Meg Cabot - Sanctuary

"How about you?" I asked Mrs. Pierce.

"Oh, my dear," the old lady said, with a beatific smile. "Helping to put away scumbags like that jerk Henderson is what I live for."

After this surprising remark, she turned back to the baby bootie.

Well.

I looked at Dr. Krantz. "Tell you what," I said. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Fine," Dr. Krantz said, with a smile. "You do that."

I told him I hoped he felt better soon, said goodbye to the others, and drifted back across the hall.

So? Stranger things have happened than me joining an elite team of psychic crime-fighters, you know.

And it had felt pretty good when I'd seen them wheeling Jim Henderson in on that gurney. . . .

Inside Rob's room, Mrs. Wilkins had been joined by her brothers and Just-Call-Me-Gary.

"Oh," Rob's mom said, as I came in. "Here she is!"

Rob, his hair looking very dark against the whiteness of the bandage around his head, and the pillows behind his back, smiled at me wanly. It was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Instantly, all thoughts of Dr. Krantz and the Federal Bureau of Investigation left my head.

"Hi," I said, moving toward the bed. I had, for the occasion, donned a skirt. It was no velvet evening gown, but judging by the appreciative way his gray-eyed gaze roved over me, he sure thought it was.

"Well," Rob's uncle said. "What say we check out this cafeteria I've heard so much about, eh, Mary?"

Mrs. Wilkins said, "Oh, yes, let's." Then she and her brothers and Just-Call-Me-Gary left the room.

Hey, it wasn't subtle. But it worked. Rob and I were alone. Finally.

It was a little while later that I lifted my head from his shoulder, where I'd been resting it after having become exhausted from so much passionate kissing, and said, "Rob, I have to tell you something."

"I didn't ask you," he said, "because I didn't want you getting in trouble with your parents."

I looked at him like he was nuts. For a minute, I thought maybe he was. You know, that Mrs. Henderson had scrambled his brains with that mashed-potato bowl. "What are you talking about?"

"Randy's wedding," Rob said. "It's on Christmas Eve. No way your parents are going to let you go out on Christmas Eve. So you'd just have ended up lying to them, and getting in trouble, and I don't want that."

I blinked a few times. So that was why he hadn't asked me? Because he'd thought my parents wouldn't have let me go in the first-place?

Happiness washed over me. But still, he could have just said so, rather than let me think he had some other girl in mind he wanted to take instead. . . .

I didn't let my relief show, however.

"Rob," I said. "Get over yourself. That's not what I was going to say."

He looked surprised. "It wasn't? Then what?"

I shook my head. "Besides," I said. "My parents would so totally let me go out on Christmas Eve. We don't do anything on Christmas Eve. It's Christmas Day that we do church and present opening and a big meal and everything."

"Fine," Rob said. "But don't tell me that you'd tell them the truth. About being with me, I mean. Admit it, Mastriani. You're ashamed of me. Because I'm a Grit."

"That is not true," I said. " You're the one who's ashamed of me! Because I'm a Townie. And still in high school."

"I will admit," Rob said, "that the fact that you're still in high school kind of sucks. I mean, it is a little weird for a guy my age to be going out with a sixteen-year-old."

I looked down at him disgustedly. "You're only two years older than me, nimrod."

"Whatever," Rob said. "Look. Do we have to talk about this now? Because in case you didn't notice, I've suffered a head injury, and calling me a nimrod is not making me feel any better."

"Well," I said, chewing on my lower lip. "What I'm about to say probably isn't going to make you feel better."

"What?" Rob said, looking wary.

"Your dad." I figured it was better if I just blurted it all out. "I saw a picture of him in your mom's room, and I know where he is."

Rob regarded me calmly. He did not even drop his hands from my arms, which he'd reached up to massage.

"Oh," was all he said.

"I didn't mean to pry," I said, quickly. "Really. I mean, I totally didn't do it on purpose. It's just, like I said, I saw his picture, and that night I dreamed about where he is. And I will totally tell you, if you want to know. But if you don't, that's fine, too, I will never say another word about it."

"Mastriani," Rob said, with a chuckle. "I know where he is."

My mouth dropped open. "You know ? You know where he is?"

"Doing ten to twenty at the Oklahoma Men's State Penitentiary for armed robbery," Rob said. "Real swell guy, huh? And I'm just a chip off the old block. I bet you're real eager to introduce me to your parents now."

"But that's not what you're on probation for," I said, quickly. "I mean, something like armed robbery. You don't get probation for stuff like that, they lock you up. So whatever you did—"

"Whatever I did," Rob said, "was a mistake and isn't going to happen again."

But to my dismay, he let go of me, and put his hands behind his head. He wasn't chuckling anymore either.

"Rob," I said. "You don't think I care, do you? I mean, about your dad? We can't help who are relatives are." I thought about Great-aunt Rose, who'd never committed armed robbery—at least so far as I knew. Still, if being unpleasant was a crime, she'd have been locked up long ago. "I mean, if I don't care that you were arrested once, why would I care about—"

"You should care," Rob said. "Okay, Mastriani? You should care. And you should be going out on Saturday nights to dances, like a normal girl, not sneaking into secret militia enclaves and risking your life to stop psychopathic killers. . . ."

"Yeah?" I said, starting to get pissed. "Well, guess what? I'm not a normal girl, am I? I'm about as far from normal as you can get, and you know what? I happen to like who I am. So if you don't, well, you can just—"

Rob took his hands out from behind his head and took hold of my arms again. "Mastriani," he said.

"I mean it, Rob," I said, trying to shake him off. "I mean it, if you don't like me, you can just go to—"

"Mastriani," he said, again. And this time, instead of letting go of me, he dragged me down until my face was just inches from his. "That's the problem. I like you too much."

He was proving just how much he liked me when the door to his room swung open, and a startled voice went, "Oh! Excuse me! "

We broke apart. I swung around to see my brother Douglas standing there looking very red in the face. Beside him stood, of all people, a very abashed Tasha Thompkins.

"Oh," I said, casually. "Hey, Douglas. Hey, Tasha."

"Hey," Rob said, sounding a bit weak.

"Hey," Tasha said. She looked like she would have liked to run from the room. But my brother put a hand on her slender shoulder. My brother, Douglas, touched a girl—and she seemed to regain her composure somewhat.

"Jess," she said. "I just … I came to apologize. For what I said the other night. My father told me what you did—you know, about catching the people who did … that … to my brother, and I just …"

"It's okay, Tasha," I said. "Believe me."

"Yeah," Rob said. "It was a pleasure. Well, except for the part where I got hit with a mixing bowl."

"Mashed potatoes," I said.

"Mashed-potato bowl, I mean," Rob said.

"Really," I said to Tasha, who looked faintly alarmed by our banter. "It's okay, Tasha. I hope we can be friends."

"We can," Tasha said, her eyes bright with tears. "At least, I hope we can."

I held out my arms, and she moved into them, hugging me tightly. It was only when she got close enough for me to whisper into her ear that I said, softly, "You break my brother's heart, I'll break your face, understand?"