the number.
The letter was signed,
Love, Rosemary
.
I studied the photo in the beam from my flashlight. Taylor Monroe, I said to myself. Taylor Monroe, where are you?
The door to my room banged open, and I dropped the photo—and the flashlight—in my surprise.
“Hey,” Shane said with interest. “What’s that stuff?”
“Jeez,” I said, scrambling to hide the photo and letter in my sheets. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“Who’s the kid?” Shane wanted to know.
“None of your business.” I found the flashlight and shined it on him. “What do you want?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed, but not just because there was a bright light shining into them. They narrowed with suspicion.
“Hey,” he said. “That’s a picture of a missing kid, isn’t it?”
Well, Pamela had been right about one thing, anyway. Shane was gifted. And not just musically, either, it appeared. The kid was sharp.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
“Oh, yeah? Well, what are you hiding it for, then?”
“Shane.” I couldn’t believe this. “What do you want?”
Shane ignored my question, however.
“You lied,” he said, sounding indignant. “You totally lied. You
do
still have those powers.”
“Yeah, that’s right, Shane,” I said. “That’s why I’m working here at Camp Wawasee for five bucks an hour. I have psychic powers and all, and could be raking in the bucks finding missing people for the government, but I prefer to hang around here.”
Shane’s only response to my sarcasm was to blink a few times.
“Come off it,” I said sourly. “Okay? Now why are you out of bed?”
The look of dark suspicion didn’t leave Shane’s face, but he did manage to remember his fake excuse for barging in on me, undoubtedly in an effort to catch me sans apparel. He whined, “I want a drink of water.”
“So go get one,” I said, not very nicely.
“I can’t see my way to the bathroom,” he whined some more.
“You found your way here,” I pointed out to him.
“But—”
“Get out, Shane.”
He left, still whining. I fished out Taylor’s photo and Rosemary’s letter. I didn’t feel bad about lying to Shane. Not at all. I’d done it as much to protect Rosemary as myself. After my run-in last spring with the U.S. government, whose ideas about the best way to use my psychic ability had sort of differed from mine, Rosemary, a receptionist who worked at a foundation that helped find missing children, had very generously agreed to help me … um, well, privatize. And we had been working together, undiscovered, ever since.
And I wanted things to stay that way between us: undiscovered. I would not risk revealing our secret even to a whiny almost-twelve-year-old musical genius like Shane.
To be on the safe side, I put away Rosemary’s letter and picked up a copy of
Cosmo
Ruth had lent me. “10 Ways to Tell He Thinks of You as More Than Just
a
Friend.” Ooh. Good stuff. I read eagerly, wondering if I’d realize, just from reading this article, that Rob really did like me, only I had simply been too stupid to read the signs.
1. He cooks you dinner on your birthday.
Well, Rob certainly hadn’t done that. But my birthday was in April. He and I hadn’t really started … well, whatever it was we were doing … until May. So that one was no good.
2. He makes an attempt to get along with your girlfriends.
I only have one real friend, and that’s Ruth. She’s barely even met Rob. Well, not really. See, Rob’s from what you might call the wrong side of the tracks. Ruth isn’t a snob … at least, not really … but she definitely wouldn’t approve of me going out with someone who didn’t have college and a career as a professional in his sights.
So much for Number 2.
3. He listens to you when
—
I was interrupted by a thump. It was followed immediately by a wail.
Gripping my flashlight, I stalked out of my room.
“All right,” I said, shining the flashlight into one face after another—all of which were
The letter was signed,
Love, Rosemary
.
I studied the photo in the beam from my flashlight. Taylor Monroe, I said to myself. Taylor Monroe, where are you?
The door to my room banged open, and I dropped the photo—and the flashlight—in my surprise.
“Hey,” Shane said with interest. “What’s that stuff?”
“Jeez,” I said, scrambling to hide the photo and letter in my sheets. “Ever heard of knocking?”
“Who’s the kid?” Shane wanted to know.
“None of your business.” I found the flashlight and shined it on him. “What do you want?”
Shane’s eyes narrowed, but not just because there was a bright light shining into them. They narrowed with suspicion.
“Hey,” he said. “That’s a picture of a missing kid, isn’t it?”
Well, Pamela had been right about one thing, anyway. Shane was gifted. And not just musically, either, it appeared. The kid was sharp.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said.
“Oh, yeah? Well, what are you hiding it for, then?”
“Shane.” I couldn’t believe this. “What do you want?”
Shane ignored my question, however.
“You lied,” he said, sounding indignant. “You totally lied. You
do
still have those powers.”
“Yeah, that’s right, Shane,” I said. “That’s why I’m working here at Camp Wawasee for five bucks an hour. I have psychic powers and all, and could be raking in the bucks finding missing people for the government, but I prefer to hang around here.”
Shane’s only response to my sarcasm was to blink a few times.
“Come off it,” I said sourly. “Okay? Now why are you out of bed?”
The look of dark suspicion didn’t leave Shane’s face, but he did manage to remember his fake excuse for barging in on me, undoubtedly in an effort to catch me sans apparel. He whined, “I want a drink of water.”
“So go get one,” I said, not very nicely.
“I can’t see my way to the bathroom,” he whined some more.
“You found your way here,” I pointed out to him.
“But—”
“Get out, Shane.”
He left, still whining. I fished out Taylor’s photo and Rosemary’s letter. I didn’t feel bad about lying to Shane. Not at all. I’d done it as much to protect Rosemary as myself. After my run-in last spring with the U.S. government, whose ideas about the best way to use my psychic ability had sort of differed from mine, Rosemary, a receptionist who worked at a foundation that helped find missing children, had very generously agreed to help me … um, well, privatize. And we had been working together, undiscovered, ever since.
And I wanted things to stay that way between us: undiscovered. I would not risk revealing our secret even to a whiny almost-twelve-year-old musical genius like Shane.
To be on the safe side, I put away Rosemary’s letter and picked up a copy of
Cosmo
Ruth had lent me. “10 Ways to Tell He Thinks of You as More Than Just
a
Friend.” Ooh. Good stuff. I read eagerly, wondering if I’d realize, just from reading this article, that Rob really did like me, only I had simply been too stupid to read the signs.
1. He cooks you dinner on your birthday.
Well, Rob certainly hadn’t done that. But my birthday was in April. He and I hadn’t really started … well, whatever it was we were doing … until May. So that one was no good.
2. He makes an attempt to get along with your girlfriends.
I only have one real friend, and that’s Ruth. She’s barely even met Rob. Well, not really. See, Rob’s from what you might call the wrong side of the tracks. Ruth isn’t a snob … at least, not really … but she definitely wouldn’t approve of me going out with someone who didn’t have college and a career as a professional in his sights.
So much for Number 2.
3. He listens to you when
—
I was interrupted by a thump. It was followed immediately by a wail.
Gripping my flashlight, I stalked out of my room.
“All right,” I said, shining the flashlight into one face after another—all of which were
Similar Books
