It had been in the news, of course. I’d heard about it. Everyone had heard about it. But even for spy girls, it was an unusual topic.
“Because my sources say it was no accident,” Tina said before I’d had the chance to utter a word. “Every Iranian port on the Caspian has been shut down because of it. And trust me, if there is one thing the Iranians like, it’s oil. If there are two things they like, it’s oil and their ability to ship it to potential buyers.”
“How about that bridge explosion in Azerbaijan?” Courtney Bauer asked.
Liz wheeled on her. “What about it?”
“Mom said there was a bomb on the train,” Courtney said.
“A bomb?” Liz asked.
“Yeah.” Courtney stirred the ice in her glass almost absentmindedly as she answered. “I’m pretty sure she was the one who separated that car from the rest of the train before it blew.”
“She saved a lot of lives,” Bex said, but Courtney tried to shrug it off.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” she said, even though it was. After all, it’s hard to admit that your mom did something really scary without also admitting that, next time, she might not be so lucky.
“So…” Tina went on, “Cammie, what do you know about it?”
“Nothing,” I said, but Tina just looked at me. “Really,” I told her. “I don’t know anything. I was in England with Bex’s parents.”
“Ooh, did you hear about that former prime minister who got blown up at Cambridge? It was supposedly an accident, but my sources say it wasn’t. What do you know about that?” Tina tried again.
I could have lied to her. I would have lied to her. My school had taught me how. My circumstances took away almost all of the guilt. I was just about to do exactly that when the doors at the back of the room swung open and our teachers walked in. As their long procession moved down the center aisle, a new thought filled my mind.
“Where’s Zach?” I scanned the room. “And Mr. Solomon? Where are they?” I asked.
Macey gave me an It’s not fun, is it? look, but I didn’t have time to consider the irony. Or the hypocrisy. Honestly, there’s such a fine line between the two that sometimes it makes my head hurt.
I’d always assumed that Zach and Mr. Solomon would be back for the start of school and, technically, school began with the Welcome Back Dinner. But Zach and Mr. Solomon were nowhere to be seen.
Before anyone could answer, my mother took her place at the front of the room and said, “Women of the Gallagher Academy, who comes here?”
In unison, every girl in the room stood and said, “We are the sisters of Gillian.”
With every line of our motto I felt a tug, not just in my heart but in my head. We were sisters. And that wasn’t going to end with graduation. We would honor her sword and guard her secrets with our lives. Our school’s motto made it sound so easy, so grand. There in that beautiful building with our perfectly pressed skirts, it was supposed to be so simple. Gallagher Girls = Good. But it wasn’t. I knew it. I’d seen it. I’d heard Zach’s mother brag about being a member of my sisterhood. Looking around the room, I couldn’t help but wonder if there were any traitors in our midst even then.
“I hope you all had an excellent break,” my mother said from the front of the room. “It’s very good to see you back here, safe and sound.” She took a breath, letting the words settle over us. Then she shuffled some papers on the podium, checking notes she probably didn’t need.
“Now, eighth grade, your suites will be undergoing a complete bug sweep—that’s insects, not listening devices. Please be prepared for some brief interruptions in the next week and use the back stairwell for the time being, as we have found termites in the front. Sophomores, Professor Buckingham tells me that many of you have yet to turn in your Track Declaration Forms. Those must be filled out before classes begin tomorrow morning. Trust me, ladies, this is not how you want to begin your careers. And, seniors…congratulations. I’m very proud of you, and I’m very excited for you to begin our career assessment program. The first event is in two weeks. Please see Madame Dabney for the complete schedule.”
Mom looked down at her list one final time, then folded the paper. “I guess that’s it. Welcome back, girls. And have a great semester.”
She smiled out across the room. It was like a spotlight, so bright and hopeful and happy. When my mother looked like that, it was easy to believe that there was no evil in the world. I wanted to know if she was faking or forgetting. Whatever the case, I was hoping our last semester at spy school would teach us how to do that for ourselves.
That night, our suite was unusually quiet. It was the first night back, after all. We didn’t have any tests or homework. There should have been movie marathons and makeovers. Liz should have been clamoring for extra credit; but even she was silent as we sat on our beds, none of us talking.
“What is it, Lizzie?” Bex tried to tease. “Have you reached your lifetime limit for bonus points?”
Usually a remark like that would make Liz go white and ask whether or not a limit to extra credit was an actual thing. Then she’d dig out her Gallagher Academy Student Handbook just to make sure. But she didn’t do either. And that, let me tell you, was scary.
“Seriously.” Bex moved to Liz’s bed. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Liz stood and picked up a bundle of clothes, starting for the bathroom. “It’s nothing.”
“Liar.” Bex cut her off.
On her bed, Macey shifted to study us. But she didn’t mention Preston again. She didn’t ask about Cambridge.
“It’s nothing, Bex. I’m just tired.” Again, Liz tried to go to the bathroom, but again, Bex cut her off.
“Try again.”
Right then it was like all the nostalgia had been drained from Liz. She had a brand-new encryption textbook, but she wasn’t giddy. There was a stack of Microbiology Monthlys waiting for her, but she hadn’t even picked them up. Liz wasn’t being Liz, and Bex was right not to like it.
“What is it, Liz?” I asked, flanking her from the other side. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Liz said, louder. “It’s just…I keep thinking about what Knight told you—about what the Circle is doing.… I don’t know. It’s just…” She gave a slight glance toward the window. “I can’t help but worry that things are going to get worse before they get better.”