Free When Lightning Strikes by Meg Cabot

"
Okay?
What'd you do? Where did you go?"
    "Just for a ride," I said. Don't ask me why, but I couldn't bring myself to tell Ruth about Sean. I hadn't even been able to tell Rob about Sean. In answer to his persistent questioning, I'd finally said, "He's my loan shark, okay?" which had gotten a hoot from Rob's friends.
    "You went for a ride?" Ruth's voice rose incredulously. "To where? Chicago?"
    "No. Just around. And then we went to Chick's."
    "Chick's?" Ruth sounded close to spontaneous combustion. "That's a
bar
. A
biker
bar."
    "Yeah," I said.
    "And you didn't get carded?"
    "No," I said. We didn't get carded because Rob knew the bartender.
    "Did you
drink
?"
    "Of course not," I said.
    "Did he?"
    "Duh, Ruth. Do you think I really would have gotten onto a bike with a guy who was drinking? We just had sodas."
    "Oh. Well, did he kiss you?"
    I didn't say anything. I was taking my flute apart, putting it into the little velvet compartments inside my case.
    "Jeez," Ruth breathed. "He did. I can't believe he kissed you. Was there tongue?"
    "Regrettably, no."
    "Oh, my God," Ruth said. "Well, that's probably better. You shouldn't let him tongue you on a first date. He might think you're easy. So, are you going out again?"
    "Maybe next weekend," I said, vaguely. He hadn't mentioned a thing, I realized now, about seeing me again. What did
that
mean? Did he not like me? Or was it just that it was my turn to ask him? Never having dated before, I was not sure how these things worked.
    And there was no use asking Ruth. She was even more clueless than I was.
    "I still can't believe," she was saying, "that you're seeing a Grit."
    "You're such a snob," I said. "What does it matter? He's totally cool. And he knows everything about bikes."
    "But he's not going to college, right? After he graduates?"
    "No. He's going to work in his uncle's garage."
    "Jeez," Ruth said. "Well, I guess it's okay if you just use him for sex and free bike rides."
    "I'm hanging up now, Ruth," I said.
    "Okay. You working tomorrow?"
    "Is the Pope Catholic?"
    "Okay. Wow. I can't believe he kissed you."
    Actually, I couldn't, either. But I didn't tell Ruth that. Or about how, when he'd done it, I'd practically fallen off the back of his bike, I'd been so surprised. Just because I'm in detention a lot doesn't mean I'm experienced.
    I hope it didn't show.

C H A P T E R
8
    E very Saturday, and most Sundays after church, I have to work at one of my dad's restaurants. So does Michael. So did Douglas, before he went away to college, and got sick. I guess all kids whose parents own restaurants have to work in them at some point. It's supposed to teach us to have a work ethic, so we don't go around thinking everything just gets handed to you on a platter. Instead, we're the ones handling the platter. And the dishes. And the steam table. And the cash register. And the reservation book.
    You name it, and if it has to do with food service, I've done it.
    That particular Saturday, though, I was kind of spacing it with the cash register, so Pat, the manager, stuck me on busing. Hey, I had a lot on my mind. And no, it wasn't Rob Wilkins. It was the fact that, when I'd woken up that morning, I knew where Hadley Grant and Timothy Jonas Mills were.
    My mom had thrown out the old milk carton, the one with Sean Patrick and Olivia Marie, and bought a new one. And I knew where the missing kids on the new one were, too.
    It was freaking me out a little. I mean, where were these dreams coming from? It was so random to just wake up with all this information about a couple of total strangers in my head.
    I wasn't going to call again. Once had been bad enough. But twice—well, that was pushing it. I mean, I didn't even know whether or not the information I'd given Rosemary had been accurate. What if it turned out to be totally bogus? What if, by some fluke, that really
hadn't
been Sean Patrick O'Hanahan? What if it had just been some random kid, and I'd totally freaked him out.  .  .  .
    No.