one is forcing you to eat anything," Mom chided, but Abby just kept dancing, pulling me in and out until she whispered in my ear, "I've got an antidote for ninety-nine percent of the food-borne illnesses known to man in my purse, just in case."
Rachel could be heard muttering several unflattering things up at the teacher table about good for nothing ungrateful baby sisters.
And then I couldn't help myself. I laughed. For a second, it seemed right. For a second, it seemed safe. Everything was different… but familiar. The dancing. The music. The sounds and smells of Mom making her famous (in a bad way) goulash. It was as if I were having flashes of someone else's life. And then it hit me: it was my life. With Dad. Dad used to listen to that music. Dad and I used to dance in our kitchen in D.C. And suddenly I didn't feel like dancing anymore.
The room fell into a solemn quiet as they remembered what happened.
Mom watched me walk to the radio and turn down the volume. "Oh, Cam," my aunt said with a sigh. "Look at you. All grown up and breaking hearts…" She raised her eyebrows. "And rules. Honestly, as an aunt, I don't know which makes me prouder."
"Abigail," Mom warned softly. "Rachel," my aunt mimicked her sister's motherly tone.
"Perhaps the United States Secret Service should not be encouraging rule-breaking—especially at this particular school during this particular year." "Perhaps the headmistress of the Gallagher Academy should try to remember that a spy's life is, by definition, rules-optional," my aunt lectured back.
"And while we're on the subject," Mom said, her voice rising, "perhaps the United States Secret Service should consider that it might be unwise to tell Madame Dabney's eighth graders how to make their own chloroform out of Kleenex and lemon wedges?" "Yeah, I couldn't believe they hadn't figured out how to do that yet," Abby said, as if the standards for her sisterhood had gone down considerably.
The older years all nodded sagely, as making chloroform was a rite of passage at the academy.
"That technique was banned in 1982!" "Hey, Joe said—" "I don't care what Joe says!" Mom snapped, and this time her voice carried fire. "Abigail, rules exist for a reason. Rules exist because when people don't follow them, people get hurt." The words lingered in the air. My mom seemed to be shaking as she finished. "Or maybe you've forgotten."
"Yikes! She just crossed a line" winced Jamie, having a little sister herself and understanding that some things just can't be said.
I've known Aunt Abby my whole life, but I've never seen her look like she looked then. She seemed torn between tears and fury while the storm raged outside and the goulash congealed and I wondered whether any of us would ever feel like dancing again.
"Rachel, I—" "Get her." I don't know why I said it. One minute I was standing there watching them argue, and the next, the secret I'd carried with me all the way from Sublevel Two was breaking free. Mom inched closer. Abby stepped away. And outside, the rain was falling against the mansion walls like the tide. "What did you say, Cammie?" my mother asked in the manner of someone who already knows the answer to her question.
"Gosh I hate it when they do that! Ask you a question when they already know the answer" ranted Lindsey
"Oh my momma be doing that too!" agreed her roommate Jackie
"Talking like, 'where were you at last night'?" continued Lindsey
"And she already got a powerpoint presentation, and a case file ready" sighed Jackie
"She got pictures, video, your best friend about to testify" listed Lindsey
"I would never do that to you bestie" promised Jackie, laying a solemn hand on her friend's shoulder before the pair burst into giggles.
"Why are you both this way?" sighed their third friend Francesca, dropping her head to the table in defeat.
The rest of the room laughed at the display.
Getting back on track, Liz continued to read.
"I remembered…" I sank to the leather sofa. Mom inched closer, but behind her, Aunt Abby gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head—a warning. Be careful what you wish for.
The more traumatized students in the room all nodded in agreement.
"I remembered something… about Boston. I put Preston on that window-washing thing, and they didn't really… care." Mom was easing onto the coffee table in front of me, moving slowly as if afraid to wake me from that terrible dream. "They said get her." "Cam—" Mom started, but flashes filled my eyes again—a gray door, a black helicopter, and finally a white piece of paper fluttering to the ground. "Preston's agenda," I whispered, but this time I didn't look at my mother—I looked at my aunt. "He was never supposed to be there, was he?" Mom started to say something, but Aunt Abby walked past her and dropped onto the leather couch beside me. "Nope." Some people might wonder why it mattered—we'd known for weeks that Macey was in danger. But sitting there, listening to the storm that had been a long time coming, I couldn't help but feel like it made all the difference in the world. The kidnappers weren't there for the son and daughter of two of the most powerful families in the country—they were there for only one of them. And she was one of my best friends.
Macy laid her head on Cammie's shoulder, both as a way to reassure the girl she was still there, and to remind herself that she was safe. There was no way anyone in this room would let anything happen to her.
"It's true, kiddo," Mom said. "Preston Winters wasn't supposed to be there, so we can only assume that he wasn't the target." I nodded. She smoothed my hair. But nothing could keep my heart from pounding as I asked, "Who were they?" "More than three hundred groups have claimed credit for the attack," my aunt said, then added with a shrug, "which means at least 299 of them are lying."
"The ring," I said, closing my eyes and seeing the image that was burned into my mind. "I drew you a picture of that ring. Have you—" "We're looking into it, kiddo," Mom said softly. I bit my lip, needing to know where at least some of the pain I was feeling was coming from.
Rachael screwed her eyes closed tightly to stop the tears from falling.
"Why Macey?" I blurted, turning to my mother. "She's the daughter of very powerful people, Cam. They have very powerful enemies." And then I asked the question more terrifying than anything I'd seen on the roof. "Is she going to be okay?" My mother and aunt looked at each other, two CoveOps veterans who had seen enough to know that there was no easy answer to my question.
"The Secret Service is good, Cam," my mother said. "Your aunt Abby is very good." She looked at my aunt as if no amount of sibling rivalry could ever come between them. So I sat there for a long time thinking about my sisters. About our sisterhood. And then suddenly it seemed funny. It seemed crazy. We were in the middle of the Gallagher Academy, where the people are both crazy and really, really good at being crazy about security. Of course Macey was going to be okay.
"Duh, we won't let anything happen to her," Talia, one of the seventh graders, promised fiercely.
"Well, at least we already go to the safest school in the world. And it's not like Macey's going anywhere, right?" I said with a smile—totally not expecting my aunt to smile back and say, "Yeah… well… Cam, have you ever been to Cleveland?"
"And that's the end of the chapter! Who wants to read next?" asked Liz.
"I will," offered Mick, taking the book from her classmate and beginning to read.
Evie's Notes 2: I hope you enjoyed this update, let me know what you want to see more of in the comments đź’ś!
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