Read Online Cross My Heart And Hope To Spy by Ally Carter - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ally Carter
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you know?”
“Because he said, ‘Meet me at the ruby slipper exhibit.’”
“No.” The boy was smiling, shaking his head. “How do you know you only have twenty minutes? You’re not wearing a watch.”
“My friend just told me.” The lie was smooth and easy, and I was a little bit proud of it, happy that I didn’t have to think about how, in forty-five seconds, this boy had noticed something Josh hadn’t seen in four months.
“You fidget a lot,” he said.
Make that two things Josh hadn’t seen.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t. “I have low blood sugar.” Lie number three. “I need to eat something.” Which wasn’t really a lie, since…well… I
was
hungry.
And then stranger-boy totally knocked me for a loop, because he handed me a bag of M& M’S . “Here. I ate most of them already.”
“Oh…um …” What was that I’d said about strangers with candy? “That’s okay. Thanks, though.”
He shoved the candy back in his pocket. “Oh,” the boy said. “Okay.”
We finally reached the surface, and the doors slid open onto the Mall, where dusk had somehow fallen in the last ten minutes.
“Thanks again for the candy.” I darted outside, knowing that to be safe I couldn’t take the most direct way to the museum—not yet. I had to—
Wait.
I was being followed!
But not in any kind of covert sense!
“Where are you going?” I said, spinning on the boy behind me.
“I thought we were going to meet your teacher in the wonderful world of Oz.”
“We!”
“Sure. I’m going with you.”
“No you’re not,” I snapped, because A) The aforementioned
forklift thing,
and B) I’m pretty sure bringing a boy to a clandestine rendezvous isn’t in the CIA handbook.
“Look,” the boy said confidently. “It’s dark. You’re by yourself. And this
is
D.C.” Oh my gosh. It’s like he had Grandma Morgan on speed-dial or something. “And you’ve only got”—he pondered it—”fifteen minutes to meet your teacher.”
He was wrong by ninety seconds, but I didn’t say so. All I knew was that I couldn’t shake him—not without creating a lot more drama than letting him tag along was going to cause, so I just quickened my pace and said, “Fine.”
As we walked against the cold wind, I told myself that this was good; this was fine. Nobody looking for a Gallagher Girl would expect me to be with a boy. He was cover. He was useful.
“You can really walk fast,” he said, but I didn’t say anything back. “So, do you have a name?” he asked, as if that were just the most innocent question ever. As if that isn’t how broken hearts and broken covers always start.
“Sure. Lots of them.”
That was probably the most truthful thing I’d told him yet, but the boy just smiled at me as if I were funny and flirty and cute. Let me tell you, I was none of those things, especially after not sleeping or eating, wearing a blindfold for an hour, then walking up and down the frozen Mall all day!
My nose was running. My feet were killing me. All I really wanted to do was get to Dorothy’s slippers, click my heels together, and go home. But instead I had to put up with a boy who assumed I needed protecting. A boy with whom I could never “be myself.” A boy who was staring at me as if he knew a secret—and worse—as if the secret was about me.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.
At this point I should point out that I was pretty sure the boy was flirting with me! Or at least I
thought
he was flirting with me, but without running it by Macey (and maybe plugging a sample into the voice-stress analyzer that Liz had developed for this very purpose), there was no way I could be sure. Last semester I’d thought I was learning how to interpret boy-related things, but all I’d really learned was that Gallagher Girls shouldn’t flirt with normal boys—not because we won’t like them. But because we might like them too much. And that would be the worst thing of all.
“Look,
“Because he said, ‘Meet me at the ruby slipper exhibit.’”
“No.” The boy was smiling, shaking his head. “How do you know you only have twenty minutes? You’re not wearing a watch.”
“My friend just told me.” The lie was smooth and easy, and I was a little bit proud of it, happy that I didn’t have to think about how, in forty-five seconds, this boy had noticed something Josh hadn’t seen in four months.
“You fidget a lot,” he said.
Make that two things Josh hadn’t seen.
“I’m sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t. “I have low blood sugar.” Lie number three. “I need to eat something.” Which wasn’t really a lie, since…well… I
was
hungry.
And then stranger-boy totally knocked me for a loop, because he handed me a bag of M& M’S . “Here. I ate most of them already.”
“Oh…um …” What was that I’d said about strangers with candy? “That’s okay. Thanks, though.”
He shoved the candy back in his pocket. “Oh,” the boy said. “Okay.”
We finally reached the surface, and the doors slid open onto the Mall, where dusk had somehow fallen in the last ten minutes.
“Thanks again for the candy.” I darted outside, knowing that to be safe I couldn’t take the most direct way to the museum—not yet. I had to—
Wait.
I was being followed!
But not in any kind of covert sense!
“Where are you going?” I said, spinning on the boy behind me.
“I thought we were going to meet your teacher in the wonderful world of Oz.”
“We!”
“Sure. I’m going with you.”
“No you’re not,” I snapped, because A) The aforementioned
forklift thing,
and B) I’m pretty sure bringing a boy to a clandestine rendezvous isn’t in the CIA handbook.
“Look,” the boy said confidently. “It’s dark. You’re by yourself. And this
is
D.C.” Oh my gosh. It’s like he had Grandma Morgan on speed-dial or something. “And you’ve only got”—he pondered it—”fifteen minutes to meet your teacher.”
He was wrong by ninety seconds, but I didn’t say so. All I knew was that I couldn’t shake him—not without creating a lot more drama than letting him tag along was going to cause, so I just quickened my pace and said, “Fine.”
As we walked against the cold wind, I told myself that this was good; this was fine. Nobody looking for a Gallagher Girl would expect me to be with a boy. He was cover. He was useful.
“You can really walk fast,” he said, but I didn’t say anything back. “So, do you have a name?” he asked, as if that were just the most innocent question ever. As if that isn’t how broken hearts and broken covers always start.
“Sure. Lots of them.”
That was probably the most truthful thing I’d told him yet, but the boy just smiled at me as if I were funny and flirty and cute. Let me tell you, I was none of those things, especially after not sleeping or eating, wearing a blindfold for an hour, then walking up and down the frozen Mall all day!
My nose was running. My feet were killing me. All I really wanted to do was get to Dorothy’s slippers, click my heels together, and go home. But instead I had to put up with a boy who assumed I needed protecting. A boy with whom I could never “be myself.” A boy who was staring at me as if he knew a secret—and worse—as if the secret was about me.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked.
At this point I should point out that I was pretty sure the boy was flirting with me! Or at least I
thought
he was flirting with me, but without running it by Macey (and maybe plugging a sample into the voice-stress analyzer that Liz had developed for this very purpose), there was no way I could be sure. Last semester I’d thought I was learning how to interpret boy-related things, but all I’d really learned was that Gallagher Girls shouldn’t flirt with normal boys—not because we won’t like them. But because we might like them too much. And that would be the worst thing of all.
“Look,
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