"Bex said you had to goin for questioning," Liz said. "She said it was Top Secret!"

Yeah. Pretty much everythingwe do is Top Secret, but the novelty has never worn off for Liz,probably because, unlike Bex and me and seventy percent of our classmates,Liz's parents drive Volvos and serve on PTA committees and have never had tokill a man with a copy of People magazine. (Not that anyone can prove mymom actually did that—it's totally just arumor.)

"Liz, it's okay," Isaid, pulling free, "It was just a debrief. It was normal protocolstuff."

"So…" Liz started."You aren't in trouble?" She picked up a massive book. "Becausearticle nine, section seven of the Handbook of Operative Development clearlystates that operatives in training may be placed on temporary—"

"Liz," Bex said,cutting her off, "please tell me you didn't spend the morning memorizingthat book."

"I didn't memorizeit," Liz said defensively. "I just…read it." Which, when youhave a photographic memory, is pretty much the same thing, but I didn't say so.

Down the hall, I heard EvaAlvarez explaining how Buenos Aires on New Year's Eve is awesome. A pair offreshmen rushed by our door talking about who would make a better GallagherGirl: Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Veronica Mars (a debate made much more interestingby the fact it was taking place in Farsi).

Bright sunlight shone throughour window, bouncing off the snow. It was a new semester and my best friendswere beside me. All seemed right with the world.

Thirty minutes later I was inmy uniform, making my way down the spiral staircase, toward the Grand Hall withthe rest of the student body. Well, most of the student body.

"Where's Macey?"

"Oh, she's backalready," Liz said, but I knew that much. After all, it was kind of hardto miss Macey's closetful of designer clothes, her stash of ridiculouslyexpensive skin care products (many of which are legal only in Europe), and thefact that someone had very recently been sleeping in her bed.