"Cabot, Meg - 1-800-Where-R-You 04 - Sanctuary" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cabot Meg)

And I was also a little embarrassed. Because I could tell from the glances Dr.
Thompkins kept throwing me that he thought I was a freak of the first order for
my weird reaction to his simple question about his son. Well, and why not? He
hadn't been around last summer, or even this fall. He didn't know I was the one
the press had dubbed "Lightning Girl." He didn't know about my "special" gift.
But you could tell Mike, snickering behind his hand, had figured out what had
happened. You know, what I thought Dr. Thompkins had been asking. And he
considered the whole thing simply hilarious.
"No, we haven't seen Nate," my mom said, looking worried. She looks worried
whenever she hears about any kid who has strayed away from the parental tether.
That's because one of her own kids did that once, and when she'd finally found
him again, it had been in a hospital emergency room.
"Oh," Dr. Thompkins said. You could tell he was way disappointed that we hadn't
seen Nate. "Well, I figured it was worth a try. He probably stopped at the video
arcade. . . ."
I didn't want to be the one to tell Dr. Thompkins that the video arcade was
closed. Everything in our town was closed, on account of it being Thanksgiving,
with the exception of the Stop and Shop, which never closed, even on Christmas.
But Claire apparently had no problem being the one to deliver the bad news.
"Oh, the arcade is closed, Dr. Thompkins," she said. "Everything's closed. Even
the bowling alley. Even the movie theaters."
Dr. Thompkins looked super bummed when Claire said this. My mom even shot her a
disapproving look. And in my mom's eyes, Claire Lippman can do no wrong, on
account of, you know, liking my reject brother, even if it is partly because of
Claire that Mike is currently attending the local community college instead of
Harvard, where he was supposed to be going this year.
"Oh," Dr. Thompkins said. He managed a brave smile. "Well, I'm sure he's just
run into some friends somewhere."
This was entirely possible. Nate Thompkins, a sophomore at Ernest Pyle High
School, where I am a junior, hadn't had too much trouble fitting in, in spite of
being the new kid—and the only African-American male—on the block. That's
because handsome, athletic Nate had immediately tried out for and gotten onto
the Ernie Pyle High football team. Never mind that Coach Albright had been
desperate for any players, given that thanks to me, three of his best, including
the quarterback, had recently taken up residency in the Indiana state men's
penitentiary. Nate supposedly had real talent, and that had thrust him right
into the "In Crowd" …
… unlike his older sister Tasha, a bookish senior, whom I'd spied hovering
around the classroom where the yearbook committee meets every day after school.
Theyearbook committee, okay? And the girl was too shy to go in. I'd walked up to
her and been like, "Look, I'll introduce you." She'd given me a smile like I'd
offered to suck snake venom out of a bite on her shin.
I guess Nate's extrovertedness was not an inherited trait, since Tasha sure
didn't have it.
"I'm sure he'll be home soon," Dr. Thompkins said, and, after apologizing again,
he left.
"Oh, dear," my mom said, looking worried, as she closed the door. "I hope—"
But my dad broke in with, "Not now, Toni," in this warning voice.
"What?" Mike wanted to know.
"Never mind," my dad said. "Come on. We've still got four different kinds of pie