Meg Cabot - When Lightning Strikes

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.

"I'm just messing with them," I said.

Rob brushed dust off his jeans. "Yeah," he said. "I noticed. You do that a lot. So are you going to tell me what was in that envelope?"

"The one I gave to Sean?"

"The one you gave to Sean after you made me pick it up from your dad. Who, by the way, hates me."

I noticed there was some dust on his black T-shirt, too. This gave me a good excuse to touch his chest as I brushed it off.

"My dad can't possibly hate you," I said. "He doesn't even know you."

"He sure looked like he hated me."

"That's just because of what was in the envelope."

"Which was?"

"The ten grand I got as a reward for finding Olivia Marie D'Amato."

Rob whistled, low and long. "You gave that kid ten grand? In cash ?"

"Well, him and his mother. I mean, they have to have something to live on while she finds a new job and everything."

Rob shook his head. "You are one piece of work, Mastriani," he said. "Okay. So that's what was in the envelope. What was on that sheet of paper you handed to the Feds?"

"Oh," I said. "Just the addresses of some of America's most wanted. I said I'd give them up in return for the charges against Mrs. O'Hanahan being dropped."

"Really?" Rob seemed surprised. "I thought you didn't want to get involved in all of that."

"I don't. That's why I only gave them the addresses of the guys from that book of theirs who happen to be deceased."

A slow smile crept over Rob's face. "Wait a minute. You—"

"I didn't lie or anything. They really will find those guys where I said they'd be. Well, what's left of them, anyway." I wrinkled my nose. "I have a feeling it's not going to be pretty."

Rob shook his head again. Then he reached out and put an arm around my shoulders. "Jess," he said, "you make me proud to have sat by you in detention. Did you know that?"

I smiled sunnily at him. "Thanks," I said. Then I looked up at the lone figure still sitting in the bleachers, high above our heads.

"Come on," I said, taking Rob's hand. "There's still one more thing I have to do."

Rob looked up at the guy in the stands. "Who's that?" he asked.

"Who, him? Oh, that's the guy who's going to set me free."

C H A P T E R

22

Iprobably don't have to tell you the rest. I mean, I'm sure you've already read about it, or seen it on the news, or something.

But just in case, here goes:

The story came out the next day. It was on the front page of the Indianapolis Star . Rob and I had to pick up a copy from the Denny's down the highway from his mother's house. Then we ordered a Grand Slam breakfast and ate while we read.

Lightning Girl Claims to Have Run Out of Juice , the headline ran. Then there was a story all about me, and how I had tragically lost my power to find people.

Just like that, I'd told the reporter that day in the bleachers. He'd been so excited about his scoop, he'd eaten up every word, hardly even asking a single question.

I just woke up, I said, and it was gone. I'm a normal girl again.

End of story.