Free I'd Tell You I Love You But Then I'd Have to Kill You by Ally Carter Page B

looked like a cross between Mr. Clooney and, say, one of the hobbits, I probably would have been far more capable of coherent thought.)
    From the corner of my eye I saw the Overnight Express truck turn into an alley. I could sense it idling there—waiting on me—so I turned and started down the street, but not before the boy said, "So, you're new to Roseville, huh?" I turned back to him. Mr. Solomon probably wouldn't lay on the horn to tell a girl to hurry up, but even through my busted comms unit I could feel his frustration, hear the ticking clock.
    "I'm…um, how did you know that?"
    He raised his shoulders up and down an inch or two as he shoved his hands farther into his pockets. "I've lived in Roseville all my life. Everyone I know has lived in Roseville all their life. But I've never seen you before."
    Maybe that's because I'm the girl no one sees, I wanted to say. But he had seen me, I realized, and that thought took my breath away as surely as if I'd been kicked in my stomach (a comparison I'm perfectly qualified to make).
    "But…hey…" he said, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "I guess I'll be seeing you at school."
    Huh? I thought for a second, wondering how a boy could ever get accepted at the Gallagher Academy (especially when Tina Walters swears there's a top secret boys' school somewhere in Maine, and every year she petitions my mom to let us take a field trip).
    Then I remembered my legend—I was a normal teenage girl—one he wasn't going to see around the halls of Roseville High, so I shook my head. "I'm not in the public school system."
    He seemed kind of surprised by this, but then he looked down at my chest. (Not THAT way—I was totally wearing a sweatshirt, remember? Plus, let me tell you, there's not that much to stare at.) I glanced down to see the silver cross glistening against my new black sweatshirt.
    "What…are you homeschooled or something?" he asked, and I nodded. "For what, like, religious reasons?"
    "Yes," I said, thinking that sounded as good as anything. "Something like that." I took a backward step toward the truck, toward my classmates, toward my home. "I have to go."
    "Hey!" he cried after me. "It's dark. Let me walk you home—you know—for protection."
    I'm fairly certain I could have killed him with that pop bottle, so I might have laughed if his offer hadn't been so sweet. "I'll be fine," I called back to him as I hurried down the sidewalk.
    "Then for my protection."
    I couldn't help myself—I laughed as I yelled, "Go back to the carnival!"
    Ten more steps and I would have turned the corner; I would have been free, but then the boy shouted, "Hey, what's your name?"
    "Cammie!" I don't know what made me say it, but the word was already out there, and I couldn't take it back, so I said again, "My name is Cammie," as if trying the truth on for size.
    "Hey, Cammie …" He was taking long, lazy steps, backing away from me, toward the lights and sounds of the festival in full swing. "…tell Suzie she's a lucky cat."
    Have sexier words ever been spoken? I seriously think not!
    "I'm Josh, by the way."
    I started running as I yelled, "Good-bye, Josh." But before the words even reached him, I was gone.
     
     
    The Overnight Express truck was waiting at the end of the alley when I got there, lights off. I felt Mr. Smith's pop bottle in my hand, and for a second I couldn't remember why I would be carrying such a thing. I know. I'm almost ashamed of it now—the fact that ten seconds with a boy had driven my mission from my mind. But I did look at it, and I did remember who I was—why I was there—and I knew it was time to forget about boys and trash cans and cats named Suzie; I remembered what was real and what was legend.
    As I pulled open the back door of the truck, I expected to see my classmates sitting there, envying my mission-accomplishing superspy-ness, but all I saw were packages and packages—even the television was gone, and instead of cries of congratulations, I