Ally Carter - [Gallagher Girls 01] I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You

"Read it to me," I said.

"No…." Liz started. "It's probably—"

"Liz!" I snapped.

But Bex had already started. "'Dear Josh. It was great seeing you at the carnival. I had fun, too. We should do it again sometime. Love, DeeDee.'"

Bex had done her best to make the note sound blah, adding lots of unnecessary pauses and dull inflections, but there wasn't any denying that this DeeDee person meant business. After all, I didn't write notes on pink paper with fancy writing. I didn't even own pink paper. Edible paper— yes, but pretty pink paper—no way! So there it was, proof in black-and-white (or … well…pink-and-blue, but you get what I mean), that I was officially out of my league. That I really was nobody.

Liz must have read my expression, because she jumped to say, "This doesn't mean anything, Cam. It's in the trash!" She turned to Bex. "That's got to mean something, right?"

And that's when I couldn't ignore it anymore: the universal truth that, despite our elite education and genius IQs, we didn't know boys. DeeDee, with her pink paper and ability to make the big, puffy J's, might have known the significance of a boy like Josh putting her perfect pink note in the trash, but we sure didn't. The boy of my dreams may have been as close as the town of Roseville—just two miles, eighty security cameras, and a big honking stone fence away, but he and I would never speak the same language (which is totally ironic, since "boy" was the one language my school had never tried to teach me).

"That's okay, Liz," I said softly. "We knew it was a long shot. It's—"

"Wait!" I felt Bex's hand lash out and grab my wrist. "Tell me what you told him again." She read my blank expression. "That night?" she prompted. "When you told him you were homeschooled."

"He asked if I was homeschooled, and I said yes."

"And what reason did you give?"

"For …" I started, but my voice trailed off as I looked at the stack of papers that she had laid out between us. "Religious reasons."

There was a program for the Roseville Free Will Baptist Assembly, a flyer for the United Methodist Church of Roseville, and a handful of others. Either Josh was collecting church bulletins for some kind of bizarre scavenger hunt, or he'd been busy traipsing to Sunday schools and Tuesday-night teen socials for an entirely different reason.

"He's looking for you, Cam," Bex said, beaming as if she'd just made the first step in cracking the ultimate code.

Silence washed over us. My heart pounded in my chest. Bex and Liz were staring at me, but I couldn't pull my gaze away from what we'd found—from the hope that was spread out across our floor.

I guess that's why none of us noticed the door opening. I guess that's why we jumped when we heard Macey McHenry say, "So, what's his name?"

Chapter Twelve

"I don't know what you're talking about," I shot back, way too quickly for the lie to be any good. Here's the thing about lying: a part of you has to mean it—even if it is a tiny, sinister shred that only lives in the blackest, darkest parts of your mind. You have to want it to be true.

I guess I didn't.

"Oh, come on," Macey said with a roll of her eyes. "It's been, what? Two weeks?" I was shocked. Macey cocked her head and asked, "You been to second base yet?"

There are entire books in the Gallagher Academy library about female independence and how we shouldn't let men distract us from our missions, but all I could do was look at Macey McHenry and say, "You think I could get to second base?"

I hate to admit it, but it was probably one of the greatest compliments I had received in my whole, entire life.

But Macey only rolled her eyes and said, "Forget I asked," as she strolled to the pile of garbage and, unsurprisingly, turned up her perfect nose and said, "This is disgusting!" Then she looked at me. "You must have it bad."

Leave it to Bex to keep her cool and say, "We've got CoveOps homework, Macey."

Even I almost believed that what we were doing was perfectly innocent.

Macey looked down at our piles, examining the scene as if this were the most exciting thing she'd seen in months, which absolutely, positively could not have been true, since I know for a fact that her class had been in the physics labs when Mr. Fibs got attacked by the bees he thought he'd genetically modified to obey commands from a whistle. (Turns out they only respond to the voice of James Earl Jones.)

"His name is Josh," I said finally.

"Cammie!" Liz cried, as if she couldn't believe I was giving such sensitive intel to the enemy.

But Macey only repeated, "Josh," as if trying it on for size.

"Yeah," I said. "I met him when we had a mission in town, and … well…"

"Now you can't stop thinking about him…. You always want to know what he's doing… . You'd kill to know if he's thinking about you…." Macey said, like a doctor reeling off symptoms.

"Yes!" I cried. "That's sooooo it!"

She shrugged. "That's too bad, kid."

She was only three months older than me, so I totally could have gotten mad about the "kid" thing, but I couldn't get mad at her—not then. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but one thing was becoming obvious: Macey McHenry had intel I desperately needed.

"He told me I had a lucky cat," I said. "What does that mean?"

"You don't have a cat."

"Technicality." I waved that fact away. "So, what does it mean?"

"It sounds like he wants to play it cool…. That he might like you, and he wants to keep his options open in case you decide you don't like him, or if he decides he doesn't like you."

"But then I saw him on the street, and I overheard him telling a friend that I was 'nobody.' But he'd been really nice and—"

"Oh, you have been busy."

"He acts really nice, but based on what he told his friend—"

"Wait." Macey stopped me. "He said that to a friend? Another guy?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?" She rolled her eyes. "Total hearsay. Could be posturing, could be territory marking, could be shame over liking the new weird chick—I'm assuming he thinks you're a weird chick?"

"He thinks I'm homeschooled for religious reasons."

"Yeah," she said, nodding as if that were answer enough. "I'd say you've still got a shot."

OH. MY. GOSH. It was as if the gray storm clouds had parted and Macey McHenry was the sun, bringing wisdom and truth into the eternal darkness. (Or something a lot less melodramatic.)

Just in case you missed my point: Macey McHenry knows about boys!! Of course, this shouldn't have come as a huge, colossal surprise, but I couldn't help myself; I was groveling at her feet, worshipping at the altar of eyeliner, push-up bras, and coed parties without parental supervision.

Even Liz said, "That's amazing."

"You've got to help me," I pleaded.

"Oooh, sorry. Not my department."

Of course it wasn't. It was clear that Macey McHenry was the lurkee, not the lurker. She couldn't possibly understand life on the outside, looking through the window at a place she'd never know. Then I thought about the hours she'd spent locked away in the silence of those headphones and wondered, or could she?

Before me stood a person who was capable of cracking the Y chromosome code, and I wasn't going to let her get away that easily.

"Come on!" I said.

"Yeah, well tell it to someone who isn't the freaking mascot of the seventh- freaking -grade!" She eased onto her bed and crossed her legs. "So there is only one way that I am going to care about your boy problems."

Work brain, work, I urged my mind, but it was like a car stuck in the mud.

"I'm getting out of the newbie classes," Macey said. "And you're going to help me."