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I heard the music stop and wild applause, but it felt like we were a mile from the party. Josh was in there. Of course, so were two people who could punish me in ways that have been illegal since the Geneva Convention. But still, I looked at Bex and said, "I cant go. "
Liz was already climbing into the golf cart, leaving Bex and me alone in the dark.
"Ill be okay," I told Bex. "Ill get Josh and well leave. " She didnt say anything. We were on the dark side of the party, but I could read her face in the light of the full moon. I didnt see fear; I saw disappointment. It seemed a whole lot worse.
"They could catch you, you know?" Bex asked.
"Hey," I tried, forcing a laugh, trusting my smile to thaw her, "Im The Chameleon, right?"
But Bex was already sliding into the backseat. "See you at home. "
The Operative decided to go into a holding pattern in hopes of extracting The Subject and salvaging the mission. At least two hostile agents were inside (and they were going to get a lot more hostile if things didnt go well), so it was a risky move, but one she was willing to make, even as she watched her backup drive away.
Mom and Mr. Solomon might have had the advantage when it came to training and experience, but I had a superior position and far more information. As I crouched behind the hood of a big, black Buick, watching the doors, I went through my options: A) cause a diversion and hope to pull Josh away in the chaos, B) wait for either Josh or Mom and Mr. Solomon to leave, and pray they didnt decide to leave at the exact same time, or C) think of more options.
After all, I did have access to gasoline, rocks, and aluminum cans, but that old barn seemed really, really flammable, and I wasnt exactly in the mood to take chances.
I was just starting to wonder if one of the pickup trucks parked beside me would have a rope, when I heard someone say, "Cammie?" I spun around to see DeeDee heading my way. "Hi. I thought that was you. "
She was wearing a really pretty pink dress that matched her stationery. Her blond hair was pulled away from her face. She looked almost doll-like as she floated toward me through the dark.
"Hi, DeeDee," I said. "You look really nice. "
"Thanks," she said, but didnt sound like she believed me. "You, too. "
Nervously, I fingered the corsage. The orchid petals felt like silk against my hand.
"I see he went ahead and got you one. "
I looked down at my wrist. "Yeah. " I didnt know how to feel about the fact that Josh had discussed his corsage plans with another girl, but then I looked at her and realized I didnt feel nearly as weirded-out about it as she did.
DeeDee pointed toward the lights and swaying couples in the distance and said, "I figured if I came late then I wouldnt have to be a wallflower for too long. "
I imagined her blending in with the wooden slats and bales of hay, disappearing among the sea of couples until no one noticed one girl standing alone, not quite a part of the party. Thats when I knew that DeeDee was a chameleon, too.
"So, what are you doing out here by yourself?" DeeDee asked.
It was a pretty good question. Thankfully, one I was ready for.
I rubbed my temples and said, "Its so loud in there, my head is killing me. I had to get some air. "
"Oh," she said, and started digging in her tiny pink purse. "Do you want some aspirin or something?"
"No. Thanks, though. "
DeeDee stopped digging, but she still didnt look at me when she said, "He really likes you, you know? Ive known him for forever, and I can tell he really likes you. "
Even if I hadnt read her note, I would have known how much she liked Josh, how deeply she wished that he would someday buy her a wrist corsage. And shed wear it—not because it was part of some silly inside joke but because Josh had given it to her.
"I really like him, too," I said, not knowing what else to say.
She smiled. "I know. "
And then I thought shed walk away. I really needed her to walk away, because I absolutely had to come up with a way of getting Josh out of there! "Well, dont let me keep you, DeeDee," I said, running through possible distractions in my mind: small explosion, easily contained forest fire, the possibility that there might be some pregnant woman inside who could go into labor in the next half hour …
"Cammie?" DeeDee asked, and I couldnt help myself, I snapped, "What?"
"Do you want me to tell Josh you need to go home?"
Or that could work, too.
As DeeDee walked toward the party, I found myself envying her. She saw Josh at school. She knew what he ate in the cafeteria and where he sat in class. There was no part of her life she couldnt share with him—nothing he didnt already know from a lifetime of dances and carnivals and ordinary days. And then I found myself thinking: if all things were equal, would he still like me then?
But I would never know, because things would never be equal. DeeDee would always be flesh and blood to him, and Id always be a legend.
"Are you sure I cant drive you home?" Josh asked as he turned the van onto Main Street and we headed for the square. "Come on. I know youre not feeling well. Let me—"
"No, thats okay," I said. "My head doesnt hurt now. " Not a lie.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. "
He parked along the square, and we got out and walked to the gazebo. He held my hand, and it was a very Dear Diary moment, if you know what I mean, because the lights in the gazebo were on but the town was deserted and his hand was soft and warm, and then … he handed me a present!
The box was small and blue (but not Tiffany blue as Macey would later point out) and circled by a pink ribbon.
He said, "I hope you like it. "
I was stunned. Completely. Id gotten presents before, sure, but usually they were things like new running shoes or a signed first edition of A Spys Guide to Underground Russia. Never had the presents come with pretty pink ribbons.
"My mom helped me wrap it," Josh admitted, then motioned to the gift in my hands. "Go ahead," he told me, but I didnt want to open it. How sad is that—that the idea of a present was more precious to me than the gift itself?
"Go on!" Josh said, growing impatient. "I wasnt sure what you wanted, but…oh, well…" He started tearing at the paper. "Happy birthday!"
Yeah, in case you havent figured it out already: it totally wasnt my birthday.
The present in my hands felt foreign and heavy then. Doesnt it usually take 365 days to earn a birthday present? I wondered. I mean, I know Ive had a pretty sheltered life and all, but Im pretty sure thats the standard way in which these things work.
"I bet you thought Id forgotten," he teased, pulling me into a bone-crushing hug.
"Oh, um … yeah?" I tried.
"DeeDee helped me pick them out. " He had taken the lid off the box and was pulling out the most delicate pair of silver earrings Id ever seen. (Note to self: get ears pierced. ) "I thought theyd go with your necklace—you know, the silver one, with the cross?"
"Yeah," I said, dismayed. "I know the one. "
The earrings glistened in the night, and all I could do was stare at them, hypnotized, thinking that no girl has ever had a nicer boyfriend, and no girl has ever been less deserving of him.
I felt like I was outside myself looking down. Who is that girl, I wondered. Doesnt she know how lucky she is? Doesnt she realize that she has really pretty earrings that match her necklace and a boy who would think of such a thing? Who is she to worry about quantum physics or chemical agents or NSA codes? Doesnt she know this is one of those rare moments in life where everything is right and good and wonderful?
Doesnt she know these moments always end?
Chapter Twenty-one
As I inched through the secret passageways, my thoughts seemed to echo in the narrow space: But it isnt my birthday.
I wished the nagging doubt would just go away. I had earrings, didnt I? Does it really matter why hed given them to me? After all, normal girls
get mad when their boyfriends forget their birthdays, so shouldnt remembering a wrong birthday be worth bonus points or something? I should have been crediting Joshs account in case he ever forgot something else—like twenty years from now he could forget our wedding anniversary and I could say, Dont worry, darling; remember when you gave me earrings when it wasnt my birthday? Now were even.
But it wasnt my birthday.
I thought about the date: November nineteenth. I remembered telling Josh that was my birthday during his rapid-fire interrogation by the park, and I wasnt sure which was more sobering—that hed remembered or Id forgotten.
The empty corridors seemed to spiral out in front of me. I was tired. I was hungry. I wanted to take a shower and talk to my friends, and so I was already half asleep as I leaned against the back side of the ancient stone that framed the huge fireplace in the second-floor student lounge. In just a couple of weeks the fireplace was going to be useless to me as a passageway unless I wanted to wear one of Dr. Fibss fireproof bodysuits on my dates with Josh (but they make even Bex look fat), so I pulled the lever one last time, expecting the stones to part, but when I did, I accidentally knocked an old torch holder that slid down, opening yet another hidden door, and revealing a branch in the passageway that I dont think Id ever seen before.
I dont know why I followed it—spy genetics or teenage curiosity—but soon I was wandering down the corridor, not knowing where I was until I walked through thin slivers of light and stopped to peer through cracks into the Hall of History, where Gillys sword stood gleaming beneath its perpetual spotlight.
Thats also when I heard the crying.
Farther down the passageway I found my mothers office and the bookshelves I had watched spin around to reveal the memorabilia of a headmaster of an elite boarding school. I leaned against them, peered through a crack in the plaster, and watched my mother cry. Someone could have thrown a switch, and the bookcase would have spun around, taking me with it, but as I stood in the cramped and musty space I couldnt turn away.
She was alone in her office, curled up in her chair. The last time Id seen her shed been dancing and laughing, but now she sat alone, and tears ran down her face. I wanted to hold her so that we could cry together. I wanted to feel her salty tears on my cheek. I wanted to smooth her hair and tell her that I was tired, too. But I stayed where I was—watching, knowing the reasons I didnt go comfort her: I couldnt explain what I was wearing; I couldnt tell her why I was there; but mostly, I knew that it was something she didnt want me to see.
When she reached for a tissue on the shelf behind her desk, her eyes were closed, and yet she found the box with the sure, steady motion of someone who had known it would be there. It was a practiced gesture, a habit. And I knew that my mothers grief, like her life, was full of secrets. Then I felt the earrings in my pocket, and I knew why the tears had picked that night to come.
"Oh my gosh," I said, once more that night—this time for a very different reason.
I slipped farther down the passageway and eventually slid to a window seat in an abandoned classroom. I didnt cry. Something told me the universe couldnt handle both Morgan women weeping at the same time, so I sat there stoically, letting my mother be the weak one for a little while, taking my turn on duty.