Mickey's late for class, which isn't exactly an unusual thing, but today of all days is a shitty day to be late. He's got a W&A match he's late for, and if he's not there in time to get Will, he'll end up sparring with Guy, who's a freaking menace when it comes to hand-to-hand combat.

Or combat in general, actually. (Excepting firearms and archery. That's Gabe's strong suit.)

Mickey's so busy worrying about being late that he almost doesn't hear them. The halls of Blackthorn are deserted, since the bell rang roughly ten minutes ago, but normally Mickey isn't the only unlucky bastard scrambling to class. There should be someone, anyone, out there.

He runs past the CoveOps room, and he hears Mr. Goode's baritone voice, and he thinks, hell yes. It is worth being late to get some info.

"You can't be serious," Mr. Goode's saying. "You can't be. You must be kidding."

"No, I'm not," a voice Mickey recognizes as Dr. Solomon's replies. "I'm perfectly serious. The exchange will be going through; they'll be arriving tomorrow. We'll inform the boys tonight."

"Are you telling me," Ms. Morgan chimes in, "honestly, that we're going to bring seventy teenage girls into a school that is currently harboring a bloodthirsty, conniving, and oh did I mention psychotic bitch who knows the ins and outs of the school in which they come from?"

"Yes." Dr. Solomon says calmly. "That's exactly what I'm telling you."

"He's crazy," Ms. Morgan says, and Mickey can practically see her throwing her hands up. "Zach, the man is crazy."

"I agree with Cam, Joe," Mr. Goode says. "You're off your fucking rocker."

And that's when Mickey realizes three things:

1. He's so late for his W&A match there probably isn't even a point to going.

And,

2. The only school Meredith Algoode knows the ins and outs of is Gallagher, the name Ms. Morgan tosses around with a mixture of bitterness and reverence.

Which therefore means that:

3. Gallagher girls are coming to Blackthorn.

Mickey is apprehensive as hell through all of his morning classes; Gabe threatens to shoot him with tranquilizer darts and Will just moans, his body aching after his spar with Guy.

Finally, it's lunch, and the four of them are sitting at their usual table, and Dr. Solomon gets up to make an announcement.

Gabe's mouth falls open.

Will drops his orange juice with a clatter and a swear, sending it all over his lap.

Guy cheers.

And Mickey locks eyes with Ms. Morgan, takes a spoonful of oatmeal (which is totally acceptable for lunch, okay, no matter what the hell Gabe says) and in the older woman's eyes, he thinks he sees fear.

Macey McHenry slams her five inch stilettos on the ground and pouts.

"Oh, shit, y'all," Grant calls from where he's focused on his computer screen. "Somebody has awoken the McHenry Monster."

"Go fuck yourself, Grant," Macey hisses. "Oh, wait. Even you have standards."

Grant shakes his head, obviously unperturbed. "Love you too, Mace,"

"Who peed in her orange juice this morning?" Cammie says,

"The Algoode Bitch," Macey growls, and flops down on top of Nick, who makes a sound of protest. "She refuses to crack. Or even speak."

"She doesn't need to, yet," Zach says. "We've got other things to worry about. Things like how seventy teenage girls are coming here tomorrow and we've got to keep them safe and occupied."

"Oh, please," Cammie waves her hand. "We'll stick 'em in a room with the boys and give them a CoveOps assignment. They'll be good."

"What makes you think that'll work?"

"It did for us," Cammie replies, her voice soft and almost nostalgic.

"Yeah," Zach muses. "I guess it did."

"She says she wants to talk to Goode," Macey grumbles, and Zach's head shoots up.

"What?"

"Yeah," Macey growls. "Se wouldn't shut up about it. Every time I asked her a question, all she'd say was 'I want to talk to Mr. Goode.' Every goddamn time."

"Macey," Grant says patiently. "Next time, lead with that."

"Why is it she'll only talk to you?" Cammie's eyebrows furrow. "What's the deal with that? And if you say it's because you're just that Goode, I will cause you intense bodily harm."

Zach winks at her and slowly stands. "Only one way to figure this out, Cam. I've got to talk to her."

"So," Gabe says. "Who wants to be honest and just acknowledge that girls are coming to Blackthorn and it's weird as hell?"

"Me," Guy says glumly. "I will acknowledge this."

"I will also acknowledge," Will says, not looking up from his computer screen. "It's an almost scarily identical situation to the one that Mr. Goode's generation experienced."

Gabe wrinkles his nose. "So, we're like Mr. Goode and Co., 2.0?"

"2.0 implies that we're better, Gabe," Will says ominously. "A fact which remains to be seen."

They all sit in silence before Mickey chucks a pillow at Will's head.

"What the hell-"

"You deserve it," Guy snaps. "Being all depressing."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Gandalf," Gabe shakes his head.

"One day," Will growls. "You guys are going to need me to do something really important for you, and I am going to give you so much shit about it."

The interrogation room is cold and Zach's hands chill just from where he's sitting in it, in the cold yellow chair across the steel table from a psychotic murderess.

"Hello, Mr. Goode," she says calmly, with a teeth-baring smile, and Zach's blood goes icy.

"Meredith Algoode," he replies, and leans forward. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh, Zach," Meredith admonishes him with a touch of fondness in her voice, like they're old friends who have these kinds of conversations all the time. "It's not what you can do for me. It's what I can do for you."

Zach swallows. "And what exactly would that be?"

"I have a deal to make with you, Zachary Goode," Meredith leans forward and brushes the tips of his fingers with hers. "And I think you'll enjoy it."

"What'd she want?" Grant says eagerly the moment Zach exits the interrogation room. "Why'd she want to talk to you?"

Zach gives a poor excuse for a smile. "She didn't want anything. She just wanted to, uh, piss off Macey."

Grant gives him a look. "I grew up with you, Zachary Goode. I can smell your bullshit from miles away."

"Chill the fuck out, bro," Zach says breezily. "The only shit you smell is your own god-awful cologne."

Grant is too busy grumbling about his cologne quality to notice the slight tremor in Zach's hands.

It's here, Mickey thinks. This is happening.

Gabe's leg is bouncing up and down like he's drunk two pots of coffee and a Red Bull, Guy's flicking and unflicking his pen across his desk, and Mickey's hands are just a tad sweaty.

Will is the only one who's nonplussed.

"Alright, boys," Ms. Morgan says as she enters the CoveOps room. "In a few minutes, some chicks are going to come in here. They're from Gallagher, and they're apart of the Gallagher/Blackthorn exchange. This exchange is a butt load of work and a ton of extra headaches, so do us all a favor and play nice, okay? Keep it in your pants, too."

That's Ms. Morgan, Mickey thinks wryly. Always got a way with words.

The door opens.

Every young man (Excepting Will) unconsciously leans toward it.

And that's the first time Mickey ever sees a Gallagher girl.

"And Mickey," Ms. Morgan says doling out Blackthorne boy, "Why don't you go with Miss Ableman?"

And Mickey gets up and walks to the front and shakes hands with a girl who looks about his age, even if she is about eight inches shorter than him.

"I'm Mickey," he says, and when she smiles, he thinks, yeah, I can do this.

"I'm Maia," she replies, and yeah, Mickey can definitely do this.

A young woman with a sweet face and doe-eyes walks in while the kids are busy mingling and sizing each other up, and she introduces herself as Elena, the CoveOps T.A.

"Mr. Calloway's just running a little bit late," she says. "He does that a lot. He's the best, but he's never on time."

"Have you worked with him long?" Cammie asks, sizing up the girl and putting her down as no threat.

In love with her teacher, maybe, but not a threat.

"This is my second year as his T.A." Elena replies. "Which basically involves aiding him in his schemes."

A man, tall with tousled hair, walks in. "You know Dr. Fuller deserved to have his car egged. He called you my wench. Are you berating me for defending your honor, Elena?"

T.A. Elena blushes and smiles. "You know I wouldn't."

"That's why you're the best," he says fondly, a broad Scottish accent coloring his words. "Plus, you make good oatmeal. Am I late? I feel like I'm late."

"No, you're right on time," Cammie smiles. "I assume you're the Gallagher Covert Operations teacher, Mr. Callaway?"

"Do I look like I'm seventy and rocking that wheel chair look? No, Mr. Callaway is my da," He grins and his eyes smolder a little bit, getting a shade darker green. "You can call me Dex."