Free Don't Judge a Girl by Her Cover by Ally Carter

of that week trying to talk to Aunt Abby alone, but the problem was,
from that point on, my aunt was never alone.
    "Um,
Aunt Abby, can we…talk?" I asked Monday night after supper, but Abby just
smiled and started for the door. Unfortunately, half the sophomore class
started with her.
    "Sure,
squirt. I was just going to go to teach these guys this really cool move with a
garden hose. Wanna come?"
    When
I saw her in the foyer Tuesday afternoon, I asked, "Hey, Aunt Abby, do you
maybe have some time to…catch up…tonight?"
    "Ooh,
sorry, Camster," she told me as she started walking Macey to P&E.
"Fibs has asked me to help him whip up a batch of this superpowerful
coma-inducing cream I learned how to make in the Amazon. It could take all
night."
    Everywhere
I turned I heard questions like, "Hey, Cammie, has Abby ever shown you
that thing she did in Portugal with a bobby pin?"
    Or
"Well, I heard that five more senior operatives were begging to take
Macey's detail, but the deputy director of the CIA himself called and asked Abby to take the job."
    By
Saturday, it was starting to feel like the one story Aunt Abby wouldn't tell
was the only one I wanted to hear.
    And, by Sunday, it had started to
rain.
    The
halls seemed dimmer than usual for that early in the semester as I walked
through the empty corridors on my way to my mother's office. When I passed the
window seat on the second floor, I couldn't resist pulling back the red velvet
curtains and peering through the wavy glass.
    Heavy
gray clouds hung low in the sky, but the trees were lush and green in the
forest. Our walls were still tall and strong, and beyond them, not a single
news van sat. I thought for a second that maybe the worst of it was over, but
then a flash of lightning slashed through the sky, and I knew the storm was
just beginning.
    "Cammie!"
Mom's voice called through the Hall of History, and I turned away from the
glass.
    Walking
toward my mother's office, I couldn't help notice that she was smiling as if
this were exactly how the first Sunday night after summer vacation was supposed
to be—except this time it was definitely different. Because first, there was
music. Loud music. Fast music. Music that was definitely not of the
Culture and Assimilation variety!
    And second, the food didn't smell
terrible. Sure, it didn't smell as good as the aromas drifting from the Grand
Hall, but it didn't look like the smoke (and/or hazardous materials) detectors
had gone off yet, and that was a very good sign.
    But
as soon as I reached the door to my mother's office, I could see that what
really set this Sunday night apart was that, this time, my mother was not
alone.
    "Hey,
squirt. I'm crashing." My aunt winked as she pulled a grape from a bowl of
fruit on the corner of my mother's desk. "Your mom and cooking," Abby
said, grabbing me by the hand and spinning me around to the music, "this, I
had to see."
    "No
one is forcing you to eat anything," Mom chided, but Abby just kept
dancing, pulling me in and out until she whispered in my ear, "I've got an
antidote for ninety-nine percent of the food-borne illnesses known to man in my
purse, just in case."
    And
then I couldn't help myself. I laughed. For a second, it seemed right. For a
second, it seemed safe. Everything was different…but familiar. The dancing. The
music. The sounds and smells of Mom making her famous (in a bad way) goulash.
It was as if I were having flashes of someone else's life. And then it hit me:
it was my life. With Dad.
    Dad
used to listen to that music. Dad and I used to dance in our kitchen in D.C.
    And suddenly I didn't feel like
dancing anymore.
    Mom
watched me walk to the radio and turn down the volume.
    "Oh,
Cam," my aunt said with a sigh. "Look at you. All grown up and
breaking hearts…" She raised her eyebrows. "And rules. Honestly, as
an aunt, I don't know which makes me prouder."
    "Abigail," Mom warned
softly.
    "Rachel,"
my aunt mimicked her sister's motherly tone.
    "Perhaps
the United States