"Do you attend theGallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women?" the man blurted, and forreasons I will never understand I said, "Uh…yes?" as if it might be atrick question.

"Have you ever studiedthe subject of Covert Operations?"

"Yes," I said again,feeling my confidence, or maybe just my training, coming back to me.

"Did your CovertOperations coursework ever take you to the town of Roseville, Virginia?"

Even in that sterile roombeneath Washington, D.C., I could almost feel the hot, humid night last September.I could almost hear the band and smell the corn dogs.

My stomach growled as I said,"Yes."

Polygraph Guy made notes andstudied the bank of monitors that surrounded him. "Is that when you firstnoticed The Subject?"

Here's the thing about being aspy in love: your boyfriend never has a name. People like Polygraph Guy werenever just going to call him josh. He would always be The Subject, a personof interest. Taking away his name was their way of taking him away, or whatwas left of him. So I said, "Yes," and tried not to let my voicecrack.

"And you utilized yourtraining to develop a relationship with The Subject?"

"Gee, when you say itlike that—"

"Yes or no, Ms.—"

"Yes!"

Which, I would like to pointout, is not nearly as bad as it sounds since, for example, you don't need asearch warrant to go through someone's trash. Seriously. Once it hits the curbit is totally fair game—you can look itup.

But somehow I knew that theOffice of Operative Development and Human Intelligence was probably far lessconcerned about the trash thing than it was about what came after thetrash thing. So I was fully prepared when Polygraph Guy said, "Did TheSubject follow you during your Covert Operations final examination?"

I thought about Josh appearingin the abandoned warehouse during finals week, bursting through walls andcommandeering a forklift to "save" me, so I swallowed hard as I said,"Yes."