Well, personally, I didn’t think his “humor” was all that funny, but my mother smiled and took my arm again. “Come on, kiddo, you don’t want to be late.”
She led me down a sunny corridor that made it almost impossible to believe we were underground. Bright, cool light splashed the gray walls and reminded me of Sublevel One at school . . . which reminded me of my Covert Operations class . . . which reminded me of finals week . . . which reminded me of . . .
Josh.
We passed the Office of Guerrilla Warfare but didn’t slow down. Two women waved to my mother outside the Department of Cover and Concealment, but we didn’t stop to chat.
We walked faster, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of secrets, until the corridor branched and we could either go left, toward the Department of Sabotage and Seemingly Accidental Explosions, or right, to the Office of Operative Development and Human Intelligence. And despite the flame-resistant bodysuits mandatory beyond this point sign marking the hallway to my left, I’d much rather have gone in that direction. Or just back to the mall. Anywhere but where I knew I had to go.
Because even though the truth can set you free, that doesn’t mean it won’t be painful.
“My name is Cammie.”
“No, what’s your full name?” asked the man in front of the polygraph machine, as if I weren’t wearing the aforementioned (and supposedly nonexplosive) name badge.
