I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You

Chapter Twelve

"I don't know what you're talking about," I shot back, way too quickly for the lie to be any good. Here's the thing about lying: a part of you has to mean it—even if it is a tiny, sinister shred that only lives in the blackest, darkest parts of your mind. You have to want it to be true.

I guess I didn't.

"Oh, come on," Macey said with a roll of her eyes. "It's been, what? Two weeks?" I was shocked. Macey cocked her head and asked, "You been to second base yet?"

There are entire books in the Gallagher Academy library about female independence and how we shouldn't let men distract us from our missions, but all I could do was look at Macey McHenry and say, "You think I could get to second base?"

I hate to admit it, but it was probably one of the greatest compliments I had received in my whole, entire life.

But Macey only rolled her eyes and said, "Forget I asked," as she strolled to the pile of garbage and, unsurprisingly, turned up her perfect nose and said, "This is disgusting!" Then she looked at me. "You must have it bad."

Leave it to Bex to keep her cool and say, "We've got CoveOps homework, Macey."

Even I almost believed that what we were doing was perfectly innocent.

Macey looked down at our piles, examining the scene as if this were the most exciting thing she'd seen in months, which absolutely, positively could not have been true, since I know for a fact that her class had been in the physics labs when Mr. Fibs got attacked by the bees he thought he'd genetically modified to obey commands from a whistle. (Turns out they only respond to the voice of James Earl Jones.)

"His name is Josh," I said finally.

"Cammie!" Liz cried, as if she couldn't believe I was giving such sensitive intel to the enemy.

But Macey only repeated, "Josh," as if trying it on for size.

"Yeah," I said. "I met him when we had a mission in town, and … well…"

"Now you can't stop thinking about him…. You always want to know what he's doing… . You'd kill to know if he's thinking about you…." Macey said, like a doctor reeling off symptoms.

"Yes!" I cried. "That's sooooo it!"

She shrugged. "That's too bad, kid."

She was only three months older than me, so I totally could have gotten mad about the "kid" thing, but I couldn't get mad at her—not then. I wasn't exactly sure what was happening, but one thing was becoming obvious: Macey McHenry had intel I desperately needed.

"He told me I had a lucky cat," I said. "What does that mean?"

"You don't have a cat."

"Technicality." I waved that fact away. "So, what does it mean?"

"It sounds like he wants to play it cool…. That he might like you, and he wants to keep his options open in case you decide you don't like him, or if he decides he doesn't like you."

"But then I saw him on the street, and I overheard him telling a friend that I was 'nobody.' But he'd been really nice and—"

"Oh, you have been busy."

"He acts really nice, but based on what he told his friend—"

"Wait." Macey stopped me. "He said that to a friend? Another guy?"

"Yes."

"And you believed him?" She rolled her eyes. "Total hearsay. Could be posturing, could be territory marking, could be shame over liking the new weird chick—I'm assuming he thinks you're a weird chick?"

"He thinks I'm homeschooled for religious reasons."

"Yeah," she said, nodding as if that were answer enough. "I'd say you've still got a shot."

OH. MY. GOSH. It was as if the gray storm clouds had parted and Macey McHenry was the sun, bringing wisdom and truth into the eternal darkness. (Or something a lot less melodramatic.)

Just in case you missed my point: Macey McHenry knows about boys!! Of course, this shouldn't have come as a huge, colossal surprise, but I couldn't help myself; I was groveling at her feet, worshipping at the altar of eyeliner, push-up bras, and coed parties without parental supervision.

Even Liz said, "That's amazing."

"You've got to help me," I pleaded.

"Oooh, sorry. Not my department."

Of course it wasn't. It was clear that Macey McHenry was the lurkee, not the lurker. She couldn't possibly understand life on the outside, looking through the window at a place she'd never know. Then I thought about the hours she'd spent locked away in the silence of those headphones and wondered, or could she?

Before me stood a person who was capable of cracking the Y chromosome code, and I wasn't going to let her get away that easily.

"Come on!" I said.

"Yeah, well tell it to someone who isn't the freaking mascot of the seventh-freaking-grade!" She eased onto her bed and crossed her legs. "So there is only one way that I am going to care about your boy problems."

Work brain, work, I urged my mind, but it was like a car stuck in the mud.

"I'm getting out of the newbie classes," Macey said. "And you're going to help me."

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."