I nodded, then muttered, “Yes.” Like it or not, I knew I had to say the word out loud.
He made some more notes, punched some keys. “Are you currently involved with The Subject in any way?”
“No,” I blurted, because I knew that much was true. I hadn’t seen Josh, hadn’t spoken to him, hadn’t even hacked into his e-mail account over winter break, which, given present circumstances, turned out to be a pretty good thing. (Plus, I had spent the last two weeks in Nebraska with Grandpa and Grandma Morgan, and they have dial-up, which takes forever!)
Then the man in the wire-rim glasses looked away from the screen and straight into my eyes. “And do you intend to reinitiate contact with The Subject despite strict rules prohibiting such a relationship?”
There it was: the question I’d pondered for weeks.
There I was: Cammie the Chameleon—the Gallagher Girl who had risked the most sacred sisterhood in the his-tory of espionage. For a boy.
“Ms. Morgan,” Polygraph Guy said, growing impatient, “are you going to reinitiate contact with The Subject?”
“No,” I said softly.
Then I glanced back at the screen to see if I was lying.
