AN: This is my first Fanfic! Please read and review. I don't really know where this story is going, so give suggestions! I do not own the Gallagher Girls characters. And the first two lines in Italics are by Ally Carter and are the last lines of Only the Good Spy Young

And now…well…now I am going to sneak out of this mansion by myself one more time. Now I'm going to leave here, and spend this summer trying to find them. I'll be back. And when I am, I promise I'll have answers.

I didn't wait until everyone had left the mansion. In fact, I did the exact opposite. I did what I'm good at.

After breakfast on the last day of term, when all the other girls were changing out of their uniforms and carrying their suitcases into the grand hall, I moved into the crowd. No one noticed me, and no one thought it strange that the headmistress' daughter was the only girl not lugging a suitcase down from her room. After all, it made perfect sense. If my mother was the last person to leave the mansion, why would I bother getting ready until everyone else was gone?

The secret to being a chameleon isn't hiding. It's getting other people to see you and keep looking. It's getting other people to find a perfectly good reason for why you should be somewhere when you know you shouldn't be. It's making everyone else think that you're harmless. It's something Gallagher Girls do every day.

So when the throngs of girls were making their ways through the halls, I was right there with them, making my way through a different hall. I slid the report from last semester, the one that explained what I was doing, on top of the case that held Gilly's sword. And then I made my way to the only remaining secret passage while Macey, Bex, and Liz were still packing.

I knew I couldn't say goodbye to them because I knew they would try to stop me, and that they would probably succeed. And then I'd spend another summer being protected from harm while other people searched for the answers I know I have to find. My mother was out of the question as well. She's the best spy I know, and not only would she have seen right through me, she'd never have agreed to my plan. She'd have stopped me before I could even get started. And I couldn't let that happen.

I agree with Aunt Abby. I don't do goodbyes.

It was raining outside at eleven hundred hours that Saturday. Actually the better phrase would be torrential downpour. I could barely see three feet in front of me when I emerged from the passage, and I was soaked to the skin in exactly six and a half seconds. I crouched down in the bushes along the road, sure that my dark clothes and the driving rain would keep me hidden from any approaching vehicles. Although I knew that anyone who was on the road in this weather would have to be as crazy as I was.

The rain pelted me in hard drops, and when I heard thunder roll in the distance, I regretted not bringing some sort of raingear. Maybe neon yellow doesn't make it easy to blend in, but I was pretty sure that catching pneumonia wouldn't do a lot of good either.

But something was wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I spun in search of whoever was watching me. No one was there. No one at the mansion would miss me yet. My mother would still be preoccupied by the students who were leaving, and my friends would assume that I'd snuck off to avoid socializing, thinking I wanted to be alone after what had happened. And they'd be right.

But that didn't change the feeling, deep in my bones, that something was wrong. And if there's one rule as a spy, it's go with your gut. So I turned back to the road and began to search for an alternative hiding spot. And then a hand grabbed me.

His hand was over my mouth before I could react, but the first thing I did was slam my elbow back into his diaphragm. He gave a satisfying grunt, but his other arm wrapped around my waste, pulling me back into his body and taking away my leverage. And then a voice was whispering in my ear.

"Chill, Gallagher Girl. It's me."

I whipped my head around to face him, and he let me, all the while keeping my body close to his, as if he were afraid I would try to hurt him again. Or as if he liked having me that close.

"What are you doing here?"

"You didn't honestly think I'd let you chase the Circle by yourself, did you?" he said, his lips brushing my ear in an attempt to diffuse my hostility. But I wasn't about to be calmed down.

"She's your mother, Zach," I shot back, managing to pull away from him and trying not to let myself see the hurt in his face at my words. "How can I trust you?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, his eyes honest for a change. "But I think you should."

"Why? You've spent the last year following me around and sending me cryptic messages and avoiding my questions," I snapped, doing my best not to let his betrayed face cool my anger. Of all the people to have followed me, it had to be the one who always had an advantage over me. It had to be the one who always knew more than I did.

"Because you can't do this alone. Because you need someone who knows the Circle from the inside. And because we want the same thing."

"Really Zach?" I asked sarcastically. "And what would that be?"

"Answers." His eyes searched my face, looking for some hint of what I was thinking, but I didn't give him anything. After all, I had gotten something out of five years of spy school. I tried to look away, but he placed his hand on my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.

"If you want to go alone, Cameron, you're going to have to fight me. And you're going to have to win."

I tried to ignore the way he used my full name for the first time ever. I tried to ignore the way his eyes bored into mine, the intensity in his face making my insides twist. And I tried to ignore the way his fingers lingered on my jaw, light but uncompromising all at the same time. But I couldn't.

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," I whispered.

He dropped his hand and moved away, and I almost wished I'd offered to fight him.

"Good," he answered, his voice surprisingly light. "Because I'm already drenched and I'm not really keen on being covered in mud too. I think this storm is turning Roseville into an official swamp."

"Don't worry Zach," I teased, trying to copy his lighter tone. "You're not that sweet. It's not like you'll melt or anything."

"You're right, Cammie," he said, his tone serious again. "I'm not."