I'd Tell You I Love You, But Then I'd Have to Kill You (Gallagher Girls)

by Carter, Ally

  “Did you boys come over here to flirt with Anna?” Bex said, laying on her faux charm. She pushed a petrified Anna toward the clan. “Anna, tell the boys a little something about yourself.”

  “I have a boyfriend!” she blurted in a way that told me it totally wasn’t a lie. I was stunned. Bex was stunned. Even Macey took a second to recover. Anna has a boyfriend?

  In all this time, I’d never thought that one of my classmates might have a boyfriend—especially not Anna. “His name is Carl,” she added.

  “Sorry, boys,” Bex said, sliding her arm around Anna’s shoulder. “Carl beat you to it.”

  “Oh, so they have boyfriends. Tell me, is Carl a townie?” Dillon asked, as if he wanted to be let in on a secret. “Do you girls like to go slumming?”

  “It’s probably Carl Rockefeller,” Macey added, and Bex squeezed Anna harder until she said, “Yes. Carl Rockefeller. We know each other from the physics”—another hard squeeze—this time with fingernails—“um, yacht,” Anna corrected, “club.”

  Two pats on Anna’s shoulder told her she’d done well.

  “Hey,” Dillon said, stepping forward as if he were tired of beating around the bush. “I was wondering if you know someone I know. . . .” His voice trailed off. He leaned forward, and I just knew—I mean KNEW—that he was on to me, but then he said, “The Queen of England.”

  Well, Bex actually has met the queen, but obviously she wasn’t about to say so. She just stood quietly as Dillon and his buddies laughed far too hard at the joke, making it even less funny.

  “Honey, I got your—” The woman behind the counter stopped abruptly when she saw four boys closing in on three girls. The only sound in the room was the white paper bag that held Anna’s prescription as it crinkled in her hands.

  “Thanks,” Bex said, snatching the package. “Is this all you needed?” she asked Anna, who nodded, and the color slowly returned to her cheeks.

  “How ’bout you?” Macey asked Dillon. “You get what you came for?”

  But they didn’t wait for his response. Instead, they walked together past a long shelf of magazines, where Macey’s face stared out from the cover of Newsweek, along with the rest of the McHenry family, beneath a caption that read The Most Powerful Family in America?

  Dillon looked at it, then at her. Macey cocked a hip. “We appreciate your vote.”

  A long time after they’d gone, I still couldn’t turn away from the bells that were still ringing. I watched Anna stroll down the street with her saviors—with her friends. A hand circled my wrist, and Josh said, “Hey.” I saw his reflection in the mirror from the corner of my eye, but there was something through that window I couldn’t turn away from.

  Liz was standing on the sidewalk, staring at me through the glass as if she didn’t know me. As if she didn’t want to.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Josh asked, finally turning me to face him. “What are you doing with those?” He gestured to the half dozen bottles of aspirin I must have subconsciously gathered in my arms to throw like snowballs at Dillon and his cronies if help hadn’t come.

  “Oh.” I looked down. “I knocked them off and was picking them up.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, and pushed the bottles back onto the shelf.

  I turned back toward the window, but Liz was already gone.

  A cold front blew in that night—in a lot of ways.

  Fires burned in all the lounges. We traded our knee-socks for tights. Every window we passed was covered with frost, blocking our view of the world outside. But nothing made me shiver quite as much as the look on Liz’s face. For days, it was as if we were still separated by the pharmacy windows. It was as if she hardly knew me.

  When I went to the chem lab after supper Tuesday night, Liz was already there.

  “Well, fancy seeing you here,” I said, trying to sound chipper as I gathered my things and moved to the lab table across from her.

  Her eyes were shielded behind her protective goggles. She didn’t even look up.

  “Earth to Liz,” I tried again, but she turned away.

  “I don’t have time to help you with your homework, Cammie,” she said, and it might have been my imagination, but I could have sworn all the beakers frosted over.

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I think I’ve got it under control.”

  We worked in silence for a long time before Liz said, “He was Josh’s friend—wasn’t he?”

  I didn’t have to ask who she was talking about. “Yeah, they’re neighbors. I’d met him before, that’s why I couldn’t compromise—”

  “Nice friend,” Liz snapped.

  “He’s all talk,” I said, repeating Josh’s words to me. “He’s harmless.”

  But Liz’s voice was shaking when she said, “Go ask Anna how harmless he is.” Of course, word of Anna’s encounter in the pharmacy had spread like crazy, and Anna was now something of a hero—thanks to the fact that Bex and Macey insisted that Anna had the situation well under control when they got there.

  But I couldn’t share this with Liz. We both knew the truth. “If things had gotten out of hand I could have—”

  “Could have or would have?” Liz asked.

  The difference between those two words had never seemed so huge. “Would,” I said. “I would have stopped it.”

  “Even if it meant losing Josh?” Liz said, not asking what she really wanted to know—that if it had been her instead of Anna in Dillon’s sights, would I have saved her; if it came down to a fight between the real me and my legend, which one would I choose?

  The glass doors at the back of the lab slid open, and Macey walked in. “Hey, I thought I might find you two—”

  “It’s gone too far, Cammie,” Liz said, shaking ingredients wildly into the mix until the whole thing started to bubble and change colors like something in a witch’s caldron. “You’ve gone too far.”

  “I’ve gone too far?” I said. “I wasn’t the one blowing up Driver’s Ed cars!”

  “Hey,” Liz snapped. “We thought he was a honeypot!”

  “No.” I shook my head. “We thought he was a boy.” I gathered my things. “We thought he was worth it. And, you know what? He was.”

  “Yeah,” Liz called after me. “Well, I never thought you were someone who’d choose a boy over her friends!”

  “Hey, cool it,” Macey said.

  “Well, I never thought I had friends who’d make me choose!”

  As I neared the door, I heard Liz start to speak, but Macey cut her off, saying, “Hey, genius girl, you don’t have any idea what kinds of sacrifices she’s willing to make for her friends.”

  “What are you—” Liz started, then her voice softened slightly as she asked, “Why? What do you know?”

  When Macey spoke, she left no room for doubt. “Enough to say, back off.”

  The glass doors slid open and I darted through them just as Liz said, “Okay,” but I couldn’t stop moving, didn’t dare break my pace until I reached the supply closet in the east corridor, where I slid aside a stack of long fluorescent light-bulbs, grabbed a flashlight from the top shelf, and found the loose stone that I had discovered one day during my seventh-grade year while looking for Onyx, Buckingham’s cat.

  The stone was cold beneath my hand when I pushed against it and felt the rush of air as the wall slid aside. A small sliver of light slipped beneath the door behind me, but it faded into nothing in the deep expanse of black.

  An hour later I was standing in the shadows of Bellis Street, shivering in the dark.

  What did I intend to accomplish by sneaking through a secret tunnel, climbing over a fence, and literally staking out Josh’s house in the dark? I didn’t have a clue. Instead, I just stood there like an idiot (and even an idiot who is very good at not being seen while standing around can feel pretty silly while doing it).

  This is probably a pretty good time to point out that while it may appear that I was lurking—I wasn’t. Lurking is what creepy guys with random facial hai
r and stains on their shirts do. Geniuses with three years of top secret spy training don’t lurk—we surveil.

  (Okay, I might have been lurking—a little.)

  White eyelet curtains were pushed back from a kitchen window where Josh’s mother was washing dishes. When Josh walked through the kitchen, his mother blew soapsuds at him, and he laughed. I thought about Bex, who was probably laughing right then, too. I thought about my mother, whose tears only came in secret. I thought about my life—the one I had and the one I wanted, so all I did was stand shivering in the cold, watching Josh laugh, as I started to cry.

  But that’s a girl’s right—isn’t it? To cry sometimes for no reason? Really, when you think about it, that ought to be in the Constitution. Maybe I’ll break into the National Archives sometime and write that in. Bex would totally help me. Somehow, I don’t think the Founding Fathers would mind.

  With finals and the stress that comes with them, I didn’t really see Liz again until supper the following night when she brought her slice of pizza and came to sit beside me. “So, where did you go last night?” she asked. But before I could answer, she said, “To see Josh?”

  I nodded.

  “You didn’t break up with him, did you?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

  “No,” I said, shocked.

  “Good.” Then she must have sensed my confusion because she said, “He’s good to you, and you deserve that.” She looked around the Grand Hall at the hundred other girls who were like us. “We all deserve that.”

  Yeah, I realized, I think we do.

  I stole a glance at Bex who sat beside me, laughing. We all deserve laughter and love and the kinds of friends I had beside me, but as I watched her, I couldn’t help but wonder if she’d still find life so funny if she knew all I knew. I wondered if our fathers’ fates had been reversed, would our personalities have switched, too? Would I be the one standing in the Grand Hall allowing Anna Fetterman to demonstrate how she’d defended herself against a mob of twenty angry townspeople (because, by that time, the mob had grown considerably)? Would Bex, beautiful Bex, be a chameleon, then?

  “Ms. Baxter!” I turned to see Professor Buckingham starting toward us. I felt my heart stop—literally. (It can do that—I know, I asked Liz.) She was walking toward us, bearing down like the force of nature she was.

  Macey was across the table from me, and we glanced at each other—an unspoken dread lingering between us like the smell of olive oil and melting cheese, but beside me, Bex was unfazed, and I remembered the power of a secret.

  As she drew near, I tried to read something in Buckingham’s eyes, but they were as cold and blank as stone.

  “Miss Baxter, I just had a phone call . . .” Buckingham started and then, ever so slightly, turned her gaze toward me. “. . . from your father.” Air returned to my lungs. Blood started moving in my veins, and I’m pretty sure Buckingham gave something that resembled a wink in my direction. “He said to tell you hello.”

  My elbows fell to the table, and across from me, Macey mirrored my relief. It was over.

  “Oh,” Bex said, but she hadn’t even stopped chewing. “That’s nice.”

  She would never know how nice.

  I glanced toward the head table, and Mom raised a glass in my direction. Beside me, Bex didn’t breathe a sigh of relief. She didn’t say a prayer. She didn’t do any of the things I felt like doing, but that’s okay, I guess. Her father was still on his high wire. It was just as well she’d never looked up.

  Almost everyone had gone upstairs twenty minutes later when Bex and I started to leave.

  “So, what do you want to do now?” Bex asked.

  “I guess we could do anything,” I said, and it was true. We were leaving the hall, and it didn’t matter where we were going. We were trained and we were young and we had the rest of our lives to carry the worry of grown-ups. Right then, I just wanted to celebrate with my best friend—even if she didn’t know why.

  “Let’s get all the ice cream we can carry and . . .”

  But then I saw Liz running down the spiral staircase, crying, “Cammie!” as if I hadn’t already stopped. And then Liz whispered, or at least she tried to whisper, but I swear everyone in the entire mansion must have heard her when she said, “It’s Josh!”

  Wars have been won and lost, assassination attempts have been thwarted, and women have avoided showing up at the same event in the same dress—all because of really good intel. That’s why we have entire classes devoted to this stuff. But as Liz dragged me into our suite, I didn’t really appreciate its importance until I saw the screen.

  “These were here when I got back from supper.”

  Poor Liz. She’d done this amazing job of getting us patched into Josh’s system, and I could tell by looking at her that she would have given just about anything to undo it all right then. Ignorance is bliss, after all. But the problem is, for spies, ignorance is usually pretty short-lived.

  From D’Man

  To JAbrams

  Have you come to your senses yet? I’m telling you—I saw her WITH MY OWN EYES. You’ve got to believe me now. SHE GOES TO THE GALLAGHER ACADEMY!! She’s been lying to you!! How can you take HER word over MINE?

  From JAbrams

  To D’Man

  I trust Cammie. I believe her. You probably just thought you saw her walking with a bunch of those girls on Saturday. She doesn’t even know them. Trust me. Give it a break.

  Dillon’s response was a single line.

  From D’Man

  To JAbrams

  Tonight. 9:00. WE’LL GET PROOF!

  Now, at this point I was starting to panic, which isn’t very spylike, but is pretty girl-like, so I figured I was well within my feminine rights. The “proof” to which I’d seen teenage boys refer in movies usually involved video equipment and/or feminine undergarments, so I yelled, “Oh my gosh!” and started looking around for Liz’s flash cards. Surely somewhere in all that vat of knowledge there had to be instructions on what to do when your cover is completely and irrevocably blown.

  Faced with the knowledge that the operation had been severely compromised, The Operatives formed a list of alternatives, which included (but were not limited to) the following:

  A. Misdirection: in a variation of the “you must have seen someone who looks like me” approach, one of The Operatives could impersonate Cammie and climb the wall while Cammie looks on with Josh and Dillon and says, “Is that who you saw?” (Which is especially effective when The Subject is nearsighted.)

  B. Sympathy: this technique has not only been used successfully by spies for many centuries, but it is also a staple of teenage girls. The conversation would likely resemble the following:

  JOSH: Cammie, is it true you attend the Gallagher Academy, home of filthy rotten heiresses, and are not homeschooled, as you initially told me?

  CAMMIE: (instantly bursts into tears—note: tears are very important!) Yes. It’s true. I do go to the Gallagher Academy, but no one there understands me. It’s not a school; (dramatic pause) it’s a prison. I’ll understand if you never want to see me again.

  JOSH: How could I ever hate you, Cammie? I love you. And, if possible, now I love you even more.

  C. Elimination: Dillon, aka D’Man, could be “taken out.” (This alternative failed to achieve universal support.)

  These were all pretty good options (well, not C, but I felt as if I owed it to Bex to at least include it), but as I weighed them in my mind, and nine o’clock drew closer, I knew there was another option. One we hadn’t put on paper.

  Josh and Dillon were coming to get proof, and even though the rumor that the security division had recently invested in poisonous darts probably wasn’t true, I still didn’t want to think about what would happen if Josh came looking for me—now or ever. And when I thought about it that way, I really only had one choice.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I said as I shoved Josh’s earrings in my pocket and reached for my silver cross, clinging to my legend till the end
.

  I walked toward the door as Bex called, “What are you gonna tell him?”

  I didn’t stop as I said, “The truth.”

  Well, obviously I didn’t mean “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth” truth. More like Code Red truth—the abridged kind. Spy truth.

  Yes, I go to the Gallagher Academy.

  Yes, I have been lying to you.

  Yes, you can’t believe a single thing I’ve said or done.

  But here’s the thing about spy truth: sometimes it isn’t enough to achieve your mission objectives. Sometimes you need more, and even though I didn’t want to do it, maybe it’s only fitting that a relationship that started with a lie would end with one.

  No, I never really loved you.

  No, I don’t care that you’re hurt.

  No, I never want to see you again.

  The mansion seemed especially silent and empty for so early on a Monday night. My footsteps echoed in the dim halls, but I didn’t fear the noise. The tunnels were awaiting me, and Josh, and the end of something I had cherished.

  Still, before I climbed the wall one last time, there was something I couldn’t stand to carry over it.

  Mr. Solomon’s office wasn’t exactly on my way—but it was close enough. I reached into the back pocket of my jeans for the folded form that Mr. Solomon had given us—that everyone but me had long since turned in. It was creased and mangled, and I realized that I’d carried it with me almost everywhere I’d gone for weeks—unsigned, unfinished.

  Twenty-four hours before, I had been afraid to even look at it, but so much can happen in a spy’s life in that amount of time—a father can get reborn, a friendship can live and die, a true love can dissolve like the paper its love notes are written on. Twenty-four hours before, I had been sitting on top of our walls, but now I knew on which side I belonged.

  The two boxes lay at the bottom of the page, like a fork in the road that I had grown tired of straddling. Beyond our walls was a boy I could only hurt, and inside them were people I could help. It was probably the hardest decision of my life, and I made it by drawing an X. That’s one of the golden rules of CoveOps: don’t make anything more difficult than it has to be.