Ally Carter has posted many deleted scenes on her website, though she doesn't post many and some of the parts them are incorporated differently in the books.
I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You
Deleted Scene 1
As we made yet another turn I realized we werenât walking anywhere in particular. We were justâŚwalking.
Itâs a basic rule of CoveOps to be a moving target, so that night I walked with Joe Solomon through dim corridors and down deserted halls until we found ourselves at the far end of the second story of the mansion. Stone steps spiraled from the first floor, past a massive stained glass window that had once been heart of the Gallagher Academy Chapel, and as Mr. Solomon sat on the fourth step from the bottom I wondered if heâd come there for confession.
âSo,â he started, sounding uneasy, as if the words were foreign to him. âI was home over the break,â he said and I thought Joe Solomon has a home? I never really thought about our teachers outside of work and the fact that a man like Mr. Solomon might live somewhere seemed amazing to me. Mr. Solomon is someoneâs neighbor. Mr. Solomon has a mortgage.
âAnd I was cleaning out my basement.â
Mr. Solomon has a basement?
âAnd I found these,â he said, as he reached into his pocket for a manila envelope. âI could have brought them to classâŚâ he placed the envelope in my hand ââŚbut I didnât thinkâŚâ he trailed off, and for the second time in seven minutes Joe Solomon didnât have the strength or courage to say what came next.
The weight was uneven, like a puzzle thatâs been broken apart and a part of me wanted to shake it. If Liz had been there she probably would have rushed it immediately to the lab for analysis, but all I could do was stare at it, wondering what was so important Joe Solomon had pulled it from the basement and given it to me.
âTheyâre pictures,â he said.
âOh,â I muttered. âThanks.â
âOf your dad.â
I felt the cold stone seep through my jeans as I sank to the bottom step without realizing I was no longer on my feet. The envelope lay in my hands like an offering in that holy place, and even though Mr. Solomonâs knee pressed against my shoulder, even though his breathing was the only sound in that vast, deserted hallway I forgot I wasnât alone.
âI thought you should have them,â Mr. Solomon said. âHeâd want you to have them.â
Of course I already had pictures of my father, hundreds of them--the kind you keep pasted in books and the kind you keep frozen in your mind. Even without spy training I would still remember his face, his smell, the way his hands fit around my waist as I stood on his toes and danced on the kitchen floor. But sitting there that night with Joe Solomon I knew there was a side of my father I had never seen, I remembered that the man inside that envelope was in most ways a stranger.
I felt Mr. Solomon stand slowly and take a step away from me, up the stairs.
-*-
As I sat on the cold stone steps, watching the moonlight fall through the big stained-glass windows my internal clock must have switched off, because when I finally made it back upstairs and opened the door to our suite, Liz met me at the door, shouting, âDo you know what time it is?â and for the first time in years I didnât know the answer.
âSo?â Bex said, rushing forward. âWhat did Solomon want?â
Even Macey dropped her books to look at me as I walked toward my bed. Down the hall, the common room was quiet.
âCammie,â Liz said, her voice dripping with fear and excitement and smelling like Aquafresh. âWhat happened?â
I placed the envelope on my bed. âHe had some old pictures of my dad he wanted me to have,â I said as I started changing into my pajamas walking toward the bathroom.
âOoh, let me seeâ" Liz said, grabbing the envelope before I could stop her.
âNo, Iâ"
But it was too late, the envelope was already open and pictures were falling to my bed.
âOoh,â Macey said. âHottie.â
âYeah,â I said, âMr. Solomon is veryâ"
âNot Mr. Solomon, silly,â Macey said. âYour dad.â She eyed the picture in her hands. âHeâs got that whole strong, silent type thing going on.â
âHow can you tell?â Liz wanted to know becauseâŚwellâŚLiz never passes up an opportunity to learn something.
Deleted Scene 2
âIs that Glycolysis or Gluconeogenesis?â Macey asked. Yesâour Macey. The Macey who had crawled out of a limo and bragged about only eating eight hundred calories a day. I know what youâre thinkingâsometimes it amazes me, too.
I squinted through the glow of the secret room, absorbed in its tomb-like silence (luckily Maceyâs nose ring only makes that annoying wheezy noise when sheâs sleeping.) I leaned toward my stack of seventh grade notebooks and dug until I found the one labeled biochem.
I licked my thumb like Grandpa Morgan always does when heâs reading the newspaper and started flipping through pages. Halfway through a lecture about Amino Acid & Peptide Structures a series of doodles caught my eye in the margins. Most of them were in Bexâs distinctive handwriting. LikeâŚ
Do you think my boobs look any bigger today, because I think I felt them growing last night?
AndâŚ
Wouldnât it be awesome if they hired some hot guy to teach CoveOps when Buckingham retires?
And, my personal favoriteâŚ
Whose bright idea was it for Mr. Mosckowitz to get a perm?
Itâs kind of amazing we made it this far, when you think about it. I kept flipping through the pages, through the years, remembering the things we were learning and the celebrities we were stalking (not that Iâm not admitting that we were the ones who programmed that satellite to take pictures of Matt Damonâeven if it was exceptional workâŚ)
Then I saw it:
Lifetime Goals and Objectives of Cameron Ann Morgan
-Graduate from Gallagher Academy (obviously)
-Pass CoveOps Gauntlets Senior Year (obviously)
-Become youngest field agent to ever lead mission for CIA
-Develop breasts (preferably in the B to C cup range)
-Buy awesome house to share with Bex and Liz (ideally one with a pool)
-Invent calorie-free chocolate chip cookie dough
-Gain Top Secret, Eyes Only security clearance
-Find out who was with Dad on his last mission
-Find out what happened
-Do what has to be doneâŚ
Papers were everywhereâclass notes and study sheets, so I shouldnât have been surprised when Macey started digging. I should have been ready for when she picked up the slip of paper that had tumbled from my bag and asked, âWhatâs this?â
She didnât know what A29-b stood for, of course, but as her gaze swept across the words âCareer Track Declarationâ I saw recognition dawn.
âItâs nothing,â I said, grabbing it from her hand as I gathered my things and stood to leave. I closed the seventh grade notebook and my seventh grade dreams. âI donât have the answer, Macey,â I said.
And I didnât.
Deleted Scene 3
Sunday night supper with my mother was different that week. No matter how many times I showered and changed my clothes, I couldnât help thinking that I stilled smelled like the Abrams family garbage and that my mother would notice. After all, this was the woman who just by noticing a change in the guyâs cologne, was able to expose a double agent who was selling black-market booby traps to rebels in Uzbekistan. So was it so hard to believe that sheâd smell a strange boyâs toothpaste on my fingers?
I sat through frozen pizza and bagged salad, trying not to think about the fresh vegetables and cartons of eggs that I knew filled the Abrams family refrigerator (or at the very least, their trash). I imagined his family sitting down to dinner together every night, someone saying grace, someone else asking him to pass the potatoes. I took another bite of my pizza. It was still cold in the center, but I smiled and told Mom it tasted good. There are some lies that even the most seasoned secret agents will believe.
Cross My Heart and Hope to Spy
Deleted Scene 1
âWhat do you want, Dillon?â I said.
âI want you and your snotty little friends out of my town and out of my sight.â
I threw my hands out to my side. âThat it?â I took a step, needing my walls--not to keep me safe but to keep me hidden in a way I hadnât been since Josh had first seen me.
I felt my hands to into fists, heard my slow voice as I said, âLeave me alone, Dillon.â But I thought give me a reason.
But Dillon wasnât backing down; he didnât take the hint. I was just a girl he hated; someone he had four inches and sixty pounds on; he could be tough with meâbe strongâor whatever the definition of strong that people like Dillon have to use in order to make themselves feel worthwhile.
âYouâre not so hot now, are you, Gallagher Girl?â he leered, pacing around me, stepping closer and closer until I had to turn to follow him and I felt like I was riding the merry-go-round that was only twenty feet away.
âYouâre gonna leave my friend alone,â Dillon said, and I knew he didnât think it was a question.
âJosh can make up his own mind.â
âYou got a real smart mouth, you know that? Maybe someday someoneâs gonna wash that smart mouth out. Maybeââ
âIs there a problem here?â a voice came from the shadows. Dillon spun to see the boy who stepped into the park, but I didnât have to turn around. âHey, were you guys gonna use the slide or do you mind if I go?â Zach said.
Zach reached for me. I felt his hand slide down my wrist and into my hand that had become a fist without my knowledge.
âYeah, I was just telling your girlfriend to stay away from my buddies,â Dillon said.
I expected Zach to make some kind of smart comment about the girlfriend remark, but instead he just smirked at me and said, âLeave the nice boyâs friends alone, sweetheart.â
Then Zach turned around; he started away.
And I felt the punch before it landed.
Call it womenâs tuition or P&E training or just really, really good instincts, but I knew to duck. And spin. And take two steps back before Dillon could pull his beefy arm back again.
And then I noticed something weird. Something scary. Something that I didnât know if I could understand flooded into my brain as I realize that the fist wasnât pointed at me.
I turned to the boy beside me. My hand was suddenly cold as I realized that Zach was no longer holding it. Instead, he was lying on the ground, Dillon standing over him.
âCammie,â Zach said, holding a hand out, freezing me in that place and time and it was the look in his eye even more than his words that told me, âDonât.â
And then something strange occurred to me: Zach must have felt the punch coming, too. Zach must have known to duck.
But he didnât.
And then I knew that being a spy isnât really about knowing how to throw punches; sometimes itâs about knowing when to take them.
Dillon was looking down, taunting as he kicked Zach once in the side.
Zach who was highly trained.
Zach who was highly skilled.
Zach who could have flattened a punk like Dillon with both hands tied behind his backâŚ
Was lying there. Bleeding. And acting like the rich, spoiled, privileged boy that any boy temporarily enrolled at the Gallagher Academy was supposed to be.
âYeah!â Dillon snapped as if he was so tough. As if Anna Fetterman couldnât have put him in a full body cast with her new mastery of the ____ maneuver. âI thought you were all talk,â Dillon spat back as he turned and slowly walked away.
âZach, you idiot,â I told the boy on the ground as soon Dillon was out of earshot. âIâm gonnaââ I started then turned to where Dillon was disappearing, but Zach grabbed my hand.
He looked up at me and said, âYou know that I know you can handle yourself, right?â He looked at me as if he genuinely cared about the answer, so I nodded my head dumbly and said, âYeah.â
I sank to the curb beside him, turned his face so I could see the coming bruise, but he pulled away and turned to face me.
âYou know I just couldnât have him showing up at the county hospital telling the cops about some hundred pound girl kicked his butt?â
âYeah,â I said. âStop fidgeting.â I held his shoulder, gingerly touched a growing bruise.
âYou know Iâve been hit harder?â
And then I couldnât help myself, I laughed a little. âOf course.â
âYou know there are worse ways to hurt a person?â He was right and we both knew the answer had nothing to do with banned interrogation tactics and the Geneva Convention. There are worse ways, and Zach and I had already lived through enough of them to last a lifetime.
âYouâre bleeding,â I said, rubbing his temple with my sleeve.
âItâs not so bad. HeâŚâ
âWhat? Hits like a girl?â I guessed, thinking it was funny, needing to laugh, to do anything to make one of us look away, but instead Zach didnât laugh, didnât blink, he just stared harder and said, âNot the girls I know.â
Aside from the creaking swings that swayed in the soft breeze the world was quiet and still. Josh and I had come to that park; heâd told me stories and Iâd told him lies, and like it or not those lies had brought me to that park again, another boyâs blood on my sleeve.
For the whole walk back to school we didnât say a word.
And for the first time, I didnât mind.
Deleted Scene 2
Following Joe Solomon into the CoveOps elevator brought a strange set of emotions to the surface. On one hand, he is Joe Solomon (and close proximity to six junior spy boys hadnât diminished his hotness.) On the other, there were about a million other things I wanted to be doing. But I also knew I couldnât do anything about any of themânot really. So I was glad to be locked inside that elevator. It felt good to follow him through the maze of Sublevel One.
I wanted a missionâa task, a purpose. And when he said, âI suppose you know what this is,â I was relieved to look at the big steel door in front of me.
âItâs the Safetronic 4700,â I said in awe.
He smiled. âThatâs right. We just got it in.â He kicked the steel door like a used car salesman kicks tires. âItâs the best commercially-available safe in the worldâjust the type of thing an operative might encounter in the field.â
I ran my hands across the smooth shiny surface. âItâs uncrackable.â
He laughed. âI hope not.â
And then he pushed me inside.
-*-
As much as I dearly love being a Gallagher Girl sometimes, it kind of cramps my styleâespecially when pushed and locked inside the worldâs best safe. On a great TV night. When I have a headache.
And when Iâm not alone.
I heard the laughter behind me and turned to see the hollow, empty room that might have been a suburban garage. If all garages are made from titanium and are located 30 yards under ground.
âWell, he said he was bringing me company,â Zach said slowly. Then he shook his head. âI should have known.â He smiled. âSo, shall we get cozy?â
âNO!â I snapped and he laughed. Thatâs right. Actual laughter. I could have killed him then, and there would have been no witnesses (but I also would have been the only person with means and opportunity, so I didnât.) I sauntered over to the locks. âWe get to work.â
My focus narrowed; my fingers flew. Thereâs something so liberating about finding a zone, being free of thought and doubts and relying on instinct, on action. Everything faded away. I focused on the mechanisms, tried to shake them from my mind, remembered that life was like that assignmentâunlocking one door at a time, and the longer I stood there the more I felt myself fade away, my consciousness go on cruise control untilâŚ
âWow, youâre super cute when you focus.â
âZACH!â
He made a show of looking around the empty room. âYeah, must have been.â
âJust⌠Just be quiet and let meâ"
âNo, I mean it. You get this little wrinkly thing.â He held his thumb and forefinger to the center of his forehead. âRight here. Itâs just cute asâ"
âDo you want to stay in here all night?â I snapped.
He leaned against the wall beside me, crossed his arms. âMight as well.â Then he looked around the room. âIâve stayed in worse.â
But then my stomach growled. (Please tell me he didnât hear that. Please tell me he didnât hear that.) âWell, Iâ" It growled again. Louder. (Please tell me heâll at least ACT like he didnât hear that.)
âIâve got homework.â
âYeah.â He chuckled then interlaced his fingers and stretched his arms out, popping his knuckles. âGotta study hard, get ready for that next mission.â
I so didnât want to have that fight. Not then. Not ever. Sadly because Iâve been trained not to start fights I canât win. The boys had beaten us. We knew the rules. We did our best. They just didâŚbetter.
I stared at the mechanisms my fingers seemed frozen to. âLook, Iâ"
âWhy donât you ever ask me about it?â he asked, and I couldnât help myself, I looked at him, but he just glanced away. Something lingered in the air between us, and I knew he wasnât talking about missions or homework or anything else that only seems important when youâre sixteen. It was a different Zach entirely who said, âIâll tell you mine if youâll tell me yours.â
Maybe it was the impenetrable door, the six feet of solid steel that surrounded us on all sides. We had to come to a vault for Zach to let his defenses fall, and at that moment he reminded me of a bird that had fallen from its nest. I started to reach for him, to comfort him, but then I remembered Grandpa Morganâs warnings that there are some wild things youâre not supposed to touch.
âIt was a mission.â
I donât know why I said it. The words were foreign to meânot Englishânot something I had ever said, and yet they slid so effortlessly from my throat they must have been back there, fully formed, for years waiting for that chance to seep free.
âMy dad went on a mission. He didnât come home. Nobody knows whatâŚhappened.â
Then Zach looked at me. âSomebody knows.â
And then the lock miraculously turned. The tumblers fell into place. The door swung open, a metallic grating sound echoing through the still, quiet room, Zachâs haunting words following me as I started up the stairs.
Deleted Scene 3
As weâd turned down an alley, dogs barked through chain link fences. Rusty trash cans sat abandoned by the side of the narrow lane. Last semester I had found my way out of spy school and onto ordinary streets full of ordinary houses and ordinary people. This semester it seemed I was seeing the back side of those same housesâthe sides they donât really want you to see.
âHey,â Zach called behind me, but I didnât slow down. âHey,â he called again. âAm I going to have to jog to keep up withââ
But before he could finish I whirled on him, pushed him up against a garage, his arms immobilized, and even though he was a good four inches taller than me I knew I had the upper hand.
Still, he was grinning that slow, mocking grinâthe grin of someone who either knows too little or too much but in either case doesnât care.
âStop smiling,â I ordered, amazed at how level my voice sounded when, inside, I wanted to break and scream and cry, and I just knew heâd hear it and that would make it worse. Iâd have to use all the skills in my extensive arsenal just to disappear and never see him againâface him again.
But he must not have heard my breaking heart, because the smile just grew wider and he said, âGee, Cammie, if you want to put your arms around me all you have to do is ask, but I think Dillon back there might--"
âDonât you ever paint me into a corner like that again!â I shook him, banging him against the garage but he didnât even flinch. He never fought back.
He just stared deeper into me and slowly said, âWhy?â he asked, eyebrows raised, daring me. âBecause it might be hard on your love life? Itâs no big deal. So Jimmyâ"
âJosh!â I yelled. âHis name is Josh, and I shouldnât even be telling you that because you donât deserve to know itâto say itâyou donât deserve to know anything about him because heâsââ
âFriends with that guy?â Zach asked. His voice was softer, not mocking now, consoling.
You know the phrase saved by the bell? Well, Josh was saved by the hornâliterallyâbecause I was seriously getting ready to find out if he would fit inside one of those trashcans when I heard a horn sound behind us and sensed movement at the end of the alley. Still, I didnât loosen my hold on Zach. I didnât stop to breathe until I heard Joe Solomon call, âGet in!â
Deleted Scene 4
The day after fall finals, Bex, Mom and I caught a plane for Omaha and left our spy roots behind (Bex didnât even pack her brass knuckles.) I missed Joshâa lotâbut Bex and I couldnât even talk about him because Mom was almost always with us, and even when she wasnât, Grandma and Grandpa Morganâs house wasnât exactly soundproofed and I was pretty sure my mom would have better-than-average eavesdropping abilities. So, Bex and I ate a lot of Grandmaâs homemade candy, and slept a lot, and tried not to laugh too hard when Mom caught the kitchen on fire while she was trying to learn how to make fudge. (She should really stick to espionage. It is in everyoneâs best interest.)
Bex and I shared the sleeper sofa in the basement. On Christmas Eve we were lying there, and I guess neither one of us could sleep because after a long time, I heard her say through the dark, âYouâre lucky to have them, Cam.â
It took me a minute to realize who sheâd been talking about. Then I remembered the packages that had arrived that day and were waiting for her under my grandparentsâ tree. The postmark had been London, but I knew her mom and dad were somewhere in northern Africaâwe didnât know where; we didnât even know if they were together. It was nice that theyâd remembered to send her something, though, and as we lay silently in the dark, I realized that, for spies, sometimes nice has to be good enough.
I rolled over and tried to go sleep, but for the first time maybe ever, I could see why someone like Bex could envy someone like me. She had both of her parents some of the time, but I had one parent most of the time. I understood how it might have seemed like a pretty good deal. I tried not to think about Josh and his stories of a huge tree and homemade bread and a house full of relatives. When I finally drifted off to sleep, I dreamed about what it would be like to have both of your parents all of the time.
When I woke up, it was Christmas.
Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover
Deleted Scene 1
Spies have hideouts and safe houses; deep hidden vaults filled with cash and passports in almost every major city in the world. We have places we can go to sleep, to think, to disappear. My friends call me the Chameleon, because, believe it or not, I have more of those places than most. But there are some places where even the most seasoned operatives canât hide.
âCammie,â a voice carried on the wind and found me and I made a mental note that most counter-intelligence professionals have nothing on grandmothers when it comes to tracking someone down.
âCameron Ann, I know youâre out here.â
âHi Grandma,â I said, swinging from the rafters of the barn and dropping to the dusty floor beside her.
âOoh!â she snapped, bringing her hand to her chest as if Iâd just scared the breath out of her. âDonât do that!â
âSorry,â I told her.
âWhat are you doing out here?â
âHomework.â
She looked at me, her eyes asking a hundred questions ranging from âwhat sixteen-year-old girl voluntarily does homework in the middle of summer vacationâ to âwhy would you do your homework in a barn rather than an air-conditioned house?â But her lips didnât utter a single word. (Which was a very good thing because I didnât want to say that this particular homework was for Dr. Fibsâs science class and even I couldnât lie well enough to explain the aromas that even massive amounts of cow manure might not disguise.)
âWell, come on inside,â Grandma said, turning and starting toward the barn doors that stood open, framing a scene of the Sandhills that rose and fell behind her.
âIn a minute,â I said, already starting for the ladder to the hayloft above.
But Grandma turned and snapped, âNow.â She rubbed her hands on her apron, and I knew it wasnât a request. âYou have a call. Long distance.â
-*-
As I trailed behind her my thoughts flew on the dry wind.
I thought about my classmates who seemed to scatter to the far corners of the world whenever school wasnât in session. I thought about my mother who had put me on a plane the first day of summer break and hadnât sent so much as a postcard since.
And finally I thought of two boys: one who probably wouldnât have a clue how to call me; and one who didnât really strike me as the telephone type. Performing a classic single-operative surveillance operation while tracking me through the local Wal-Mart, sure. Calling a girl up like a normal person, not so much.
âWhich one of us is the old woman?â Grandma asked, walking faster, but still I lagged behind, searching the wide horizon because even though two semesters of Covert Operations training had taught me that the Morgan homestead would be a surveillance nightmare, I still looked around for eyes I could always feel but never quite see.
To our right, sheets hung on a line, flapping in the strong wind. In the west, a storm clouds grew, so I called, âIâll come back and get the laundry before it rains.â
âItâs not gonna rain,â my grandmother told me as she started up the steps.
âButââ I pointed toward the dark clouds.
âThat rain isnât for us,â she said in the manner of someone who has learned long ago that the Sandhills can play tricks on you. A dry patch of highway can catch the sun and look knee-deep in water. A grain elevator can seem like itâs just down the road, when in truth itâs forty miles away. Clouds can bellow and brew, but then three plump drops of rain might land in the front yard, sending plumes of dust up in their wake, and that will be all of the storm.
âThings, Cammie,â Grandma said, pulling open the screen door, âare not always what they seem.â
My grandmother is wiser than all the geniuses I know put together sometimes. She knew what my school has spent more than a hundred years teachingâwhat every spy has to know in her soul. But I didnât appreciate it then like I do now. I heard the sound of the ranch around usâa gate swinging free inside the corrals; newly weaned calves pacing fences, bawling for their mothers; and the noise of an old, boxy television blaring the sounds of the six oâclock news. I listened to all that, but I didnât I didnât truly hear my grandmotherâs words until much, much later.
If I had, I probably wouldnât have picked up the phone.
Only the Good Spy Young
Deleted Scene 1
If youâre a teenage girl, and if youâre traveling out of the country without your parents for the very first time in your life, then youâre probably pretty used to having rules. If youâve been sneaking out of your top secret spy school since you were in 7th grade, then you might not be used to following them. But this time, I knew was different.
As I followed Bexâs mother down the narrow hall I heard my motherâs words coming out of Bexâs motherâs mouth.
âBest to stay away from the windows,â she said.
âSnipers,â I added.
She nodded. âOf course thatâs not The Circleâs pattern with you thus far, but these things do change, you know?â
I did know.
When we reached the door I saw Bexâs father standing at the window, staring out.
âEveryone ready then?â he asked. When he spoke he looked like his daughter. They both had light brown eyes and they sparkled in the same way, but Bex most closely resembled her mother. And maybe that was why it was so strange to hear the words, âCammie, love, we really donât have to do this,â coming from the womanâs mouth.
Bex didnât worry. Bex didnât warn. Sheâd been my best friend for years and I had never seen her wear such a grown-up worry. Some might say that was because we were far from grownups, but I knew better. By that point I knew a lot of things.
âIâd really like to go,â I told her. âI wonât take any chances,â I said, practically pleading by then. âIâll beâŚgood.â
Mrs. Baxterâs eyes were softer. âI know, dear.â
Bexâs father peeked out the narrow window by the door. âBackup is in position,â he said.
And then my best friend was beside me and her parents led the way out into the cold.
Bonus Chapters
Cammie's First Day
Iâm not a girl who lives in mansions. I donât summer at the Vineyard or ski the Alps. Sure, my mom is always saying that Iâm an extraordinary young woman, but moms arenât really the most impartial judges of these things. Especially when theyâre holding open the door of a limousine and trying to convince you to crawl inside and leave behind the only home youâve ever known.
Sure, I knew where we were going. Technically speaking, I had been preparing for this day my whole life. Still, Iâm pretty sure I held my breath for the entire two-hour ride through the Virginia countrysideâright up until the moment the limo slowed, and these great big gates swung open and we started down a long, winding lane. At that point, Iâm pretty sure I wasnât breathing . . . at all. We drove past a guard shack by the gates that looked normal enoughâbut when one of the guards opened the doors, I saw the largest bank of security monitors Iâd ever seen. We continued on, passing this huge lake, where a glass dome rose from the center of the water. Three women were walking toward itâyou know, across the lake. I glanced at my mother, because even though I might be exceptional in her eyes, Iâve never walked on water, and I really didnât know how I was going to start now.
I wanted to stop and study everything. And I wanted the car to go faster.
I wanted to ask a million questions. And I wanted nothing to interrupt what I was pretty sure was the coolest moment of my entire twelve-year-old life.
But most of all, I wanted my mom to tell me it wasnât all a dream. That I really was going to follow in her footsteps. That I really was about to enroll in the best school in the world. That I really was going to go to a school for spies. âWelcome to the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women,â my mother said as we climbed out of the car. I turned to face her, but she was busy gazing up at limestone walls that seemed to belong to another world, with stained-glass windows straight out of a cathedral. She wasnât staring at the building as if it were a mansion, or a school. Or a job. Instead, she stood there, staring as if she were . . . home.
PROS AND CONS OF LIVING IN A REALLY, REALLY
BIG MANSION:
PRO: It turns out mansions come with chefs!
CON: Chefs donât like it when you sit on the counter and make suggestions like you do with Grandma Morgan.
PRO: The Gallagher Mansion comes with acres and acres of grounds perfectly suited to goofing off.
CON: Acres and acres of grounds are the perfect home for approximately nine trillion ticks, chiggers, and other things that find my ankles delicious.
PRO: Every grade has its own common room with a huge TV and comfy couches.
CON: Common rooms can be pretty lonely when you arrive two weeks before classes start and are temporarily the only girl in the entire school.
PRO: There is an entire portion of the library dedicated to Television: covert uses of.
CON: All those corridors mean that it takes FOREVER to get anywhere! (Note to self: see if there might possibly be shortcuts of some kind.)
For two weeks I wandered the halls and browsed the library. I helped my mom hang pictures in her office and explored the grounds. But on the Sunday before classes started, I woke up and rolled over in bed, listening. It didnât take long to realize that this day was different.
Screaming. There was a lot of screaming. For a second I wondered if maybe the Gallagher mansion might be haunted. I stepped outside my room, and three girls rushed past me so quickly they were almost a blur. Thatâs when I remembered what day it wasâthose werenât the screams of Gallagher Girls past, they were the âWelcome homeâ cries of Gallagher Girls present.
And I was supposed to be one of them.
For two weeks Iâd been lost and alone inside the huge halls, but as I started downstairs, I couldnât help but think that the Gallagher mansion was nowhere near as intimidating as the girls who lived there.
I mean, seriously. Almost every girl that passed was speaking in a totally different language. I saw one girl run up to hug her friend from behindâbut instead of turning to hug her back, her friend spun around and flipped the girl through the air as if she weighed about ten pounds. And that wasnât even the crazy part. The crazy part was that the other girl (the flippeeânot the flipper) landed on her feet and didnât even act mad about it!
I squeezed myself up against the dark-paneled walls because even though my mom had been teaching me self defense for years, no way was I ready for full-contact hugging before classes even started. Instead, I tried really, really hard to be invisible as I moved down the stairs. It must have worked, because somehow I donât think anyone even noticed me. Well, not until it was too late.
âOops!â A very tall, very pretty girl with dark shiny hair and big brown eyes practically knocked me off my feet. âIâm so sorry!â she cried, catching me before I could stumble. âI didnât even see you there.â
She looked at her friend, an even taller redhead, who shook her head as if she hadnât seen me either. Maybe there was a ghost inside the Gallagher Academyâs wallsâme.
âThatâs okay,â I said, staring up at the faces in front of meâand I mean way up. Iâve always been a perfectly average height for my age, but standing there I felt like a little kid, especially when the dark-haired girl leaned down and said, âYou must be a newbie!â She looked around as if something was wrong.
The redheaded girl turned to her friend and said something in a language I had never heard before. Her friend laughed and replied in something that sounded like Farsi, but I couldnât be totally sure because I was standing there . . . talking to Gallagher Girls. And they were looking at me as if they knew I didnât belong there.
You might think I was imagining this, but I wasnât. I know, because the red-haired girl looked at me then and said, âYou donât belong here.â
âBut the admissions committee said I could come!â I blurted. Which must have been hilarious, because they laughed. The girl with the dark hair put her arm around me.
âNo, I mean the seventh graders are supposed to be downstairs for orientation. No wonder youâre lost, poor thing.â They started back down the stairs. âCome on, weâll show you. Iâm Neha, by the way. Thatâs Jen.â
It occurred to me that girls like Neha and Jen had once been newbies, too. âItâs nice to meet you,â I said. I smiled, but drew back. âIâm on my way to orientation right now, actually. My mom and I moved in a couple of weeks ago. I can find it.â
âOh. Okay,â Jen said slowly, looking me up and down. âI guess weâll be seeing you around.â
âSo thatâs the new headmistressâs daughter?â I heard Neha whisper.
âI guess so,â Jen said. âIâd forgotten how tiny they are.â And from her tone I knew what was coming next. âPoor thing. I donât think Iâd look that good if I just lost my dad.â
As I walked through the halls, every girl seemed to be staring, every voice seemed to be whisperingâand I couldnât shake the feeling that everyone in that entire building already knew all about me. About Mom. And most of all, about Dad.
I wanted to be invisible again. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. I wanted to do anything but go to a stupid orientation. But then I heard my motherâs voice.
âItâs so great to have you here,â Mom said as the door to her office opened. Even though sheâs one of the worldâs best spies (which is frequently synonymous with liar), I knew she was telling the truth. âI hope youâll be very happy here, Rebeccaââ
âMy friends call me Bex,â a girl with a strong British accent interrupted.
I donât know if it was instinct or training (or maybe some mother/daughter psychic connection), but for some reason, in the next instant, my mother was calling, âCammie!â as if she could see me from where she stood. Which she couldnât. But spies (not to mention mothers) have their ways.
Walking toward my motherâs office, I tried to remind myself that there had been tests to get into the Gallagher Academy. And committees and reviews. But looking at the girl who stood beside my mother confirmed that I was right and that there had been some terrible, horrible, soon-to-be-reversed oversight, because she and I were absolutely nothing alike.
She was tall, with graceful arms and strong legs. I lookedlike taffy that had been stretched at the county fair. Her dark skin glowed so radiantly that she looked like she must have been painted by Michelangelo or something. I had a blotchy red spot on my chin that was about to become my very first zit.
She stood at the epicenter of the single greatest covert training ground in the world as if she were finally meeting her destiny, and I knew the universe had made a mistake. Rebecca Baxter was the one who was born to be a Gallagher Girl. Rebecca Baxter had been on a plane for nine hours to get here, but she was the girl who was truly home. She was everything Iâd ever thought a Gallagher Girl would be; I didnât even compare.
An older lady Iâd never seen before appeared in the doorway behind my mother. âIf thatâs all, headmistress, I believe the seventh graders are waiting.â
My mother waved her away. âOf course, Patricia. Donât let me keep you.â
The woman swept past me and down the stairs, but Rebecca hardly seemed to notice her. Instead, she looked at me with a kind of pure curiosity.
âYouâre Cammie?â she asked as if I couldnât possibly be the Cammieâthe daughter of the woman who stood beside us. âYouâve been here two weeks already?â she asked.
Immediately I felt like an idiot. Why had I spent all last Friday rearranging the furniture in my room instead of learning Arabic? Rebecca probably would have already memorized half the library. Just when I was sure she would write me off as a total waste of space, she yelled, âYou have to tell me everything!â and flung herself toward me, wrapping her arms around me and nearly cutting off the circulation to my arms. Rebecca had no doubt already mastered two years worth of Protection and Enforcement curriculum. Luckily, I didnât have to respond because a loud, clear voice boomed from the foyer beneath us.
âWelcome, ladies, to the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women.â Rebecca and I glanced over the railing to see the older woman from Momâs office standing at the base of the massive staircase. She peered out over a group of girls who looked just as terrified as I felt. âI am Professor Patricia Buckingham. And in the next two hours we will touch only a fraction of the history of the sisterhood that each of you are about to enter.â
Beside me, I heard Rebecca whisper, âBrilliant.â
As we followed Professor Buckingham from room to room on the first floor, she rattled off facts and figures about the mansion. âThis is the Grand Hall. It was built by the Gallagher family during the secondâand largestâof the familyâs renovations to the mansion itself.â
Meanwhile, beside me, RebeccaâI mean Bexâwas full of questions.
âSo, is it true theyâve got Albert Einsteinâs brain and are using it to power a supercomputer in the basement?â Bex asked me, her arm looped through mine.
Was that possible? I shrugged, feeling even dumber than before.
âI heard there was an entire hidden floor where they keep the really classified stuff. Will we see that, you think?â
âI . . .â I wasnât really sure what to say, but luckily, at that moment, Professor Buckingham stopped in the center of the long room near my motherâs office and announced, âThe Hall of History, ladies.â
For the first time I really looked at the room that stood between my motherâs office and the world. âHere lie just a few examples of what makes up this schoolâs exceptional past. I bring you here today because you represent the future.â She swept her hands out wide.
âIn 1865, Gillian Gallagher was a girl not much older than each of you.â Professor Buckingham looked at us all in turn. âShe was everything a young woman of the age was supposed to be: intelligent, well-read, accomplished, and beautiful. She was also more than a century ahead of her time. I will not tell you the entire story of Ioseph Cavan nowâthereâll be plenty of time for that laterâbut it is important that you know now that you are not here by accident. You are here because Gillian Gallagher founded a school where young women who are ahead of their times would always have a place to learn, achieve, and be exceptional.â
In the next instant Professor Buckingham reached out and touched a pedestal that stood in the center of the hall.
A strange red light covered her palm as if her hand were on fire, and yet she didnât jerk away. Instead, she watched calmly as the base of the pedestal opened and a sword rose out of it, reflecting the eerie light.
As the sword glowed behind us, Bex turned to me and whispered, âThis is going to be an incredible year. Iâm really glad to know you, Cammie.â Something in the way she said it made me think that maybe Iâd just found my first best friend.
âUm . . . excuse me?â The voice was so soft we almost didnât hear it, and the accent so Southern that I couldnât place it. I turned around, and right then I discovered I wasnât the shortest Gallagher Girl in history.
Iâd seen her, of course, standing quietly in the group, but until I saw her up close, I couldnât appreciate how tiny the little blond girl really was. Her small hands grasped a pink notebook as if her life depended upon it, but she didnât move to write. Instead, she just looked at Bex and me as if we were as cool as Neha and Jen. I really didnât have the heart to tell her she was mistaken. About me, anyway.
âHi,â the girl said again,âIâm Liz. I donât mean to bother yâall, but . . . I mean, I wanted to introduce myself, you see, because . . . I guess . . .â She stopped and seemed to gather herself before blurting, âIâm your roommate!â
âIâm Cammie, and this isââ
âOh, I know who you are.â As soon as the words left her mouth, the girl turned the brightest shade of red Iâd ever seen on a human being. She turned to Bex. âYouâre the first U.K. student in Gallagher Academy history. And youâre a second-generation Gallagher Girl,â she said, turning to me.
âAnd your momâs the headmistress and your . . .â But then Liz trailed off. She gave me the look that people always give when theyâre about to say âyour dadâ and then realize too late that itâs a mistake. âYou wouldnât know me though,â she said quickly. She blushed again. âIâm nobody.â
I thought about what Professor Buckingham had said about it being no accident we were here. âSomehow, I doubt that,â I said.
Liz smiled and walked toward the pedestal while the rest of the class moved to look at the artifacts that filled the room. âWow!â Liz said. âIt really is the prettiest thing I everââ
Just then her shoe caught on the rug, and sent her hurtling toward the swordâs protective case with every ounce of momentum her seventy-pound body could muster.
âNO!â Professor Buckingham cried and lunged toward us, but a bright light had already filled the room. A sharp crack echoed through the hall. And Lizâs hair was starting to smoke.
A goofy look crossed her face, and I could have sworn she whispered âOopsy daisyâ as she crumbled to the floor.
Well, the good news was that Gillian Gallagherâs sword was only charged with enough electricity to knock a person out. The bad news was that our seventy-pound roommate counted as only half a person.
Lizâs thin hair was still sticking almost straight out from her head. Small bandages covered both of her small hands. Her pale skin had a sort of cooked look about it, but she didnât seem to notice, and neither did Bex. They were sitting cross-legged on their beds, looking around the totally cool room where Iâd been sleeping for two weeks, and I felt like I was seeing it for the first time too.
âWeâre really here, arenât we?â Liz asked.
âYeah. Itâs brilliant,â Bex replied.
âI wonder whoâll go there.â Liz pointed to the fourth bed that sat in the corner of the room, just a bare mattress and box springs. A clean slate.
âOoh,â Bex said, loving the game already. âMaybe a diplomatâs daughter who is being chased by terrorists and we have to protect her?â
Liz laughed and scooted forward on her bed. âOr maybe a girl who is some kind of science prodigyââ
âLike you,â Bex added, but Liz talked on.
ââand she has to come to the Gallagher Academy to finish her research for . . . something cool.â
âYeah,â Bex said, turning to me with wide eyes. Iâm pretty sure I was supposed to supply my own crazy theory about our future roommate. I was supposed to wonder what was going to come next. But instead I sat listening to the laughter and thundering footsteps that filled the corridors.
For the last two weeks, Iâd been roaming the halls of the Gallagher Academy by myself. Iâd been an only child for twelve years. And though the Gallagher Academy had basically been part of me for my entire life, it wasnât until that moment that I felt like a member of the sisterhood.