Cross My Heart And Hope To Spy by Ally Carter

…” I started, but then I trailed off. Bright sunlight bounced off slushy piles of half-melted snow. I squinted and blinked, making sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, because I could have sworn the ground’s shape began to shift.
    I glanced at my teacher, saw the faintest hint of a smile grow on his lips while, behind him, a great hollow opening appeared in the middle of the field. Twin blades of a helicopter rose steadily from the huge hole, and wet snow whirled over the frozen ground as the blades started to spin. Mr. Solomon pointed over his shoulder and said,
“That’s
our ride.”

Chapter Seven

    When I was five, Mom brought me to the Gallagher Academy for the first time. I’d thought it was the biggest building in the world; but today I looked through the helicopter’s windows and watched the mansion grow smaller and smaller until it looked like it was in a snow globe that someone had given a good shake.
    We flew so low over the woods that I could almost touch the trees. I thought about how my school had taught me chemistry and biology and even a very real appreciation for calligraphy. But helicopters were completely new territory! Was there going to be jumping? Or rappelling? (Hello—our uniforms have skirts.)
    I don’t know if it was turbulence, nerves, or the sight of the blindfolds in Mr. Solomon’s hands, but my stomach did a little flip.
    “I’m afraid this isn’t a sightseeing tour, ladies,” Mr. Solomon said as he cinched the bands over our eyes. “If I were you, I’d get comfortable. We’re gonna be up here a while.”

    Well, it turns out “a while” is exactly forty-seven minutes and forty-two seconds, because that’s how long it was until I felt the helicopter’s quick descent. During that time, Mr. Solomon had warned “No peeking, Ms. Walters” twice, but other than that and Bex’s snoring (she can sleep anywhere!), there wasn’t a single sound on our mysterious ride.
    I had no idea how fast we’d been going, or in what direction. All I knew was that we’d been in the air for almost forty-eight minutes and I really had to go to the bathroom.
    We touched down. I heard the helicopter doors open, then someone guided me out onto concrete and into a waiting van. Soon we were off again. Destination unknown.
    I smelled Bex’s perfume beside me and drew some small comfort in the familiar scent.
    “Blindfolds off,” Mr. Solomon said.
    I tugged at the black band that circled my head, and soon I was squinting, trying to adjust to the light, the situation, and most of all, the sight of seven Gallagher Girls with very questionable hair. Static electricity filled the van. Eva’s long black mane was practically standing on end. But I was riveted by the state-of-the-art equipment that lined the windowless walls. Gadgets two generations better than anything we’d ever had were at our fingertips. I didn’t need Joe Solomon to say, “Today we’re playing with the pros, ladies” to know that it was true.
    Mr. Solomon turned to Courtney. “Countersurveillance has three functions, Ms. Bauer, name them.”
    “Detect and evade surveillance procedures?” Courtney said, her answer sounding more like a question than a direct quote from page twenty-nine of A
Covert Operative’s Guide to Surveillance Countermeasures.
    “That’s right,” Mr. Solomon said. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say good job. Instead, he looked at the screens that filled the walls of the van, the wires and keyboards that were locked carefully into place. “It’s a big world, ladies, but that doesn’t make it easy to hide. If you stay on this course of study, you’d better be ready to look over your shoulders for the rest of your lives.
    “Countersurveillance isn’t something you learn from a book—it’s not about theory,” Solomon continued. “It’s about the prickly feeling on the back of your neck, the little voice in your head that tells you when something isn’t quite right.” The van came to