Read Cross My Heart And Hope To Spy for Free Online

the CIA’s very best operatives. And…she’s my mom!”
    “Exactly! She would never suspect”—Bex paused for effect—”her own daughter.” And then Bex, Liz, and Macey looked at me as if this were the best plan ever. Which it wasn’t. At all. I mean, I know a little something about plans, having helped my father design a Trojan horse-type scenario to infiltrate a former Soviet nuclear missile silo that had been taken over by terrorists when I was seven. And
this
was not a good plan!
    “Bex!” I cried. “I don’t want to do this. It—”
    But before I could finish, the library door swung open and I heard Macey say, “Hello, Ms. Morgan.”
    Even though I’d been sitting relatively still for forty-five minutes, my heart felt like I’d just run a mile. Mom looked down at the Portuguese translation of
101 Classic
Covers
and the Spies Who’ve Used Them
and said, “What are you girls doing in the library on a sunny day like this?”
    “ COW extra credit,” we all said, citing the cover story we’d agreed on before we left the room.
    But still, my pulse didn’t slow down. I just sat there, reminding myself that we weren’t breaking any rules. I hadn’t really told any lies. (Mr. Smith
had
assigned extra credit, after all.) Technically, I hadn’t broken my promise. Yet.
    “Okay,” Mom said, smiling. “I’ll see you tonight, Cam.”
    I felt Bex’s eyes on me and knew what she was thinking—that I was going to be spending the evening with my mother. In her office. What kind of operative would I be if I didn’t take advantage of the situation?
    But then I thought about my mother and wondered what kind of daughter I would be if I did.

    Things I’ve Done That I’m Not Necessarily Proud Of:
    A list by Cameron Morgan
    •  One time I accidentally spilled all of Bex’s detangling conditioner and refilled the bottle with
    volumizing conditioner, and her hair got really big for a few weeks, but I never told her why.
    •  I once wore Liz’s favorite yoga pants without permission and totally stretched them out. Also,
    her favorite sweater.
    •  Whenever I’m in Nebraska I always pretend I’m too weak to open pickle jars, because Grandpa
    Morgan likes to do it for me.
    •  As I have thoroughly documented elsewhere, I once had a clandestine relationship with a really
    cute, really sweet boy and then lied about it.
    A lot.
    • On the first Sunday after winter break in my sophomore year, I helped Liz implant a camera
    in the watch Grandma gave me for my birthday. And then I wore it to Sunday-night supper in my
    mother’s office so that I could do the worst thing I’ve ever done. Ever.

    When you’re the daughter of two secret agents, you learn pretty early that spies walk a moral tightrope. We do bad things for good reasons, and for the most part we can live with that. But that Sunday night, when I sat in my mother’s office eating microwavable crab puffs and fingering my new custom-made spy watch, I thought about my cover: hungry daughter bonding with her mother-slash-mentor. Then I thought about my mission: do a basic recon of the headmistress’s office and hope there will be a report titled
Operation Black Thorn
or
Contents of the East Wing
just lying around.
    Sunday-night supper in my mother’s office is something I’ve been doing ever since Mom and I came to the Gallagher Academy. Usually, however, I don’t feel nauseous until
after
I’ve eaten (because even though Mom once manufactured an antidote for a rare poison by using the contents of a hotel minibar, she has yet to master microwaves and hot plates).
    “So,” Mom said, gesturing to the small silver tray of puffs, “how are they?”
    (Note to self: research bioweapon potential of microwavable crab puffs.)
    “They’re great!” I lied, and my mother smiled. No, scratch that—she glowed. And at that moment I seriously wanted to back out, to put the watch in my pocket and forget how I’d already memorized the exact position of