"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?"
Tasha tensed in my arms. Then she released me and straightened. She didn't look upset, though. She looked excited and happy.
"Oh," she said, sniffling a little, but still reaching for Douglas's hand. "I won't. Don't worry."
Douglas looked alarmed, but not because Tasha had taken his hand.
"You won't what?" he asked. He darted a suspicious look at me. "Jess. What'd you say to her?"
"Nothing," I said, innocently, and sat down on Rob's bed.
And then, from behind them, a familiar voice went, "Knock knock," and my mother came barreling in, with my dad, Michael, Claire, Ruth, and Skip trailing along behind her.
"Just stopped by to see if you wanted to grab a bite over at the restaurant. . . ." My mom's voice died away as soon as she saw where I was sitting. Or rather, who I was sitting so closely beside.
"Mom," I said, with a smile, not getting up. "Dad. Glad you're here. I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Rob."
About the Author
Jenny Carroll
Born in Indiana, Jenny Carroll spent her childhood in pursuit of air conditioning - which she found in the public library where she spent most of her time. She has lived in California and France and currently resides in New York City with her husband and a one-eyed cat named Henrietta. Jenny Carroll is the author of the hugely popular Mediator series as well as the bestselling Princess Diaries. Visit Jenny at her website, www.jennycarroll.com