Sometime years before, I had dragged an old bean bag chair to that place. I watched Zach sink onto it, and then he pulled me down to lean against him. I felt his arms go around me, holding me tight.
I was safe.
I was warm.
I was home.

I wanted to pull away, remind him that I was a big girl, a highly trained operative, a spy - that I'd been training for this mission my entire life, and I wasn't going to be left on the sidelines. But in the dim space with Zach pressed tightly against me, only one thought came to mind. I kissed him - longer and deeper than I ever had before. The school was not watching us this time. There was nothing playful in the tone. We were just two people kissing as if for the first time, as if it might be the last.

And then I broke away. "So," I asked, as if I got kissed like that all the time (which, believe me, I don't), "where is it you're taking me again?"

"The tombs.

She thought she was only seeing him because she wanted to see him... It's a by-product of very dramatic kissing.

He's just . . .” I tried, wanting to say “sweet” or “caring” or “funny”—because they're all totally true. But instead, I said, “He's just a normal boy.”
“Hmph,” Macey scoffed. “I know lots of normal boys.”
I looked at her. “I don't.

I could have lied. I could have fought. But desperate times call for desperate measures, so I took a chance and called upon a Gallagher Girl's weapon of last resort. I flirted

Give me everything you have," I told [Preston].
"Really, Cammie. I never knew you thought of me that way.