She'd absolutely adored the library_an entire building where anyone could take things they didn't own and feel no remorse about it.

You know, Ms. Morgan, that was your mother you just hammered," Mr. Solomon said.

Of course, the downside of attending a fictional school is that our lacrosse team sucks.

How are we doing, Simon?" she whispered into the small microphone in her collar. "Just about..." Simon started slowly. And then he stopped. "Wow." "What?" she asked, panic in her voice. "Nothing," he said too quickly. "What?" she asked again. "Well...it's just that...your boobs look even bigger on TV." Kat took that opportunity to turn and glare at the nearest security camera. In his bathroom stall thirty feet away, Simon nearly fell off the toilet.

But I wasn't the girl I'd been when I left, and I knew it.

Okay, gang," I said, "according to blueprints, there's an elevator access panel on the east side of the building. We may get a little dirty, but—" "I thought we'd just go through the doors," Liz said, flashing three beautifully engraved invitations and some wonderfully authentic fake IDs. The tickets were $20,000 each. The Secret Service had been vetting the guest list for weeks, so Bex and I stopped beneath a streetlamp and studied Liz. "Do I even want to know where you got those?" I asked. Liz seemed to ponder it, and then she said, "No.

Turns out, you can take the girl out of the spy school, but you can never take the spy school out of the girl.