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

I really didn't like the sound of this, but I still managed to ask, "What's in it for me?"

"For starters, I don't have a conversation with our friend Jessica Boden about an early morning trip to the labs with an old Dr Pepper bottle, or a late-night trip outside the grounds, where someone came home with leaves in her hair." She smirked at Liz. "Or a certain Driver's Ed incident."

For the first time, I didn't doubt that Macey was a Gallagher Girl, too. The looks Liz and Bex were giving me said that they agreed.

"Did you know Jessica's mother is a trustee?" Macey said, her voice dripping with sarcastic irony. "See, Jessica's mentioned that fact to me about a hundred and fifty times now and—"

"Okay, already," I said, stopping her. "What else do I get?"

"A soul mate."

"Ladies, this is a business of alliances," Mr. Solomon said as he stood in front of our class the next morning. "You may not like these people. You may hate these people. These people may represent everything you hate, but all it takes is one thing, ladies—one thread of commonality to form a bond in our lives." He strolled back to his desk. "To make an ally."

So that's what I had with Macey—an alliance. We weren't friends; we weren't enemies. I wasn't exactly blocking off Fourth of July weekend to spend at her place in the Hamptons, but I planned on playing nice just the same.

When lunchtime rolled around, Macey strolled over to our table, and I braced myself for what was going to happen. If the Communists and the Capitalists could fight together to take down the Nazis … I told myself. If Spike could fight alongside Buffy to rid the world of demons … If lemon could join forces with lime to create something as delicious and refreshing as Sprite, then surely I can work alongside Macey McHenry for the cause of true love!

She was sitting beside me. She was eating pie. I had to look again. Macey's eating pie?! And then she actually spoke, but I couldn't hear her over the roar of a nearby debate (in Korean) about whether Jason Bourne could take James Bond, and if it mattered whether it was Sean-Connery-Bond or Pierce-Brosnan-Bond.

"Did you say something, Macey?" I asked, but she cut me a look that could kill. She reached into her bag, ripped off a sliver of Evapopaper, and scribbled:

Can we study tonight? (Tell anyone, and I'll kill you in your sleep!)

"Seven o'clock?" I asked her. She nodded. We had a date.

The pie had looked pretty good, so I got up to go get some, and when I did, I glanced at the Vogue Macey had been reading, but I couldn't learn much about fashion, because Macey's organic chemistry notes were taped inside, covering that month's salute to silk.

Sitting on the floor of our suite that night with Macey's homework scattered around us, I wasn't really sure how this alliance business was supposed to work. Luckily, Liz had been giving it some thought

"You can start by explaining what this means." She held DeeDee's note up to Macey's face.

"Ew!" Macey cried, turning her head and holding her nose as she pushed the paper away.

But what Liz lacked in strength, she made up for in tenacity. She shoved the note back in Macey's direction despite Macey's complaint of, "I thought you got rid of all that trash!"

"Well, not this. This is evidence," Liz said, stating what, in her mind, was the obvious.

"Ugh! Gross."

I saw Bex shift. She'd been doing a better than average job of ignoring us, but I knew all of her sensors were on full alert. Her eyes never left her notebook, but she saw everything. (Bex is super sleuthy that way.)

" What does it mean?" Liz asked again, inching closer and closer to Macey McHenry, our new professor of boys.

Macey looked back at her notebook, and must have come to the conclusion that she'd studied enough for one night, because she tossed her notes aside. She marched to her bed, glanced at the scrap of paper once more, then dropped it to the floor.

"It means he's in demand." She nodded at me. "Good choosing."

"But does he like her back?" Liz wanted to know. "This DeeDee person?"

Macey shrugged and stretched out on her bed. "Hard to say."

That's when Liz pulled out a notebook I'd seen her carrying around for the past week. I'd thought it was for an extra project—little did I know it was our extra project. She threw the binder open with a thunk , and a hundred pieces of paper ruffled with the sudden waft of air. I looked at the headers of each piece as Liz rifled through them. "See …" She pointed to a highlighted portion of one page. "…in this e-mail he used the word 'bro' in reference to his friend Dillon. As in, and I quote, 'chill out, bro. It will be okay.' He doesn't have a brother. What is it about boys that makes them refer to each other in that way? I don't call Cam or Bex sis. Why?" she demanded, as if her life depended upon her understanding this fact. "WHY?"

Yeah, that's when Macey McHenry looked at Liz as if she were stupid. Of all the crazy things I've seen in this business, that was one of the craziest.

Macey cocked her head and said, "You're the uber-genius?"

Just like that, Bex was up off the bed and moving toward Macey. Things were about to get bad—really bad. But poor Liz wasn't hurt by what Macey said. In fact, she just looked at her and said, "I know— right!" as if she too were outraged.

Bex stopped. I exhaled. And eventually Liz shook her head in amazement, scattering the unanswered questions from her mind—something I must have seen her do a thousand times. That's when I knew that boys were just another subject to Liz—another code she had to crack. Eventually, she dropped to the floor and said, "I've got to make a chart."

"Look." Macey seemed to give up as she straightened herself on the bed. "If he's the sentimental type, then it means he doesn't care about her. If he's not, then he might like her—or might not." She leaned closer, needing us to understand. "You can analyze or theorize—or whatever—but seriously, what good do you think it will do? You're in here. He's out there. And there's nothing I can do about that."

"Oh," Bex said, speaking for the first time. "That's not your area of expertise anyway." I saw her mind churning. She looked like a girl on a mission as she stepped forward. "It's ours."

Chapter Thirteen

Spies are wise. Spies are strong. But, most of all, spies are patient.

We waited two weeks. TWO WEEKS! Do you know how long that is in fifteen-year-old-girl time? A lot. A LOT, a lot. I was really starting to empathize with all those women who talk about biological clocks. I mean, I know mine's still got a lot of ticks left in it, but I still managed to think and worry about Operation Josh every spare minute—and that was at genius spy school, where spare minutes aren't exactly common. I can only imagine the misery of a girl going to a normal school, since she probably isn't going to spend her Saturday nights helping her best friend crack the codes that protect U.S. spy satellites. (Liz even split the extra credit she earned from Mr. Mosckowitz with me—the cash prize offered by the NSA, she kept.)

We were in the classic holding pattern, gathering info, building his profile and my legend, biding our time until we had what we needed to go in.

Two weeks of this. TWO WEEKS! (Just in case you missed it before.)

Then, as with all good covert operatives, we caught a break.

Tuesday, October 1. Subject received an e-mail from Dillon, screen name "D'Man," asking if The Subject would like a ride home from play practice. The Subject responded by saying that he would be walking home—that he needs to return some videos at "AJ's" (local establishment located on town square that specializes in movie and video game rentals).