When Lightning Strikes 1-1

by Meg Cabot

  "Of course I'm all right," I said. "Now, anyway. Look, Dad, I need you to do me a favor."

  "What are you talking about?" my dad demanded. "Where are you? Your mother and I have been worried sick. The folks up at Crane are saying—"

  "Yeah, I know. That a bunch of Hell's Angels kidnapped Sean and me. But that's bogus, Dad. Those guys were rescuing us. Do you know what they were trying to do, Special Agents Johnson and Smith, that Colonel Jenkins guy? They were trying to make me into a dolphin."

  My dad sounded like he was choking some more. "A what?"

  Rob poked me hard in the back. I turned around to see what he wanted, and was horrified when an Indiana State Police patrol car eased into the parking lot of the convenience store.

  "Look, Dad," I said, quickly ducking my head. "I gotta go. I just need you to do this one thing for me."

  And I told him what the one thing was.

  My dad wasn't too thrilled about it, to say the least.

  He went, "Have you lost your mind? You listen here, Jessica—"

  Nobody in my family ever calls me Jessica, except when they are really peeved at me.

  "Just do it, please, Dad?" I begged. "It's really important. I'll explain everything later. Right now, I gotta go."

  "Jessica, don't you—"

  I hung up.

  Rob had drifted away from me, distancing himself and his bike from the teenage girl at the pay phone, in case the cops made a connection. But it didn't look as if they had. One of them even nodded to me as he went into the store.

  "Nice day," he said.

  As soon as they were inside, Rob and I made a mad dash for his bike. We were already at the turnpike by the time they realized what they'd missed and came hurtling out of the store. I looked back over my shoulder and saw their mouths moving as we tore away. A few seconds later, they were in their car, sirens blaring.

  I hung onto Rob more tightly. "We've got company," I said.

  "Not for long," Rob said.

  And suddenly we were off-road, brambles and sticks tearing at our clothing as we plunged down a ravine. Seconds later, we were splashing through a creekbed, the Indian's front wheel kicking up thick streams of water on either side of it. Above us, I could see the patrol car following along as best it could. . . .

  But then the creek made a bend away from the road, and soon the cop car disappeared from view. Soon I couldn't even hear its siren anymore.

  When Rob finally pulled out of the creekbed and back up the ravine, I was wet from the waist down, and the Indian's engine was sounding kind of funny.

  But we were safe.

  "You all right?" Rob asked me, as I was wringing out the bottom of my T-shirt.

  "Peachy," I said. "Listen, I'm sorry."

  He was squatting beside the bike's front wheel, pulling out sticks and weeds that had wound into the spokes during our flight down the ravine. "Sorry about what?"

  "Getting you involved in all this. I mean, I know you're on probation and all. The last thing you need is to be harboring a couple of fugitives. What if you get caught? They'll probably lock you up and throw away the key. I mean, depending on whatever it is you did to get on probation in the first place."

  Rob had moved to the back tire. He squinted up at me, the afternoon sun bringing out the strong planes in his face. "Are you through?"

  "Through what?"

  "Through trying to trick me into telling you what I'm on probation for."

  I put my hands on my hips. "I am not trying to trick you into doing anything. I am merely trying to let you know that I am aware of the great personal sacrifice you are making in helping Sean and me, and I appreciate it."

  "You do, huh?"

  He straightened. One of the sticks he'd wrenched from the Wheel had flicked drops of water up onto his face, so he pulled the bottom of his T-shirt out from the waistband of his jeans and scrubbed at them. When he did this, I happened to get a look at his bare stomach. The sight of it, all tightly muscled, with a thin band of dark hair down the center, did something to me.

  I don't know what came over me, but suddenly, I was on my tiptoes, planting this big wet one on him. I have seriously never done anything like that before, but I just couldn't help it.

  Rob seemed a little surprised at first, but he got over it pretty quickly. He kissed me back for a while, and it was just like in Snow White when all the woodland animals come out and start singing, and Prince Charming puts her up on the horse. For about a minute it was like that. I mean, my heart was singing just like one of those damned squirrels.

  Then Rob reached up and started untangling my arms from around his neck.

  "Jesus, Mastriani," he said. "What are you trying to do?"

  That broke the spell pretty quick, let me tell you. I mean, Prince Charming would never have said something like that. I would have been mad if I hadn't heard the way his voice shook.

  "Nothing," I said, very innocently.

  "Well, you better cut it out," he said. "We've got a lot do. There's no time for any distractions."

  I mentioned that I happened to like that particular distraction.

  Rob went, "I'm in enough trouble right now without you adding to it, thanks." He picked up one of the helmets and shoved it down over my head. "And don't even think about trying something like that in front of the kid."

  "What kid? What are you talking about?"

  "The kid. O'Hanahan. What are you, blind, Mastriani? He's got it bad for you."

  I tilted the helmet back and squinted at him. "Sean? For me?"

  But all of a sudden, all the questions he'd been asking about Rob made sense.

  I let the helmet drop back over my face. "Oh, God," I said.

  "You got that right. He thinks you are one dope girl, Mastriani."

  "He said that? He sure doesn't act like he thinks that. He really said I was dope?"

  "Well." Rob swung onto his seat and gave the accelerator a kick. "I might be allowing my own feelings to cloud the matter a little."

  Suddenly, all the birds and squirrels were singing again.

  "You think I'm dope?" I asked dreamily.

  He reached out and flicked my helmet. It made a hollow echoing sound inside my head, and brought me right out of my reverie.

  "Get on the bike, Mastriani," he said.

  When we got back to Rob's, Sean and Mrs. Wilkins were shelling peas and watching Ricki Lake.

  "Jess," he said when I walked in. "Where have you been? You totally missed this guy. He weighed four hundred pounds and got stuck in a bathtub for over forty-eight hours! If you'd been here sooner, you could have seen it."

  It was love. I could totally tell.

  This was going to be harder than I thought.

  C H A P T E R

  21

  The marching band was playing "Louie, Louie."

  And not very well, I might add.

  Still, Sean and I stayed where we were, sitting on the same metal bleachers that a week or so before I'd been electrocuted under. Before us stretched the football field, a sea of luscious green, upon which marched a herd of musicians playing for all they were worth, even though it was only an after-school rehearsal, and not the real thing. Football season was long over, but graduation was coming up, and the band would play at commencement.

  Just not "Louie, Louie," hopefully.

  "I don't get it," Sean said. "What are we doing here?"

  "Wait," I said. "You'll see."

  We weren't the only spectators in the stands. There was one other guy, way, way up at the top behind us.

  But that was it. I wasn't sure if Rosemary had failed to get my message to Special Agent Johnson, or if he'd chosen merely to ignore it. If he was ignoring it, he was making a grave mistake. The guy up in the stands would make sure of that.

  "Why won't you tell me what we're doing here?" Sean demanded. "I think I have a right to know."

  "Drink your Big Gulp," I said. It was hot out. The late afternoon sun was beating down on us. I didn't have any sung
lasses or a hat, and I was dying. I was worried Sean might be getting dehydrated.

  "I don't want my stupid Big Gulp," Sean said. "I want to know what we're doing here."

  "Watch the band," I said.

  "The band sucks." Sean glared at me. Most of the brown had washed out of his hair when he'd showered at Rob's. It was a good thing he'd let Mrs. Wilkins give him a trim, or the bits of red sticking out of the back of his baseball cap would have been a dead giveaway.

  "What are we doing here?" he wanted to know. "And why is Jed waiting down there?"

  Jed turned out to be the name of Rob's friend from Chick's, the one who'd been in Vietnam. He was sitting in a pickup not far from us, parked over behind the bleachers … almost exactly, in fact, in the place where I'd been struck by lightning. It was shady where he was. He probably didn't feel sweat prickling all along his hairline, the way I did.

  "Just cool it, will you?" I said to Sean.

  "No, I will not cool it, Jess. I think I deserve an explanation. Are you going to give me one or not?"

  Something caught the sunlight and winked at me. I shaded my eyes and looked toward the parking lot. A black, nondescript sedan had pulled up.

  "Louie, Louie" ended. The band started a spirited rendition of Robert Palmer's "Simply Irresistible."

  "How come you aren't in Band?" Sean wanted to know. "I mean, you play the flute and all. How come you're not in Band?"

  The car pulled up to a halt. The two front doors opened, and a man and a woman got out. Then a back door opened, and another woman got out.

  "Because I'm in Orchestra," I said.

  "What's the difference?"

  "In Orchestra, you play sitting down."

  "That's it?"

  The man and woman from the front seats moved until they stood on either side of the woman who'd gotten out of the backseat. Then they started walking across the football field, toward Sean and me.

  "The Orchestra doesn't play at school events," I said. "Like games and stuff."

  Sean digested this. "Where do you play, then?"

  "Nowhere. We just have concerts every once in a while."

  "What's the fun in that?" Sean wanted to know.

  "I don't know," I said. "I couldn't be in Band, anyway. I'm always in detention when they practice."

  "Why are you always in detention?"

  "Because I do a lot of bad stuff."

  The trio moving across the football field had gotten close enough for me to see that they were who I was expecting. Rosemary had gotten my message across, all right.

  "What kind of bad stuff?" Sean wanted to know.

  "I hit people." I reached into the back pocket of my jeans.

  "So?" Sean looked indignant. "They probably deserve it."

  "I like to think so," I said. "Look, Sean, I want you to take this. It's for you and your mom. Jed's going to drive you to the airport. I want you guys to get on a plane—any plane—and take off. Don't make any calls. Don't stop for anything. You can buy whatever you need when you get to where you're going. Understand?"

  Sean looked down at the envelope I was holding out to him. Then he looked up at me.

  "What are you talking about?" he asked.

  "Your mom," I said. "You two are going to have to start over, somewhere else. Somewhere far away, I hope, where your dad won't be able to find you. This will help you get started." I tucked the envelope into the front pocket of his jean jacket.

  Sean shook his head. His face was tight with emotion. Conflicting emotions, from the looks of it. "Jess. My mom's in jail. Remember?"

  "Not anymore," I said. And then I pointed.

  The three people approaching us were close enough now that I could make out their features. Special Agent Johnson, Special Agent Smith, and between them, a slim woman in blue jeans. Sean's mother.

  He looked. I heard him inhale sharply.

  Then he turned to stare at me. The conflicting emotions on his face weren't so hard to make out now. There was joy, mingled with concern.

  "What did you do?" he whispered. "Jess. What did you do?"

  "I cut a little deal," I said. "Don't worry about it. Just go get her, and then go and get into the pickup with Jed. He'll take you to the airport."

  Even as I sat there, looking down at him, his blue eyes filled with tears.

  He said, "You did it. You said you'd do it. And you did it."

  "Of course," I said, as if I was shocked he could ever have thought otherwise.

  And then his mother saw him and broke away from her escorts. She called Sean's name as she ran toward him.

  Sean leapt up and began hurtling down the bleachers. I stayed where I was. Sean had left his Big Gulp behind. I reached over and took a sip. My throat really hurt, for some reason.

  They met at the bottom of the bleachers. Sean flung himself into Mrs. O'Hanahan's arms. She swung him around. Special Agents Johnson and Smith stopped where they were, and looked up at me. I waved. They didn't wave back.

  Then Sean said something to his mother, and she nodded. The next thing I knew, he was running back toward me.

  This had not been part of the plan. I stood up, alarmed.

  "Jess," Sean cried, panting, as he hurried to my side.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, more sharply than I should have. "Go back to her. I told you to take her to the pickup. Hurry up, you don't have much time—"

  "I just …" He was breathing so hard, he had to fight to get the words out. "I wanted … to say … thank you."

  And then he threw his arms around my neck.

  I didn't know what to do at first. I was pretty surprised. I looked down at the football field. The agents were still standing there, looking up at me. The band launched into a new song. The Beatles' "Hard Day's Night."

  I hugged Sean back. My throat hurt even worse, and my eyes stung.

  Allergies, I thought.

  "When am I going to see you again?" Sean wanted to know.

  "You're not," I said. "Not unless things change. You know, with your dad. Don't you dare call me otherwise. They'll probably be tapping my phone forever."

  "What about—" He broke away from me and looked at me. His eyes were streaming as badly as mine. "What about when I'm thirty? You'll be thirty-three. It wouldn't be so weird, would it, a thirty-year-old going out with a thirty-three-year-old?"

  "No," I said, giving the brim of his baseball cap a tap. "Except when you're thirty, I'll be thirty-four. You're only twelve, remember?"

  "Just for nine more months."

  I kissed him on his wet cheek. "Get out of here," I said.

  He managed a watery smile. Then he turned around and ran away again. This time when he got to his mother's side, he took her hand and started dragging her around the side of the bleachers, to where Jed waited.

  Only after I heard the engine start up and the truck pull away did I make my own way down the bleachers—making sure I'd wiped my eyes first.

  Special Agent Johnson looked hot in his suit and tie. Special Agent Smith seemed a bit cooler in her skirt and silk blouse, but not by much. Standing there together like that, in their sunglasses and nice clothes, they made kind of a cute couple.

  "Hey," I said as I sauntered up to them. "Do you two have an X-Files thing going?"

  Special Agent Smith looked down at me. She had on her pearl earrings today. "I beg your pardon?" she said.

  "You know. One of those Scully/Mulder things. Do you burn for one another with a passion that must be denied?"

  Special Agent Johnson looked at Special Agent Smith. "I'm married, Jessica," he said.

  "Yes," Special Agent Smith said. "And I'm seeing someone."

  "Oh." I felt strangely let-down. "Too bad."

  "Well." Special Agent Johnson peered at me expectantly. "Do you have the list?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, I've got it. Do I have your word that nobody is going to try to stop Sean and his mother at the airport?"

  Special Agent Smith looked offended. "Of course."

 
"Or when they get to where they're going?"

  Special Agent Johnson said, impatiently, "Jessica, nobody cares about the child and his mother. It's the list we want."

  I gave him a very mean look. "I care about them," I said. "And I'm sure Mr. O'Hanahan isn't going to be too happy when he finds out."

  "Mr. O'Hanahan," Special Agent Smith said, "is our problem, not yours. The list, please, Jessica."

  "And nobody's going to press any charges?" I asked, just to make sure. "About the whole Crane thing? Against me or anybody else?"

  "No," Agent Johnson said.

  "Even about the helicopter?"

  "Even," Agent Johnson said, and I could tell his teeth were gritted, "about the helicopter."

  "The list, Jessica," Special Agent Smith said, again. And this time she held out her hand.

  I sighed, and dug into my back pocket. The band launched into a particularly corny version of "We're the Kids in America."

  "Here you go," I said, and surrendered a crumpled sheet of paper into the agent's hand.

  Special Agent Smith unfolded the paper and scanned it. She looked down at me disapprovingly.

  "There are only four addresses on here," she said, handing the paper to her partner.

  I stuck out my chin. "What do you think?" I demanded. "I'm not a machine. I'm just a kid. There'll be more where those came from, don't worry."

  Special Agent Johnson folded the sheet of paper back up and stuck it in his pocket.

  "All right," he said. "What now?"

  "You two go back to your car and drive away," I said.

  "And you?" Special Agent Smith asked.

  "I'll be in touch," I said.

  Special Agent Smith chewed her lower lip. Then she said, as if she couldn't help it, "You know, it didn't have to be this way, Jess."

  I looked at her. I couldn't read her eyes behind her dark glasses.

  "No, it didn't," I said. "Did it?"

  She and Special Agent Smith exchanged glances. Then they turned around and started the long walk back to their car.

  "You know," I called after them. "No offense to Mrs. Johnson and all, but you two really do make a cute couple."

  They just kept walking.

  "That was pushing it, don't you think?" Rob asked, as he crawled out from underneath the bleachers, where he'd been stationed the whole time.