When Lightning Strikes by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online Page A

afterward, when Karen Sue's gone off in a huff, which she always does, because I always win. Then Mr. Vine goes, "You know, Jessica, you could be first chair, if you'd just challenge Audrey. You could blow Audrey away, if you just tried."
    But I have no desire to blow anybody away. I don't want to be first chair, or even second chair.
    But I'll be damned before I let anybody take third chair away from me.
    Anyway, when I was done practicing, I took a shower, and then went to bed. Before I turned out the light, though, I felt the place on my chest where the scar was. I couldn't really feel it. It wasn't raised, or anything. But I could still see it, when I'd looked in the mirror coming out of the shower. I hoped it wouldn't still be there the next day. How else was I going to wear my scoop-necked T-shirt?

C H A P T E R
5
    W hen I woke up the next morning, I knew two things right away. One, I had not died of a heart attack in the night. And two, Sean Patrick O'Hanahan was in Paoli, while Olivia Marie D'Amato was in New Jersey.
    That's three things, I guess. But the second two were totally random. Who the hell was Sean Patrick O'Hanahan, and how did I know he was in Paoli? Ditto the stuff about Olivia Marie D'Amato.
    Crazy dreams. I'd been having some crazy dreams, that was all. I got up and took another shower, since the red mark was still there, and I couldn't wear the scoop neck. I decided to go for clean hair instead. Who knew? Maybe Rob Wilkins would offer me another ride, and when we were at a stop sign or something, he'd turn his head and smell me.
    It could happen.
    It wasn't until I'was eating breakfast that I realized who Sean Patrick O'Hanahan and Olivia Marie D'Amato were. They were the kids on the back of the milk carton. You know, the missing ones. Only they weren't missing. Not anymore. Because I knew where they were.
    "You don't think you're actually wearing those jeans to school, do you, Jessica?"
    My mom was way disenchanted with my ensemble, which I had put together very carefully, with Rob Wilkins in mind.
    "Yeah, really," Mike said. "What do you think this is? The eighties?"
    "Like," I said, "you know anything about fashion, science boy. Where's your pocket protector, anyway?"
    "You cannot," my mother said, "wear those jeans to school, Jessica. You'll shame the family."
    "There's nothing wrong with my jeans," I said. 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU. That was the number you were supposed to call if you knew where Sean Patrick O'Hanahan or Olivia Marie D'Amato were. I'm not kidding. 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU. Cute. Very cute.
    "The knees have given out," my mother went on. "There's a hole starting at the crotch. You can't wear those jeans. They're falling apart."
    That was the point, see. I couldn't expose my chest area, so I'd decided to go for my knees. I have pretty nice knees. So, when I was riding behind Rob Wilkins on his motorcycle, he'd look down and see these totally sexy knees sticking out of my jeans. I'd shaved my legs and everything. I was way ready.
    The one thing I hadn't figured out was how I was going to get a ride home if he didn't ask. Call Ruth, I guess. But Ruth was going to be mad at me if I asked her not to come in the first place. She was bound to be all, "Why? Who's taking you home? Not that Grit, I hope."
    Being best friends with someone like Ruth is hard sometimes.
    "Go upstairs and change, young lady," my mom said.
    "No way." My mouth was filled with cereal.
    "What do you mean, no way? You cannot go to school dressed like that."
    "Watch me," I said.
    My dad came in then. My mom went, "Joe, look what she's wearing."
    "What?" I said. "They're just jeans."
    My dad looked at my jeans. Then he looked at my mom. "They're just jeans, Toni," he said.
    My mom's name is Antonia. Everyone calls her Toni.
    "They're slut jeans," my mother said. "She's dressing in slut jeans. It's because she reads that slut magazine." That's what my mom calls
Cosmo
. It sort of
is
a slut magazine, but still.
    "She doesn't look like a