Only the Good Spy Young (Gallagher Girls) by Ally Carter Page B

help but think most people feel like that sometimes—when they’re alone or in the dark. When they hear a noise in the closet or a creak on the floorboards, they sense it. It’s not about being scared—it’s about being alive. The nerves work harder, carrying messages to the brain, getting it ready for fight or flight, and that night, well, let’s just say that night my nerves had their work cut out for them.
    “Cam?” Bex asked as if I hadn’t heard her. But she was wrong. That night I heard and saw and smelled everything . “I’m gonna get into position. Are you satisfied with this position?”
    I scanned the square and nodded. “Yes.”
    “You’re safe here.” She touched my arm almost as if she were trying to get my scent, as if she might soon be chasing me around the world.
    And then I watched her go.
    Standing alone in the tower, I reminded myself of all the things in the world that I knew to be absolutely true: Rebecca Baxter was the best spy at the Gallagher Academy and the absolute last person who would lie about my safety. I had GPS trackers in my watch, my shoes, my ponytail holder, and my stomach (thanks to a new edible model Liz had been trying out).
    My roommates and I all carried panic buttons that could summon an army within the blink of an eye. They could track me anywhere in the world (and, Liz firmly believed, the moon).
    And yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the square seemed smaller from where I stood, or maybe the world just felt bigger.
    I held a pair of binoculars to my eyes and scanned the streets, telling myself that I was as safe as I could possibly be. I was prepared. I could handle anything. I was ready for everything. . . .
    Except for the sight of a tall figure with broad shoulders, appearing as if from nowhere at the edge of the gazebo, and saying, “Hello, Gallagher Girl.”

P erspective is a powerful thing. Seriously. I highly recommend it. There are things you just can’t see unless you take a good step back and watch very, very closely.
    I mean, if I’d been standing in the town square and not the bell tower, I might have heard the girl say, “Well, hello yourself,” but I might have missed the way the boy stumbled backward as she turned. I might not have noticed the way his shoulders fell and his head jerked in the manner of someone who had not found what he was looking for.
    I might never have realized that Zach was disappointed to find another girl in the gazebo.
    “Macey?” Zach asked as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, which was maybe the most flattering thing ever, because no one has ever mistaken me for Macey McHenry. Ever. But it was dark, and even without access to the world’s greatest closet for deception and disguise, Macey was still the daughter of a cosmetics heiress. And in a wig and Zach’s old jacket, she made for a good decoy, or at least good enough.
    “Where’s Cammie?” Zach asked.
    “You look disappointed to see me, Zach,” Macey teased. “Don’t you like my jacket?”
    “Where is she?” Zach demanded.
    “At school,” Macey lied without missing a beat. “Watching from a live video feed. She’s safe .” She inched closer, staring up at him.
    “The jammers at the school wouldn’t allow that, Macey. Now, where is she?” He turned. “I know she’s around here somewhere,” he said, scanning the alleys and buildings that lined the square.
    “She’s safe where she is, Zach.” Bex stepped out of the darkened alcove by the movie theater and moved into place behind him. “And we’re going to keep her that way.”
    “I need to talk to her,” he told them.
    “So talk,” Macey said. “We’ve got comms. She can hear you.”
    “I need to see her.”
    “I’m coming down,” I blurted, desperate to be off the sidelines, but Bex’s hand was on her ear. She was shouting at me.
    “You stay where you are!”
    But I was already gone.
    “She’s lucky to have you,” Zach said after a long time. “She needs