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

easy answer to my question. "The Secret Service
is good, Cam," my mother said. "Your aunt Abby is very good."
She looked at my aunt as if no amount of sibling rivalry could ever come
between them. So I sat there for a long time thinking about sisters. About our
sisterhood.
    And
then suddenly it seemed funny. It seemed crazy. We were in the middle of the
Gallagher Academy, where the people are both crazy and really, really good at
being crazy about security. Of course Macey was going to be okay,
    "Well,
at least we already go to the safest school in the world. And it's not like
Macey's going anywhere, right?" I said with a smile—totally not expecting
my aunt to smile back and say, "Yeah…well…Cam, have you ever been to
Cleveland?"
     
     

Chapter Eleven
     
     
    Ohio
has twenty electoral votes and a history of high voter turnout. It has a
governor from one party and two senators from the other. In September, it also
had a lot of women who were unsure about who to vote for but who were certain
about one thing: Macey McHenry was a brave, brave girl for surviving what
happened to her in Boston.
    Macey
McHenry was going to be worth a lot of votes.
    And so she was going there.
Alone.
    Well
… if by alone you mean with one of the most honored Gallagher Girls in years
(who, reportedly, looks a little like me when I wear my hair back), a caravan
of fourteen Secret Service agents of her own personal detail, and at least
thirty advance team members who were tracking her father's every move. But in
the most important sense she was alone. Because she was going without us.
    Monday
morning, Macey was up at five a.m. and together we all walked her downstairs,
where the smell of cinnamon rolls wafted in from the kitchen. Outside, the sun
was coming up in the distance. A hazy light fell over the horizon, and through
the windows I could see the guards doing a sweep of the woods.
    Liz
was wearing her E=mc 2 pajamas, and Bex's hair was looking
particularly out of control, but still we paraded Macey through the mansion
until we saw Aunt Abby.
    She
wore a dark gray pantsuit with a plain white blouse. A little plastic earpiece
was already pinned to her collar, the wires disappearing down the inside of her
jacket. She looked the part—she was the part. And then we handed
Macey off to her without a word, the changing of the guard.
    And then I went and took a
shower.
    And then I ate a cinnamon roll.
    And
I didn't hear a thing Mr. Smith said about ancient Rome and the catacombs,
which if you know where to look, still provide pretty awesome access to the
city.
    All
day long, it seemed like people kept saying exactly what I was thinking.
    "Well,
I guess she's probably there by now," Tina said after breakfast.
    "Macey
is going to get to see so many cool protection tactics," Eva remarked on
our way to COW.
    "She's
with Abby," Liz said on our way down the Grand Staircase.
    "And
Abby rocks," Bex reminded me just as we parted ways with Liz and headed to
the elevator for Sublevel Two.
    From
a purely intellectual standpoint I knew Macey was as well protected as she
could possibly be, but Mr. Solomon had been teaching us for a year that being a
spy isn't always about intellect—it's about instincts. And right then my
instincts were telling me that it was going to be a very long day.
    And
that was before Mr.
Solomon met us at the entrance to Sublevel Two with a stack of Winters-McHenry
T-shirts and said, "Let's go."
     
     
    I'd
been in a helicopter with Mr. Solomon twice before. The first time I'd been
blindfolded. The second, I'd just found out that there was another top
secret spy school … for boys! But that day, boys and
blindfolds seemed easy in comparison.
    "Security
threats come in how many forms, Ms. Alvarez?" Mr. Solomon asked.
    "Five,"
Eva said, even though, technically, we hadn't covered that chapter yet.
    "And
who can tell me what they are?" our teacher went
    on.
    "Long
range, short range, suicide, static …" Bex rattled, not to show off,