Abandon - Meg Cabot [81]
“Mom,” I said, lowering my spoon. “I’m actually eating right now.”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a grin. “I knew you’d feel that way about it. That’s why I told him I was too busy at the moment to date. But it was still very nice. He asked me to the boat show next weekend. You have to admit, Tim is very cute.”
“Still eating,” I said. “And I don’t have to admit anything, except that between you and Dad, I don’t know which one of you is going to kill me sooner. Permanently. I mean it.”
I wanted to inform her that I had just found out her birthplace was parked over an Underworld — which shouldn’t really have come as much of a surprise to her, all things considered.
But I didn’t want to destroy her good mood, especially since she’d made dinner and been so nice about the wood, even if that wasn’t exactly what I wanted.
Mom laughed and drank some of her wine. “So I take it we’re the lucky home that’s been selected for the building of the senior class coffin,” she said, tactfully changing the subject. “How did you manage that on your first day? You’re not even on a sports team.”
“We live in a gated community,” I said, sullenly stabbing a piece of broccoli I could see she’d hidden in the pasta so I’d get some vegetables. “No one can drive by and see what we’re doing unless they live here.”
“Oh,” Mom said knowingly. “They’ve wised up. They used to just build them in someone’s mausoleum in the cemetery for that reason.”
“Yeah,” I said, giving a little shiver. “Well, they can’t use the cemetery anymore because the police are onto them about that.”
Which would explain why, when I’d accepted Mr. Smith’s offer of a ride home — the rain had let up by then, but not enough to make riding through it more tempting than a seat in his warm, dry minivan — we’d run into Jade, my counselor from New Pathways, cruising around the cemetery in bicycle shorts and a plastic rain poncho with IHPD written on it.
“What in heaven’s name are you doing out here?” Mr. Smith had put down his window to ask as she’d ridden up. “Don’t tell me they didn’t cancel patrol on a night like this. Haven’t they heard there’s a hurricane coming?”
Jade put down her hood and grinned at us. “It’s just a watch, not a warning,” she said, referring to the hurricane. Then she pointed the beam from her bike light into the car. “Is that you, Pierce? What are you doing in there with Mr. Smith?”
“Um,” I said, a little embarrassed that I’d chosen the minivan over my bike when Jade evidently didn’t mind the rain at all. I was the one wearing a necklace that apparently warded off demons, and I was scared of some drizzle. Also, I had no idea how to answer her question about what I was doing in Richard Smith’s minivan.
He answered for me.
“I saw her out riding in that last downpour,” he said. “And had mercy on her. I’m taking her home. Are you sure I can’t do the same for you? Her bicycle is still locked up over by the gate, so there’s plenty of room to put yours in the back here, if you choose to. Which I highly recommend.”
“Naw,” Jade said, putting her hood back up as another car drove by, splashing water everywhere, its high beams flashing against the sides of the nearby crypts as they loomed behind the high, spiked black metal fence. “Are you kidding me? I’m having the time of my life out here patrolling with the IHPD. They gave me a walkie-talkie and everything.” She pulled up the rain poncho to reveal the two-way radio on her hip. “We’re gonna make sure no more baddies mess with your gate, Mr. S. And if they do, I’m going to pepper-spray them, don’t you worry.”
I leaned forward in my seat. This was ridiculous. Jade was riding her bike around the graveyard, at night, in a rainstorm, because of something John had done? She was going to get all wet for nothing.
Not to mention, John’s words from the night before were still ringing in my ears:
It’s not safe for you here.
“I really don’t think —” I started to say, but Mr. Smith interrupted.
“That’s fine, Jade,” he said. “It’s you and Officers Rodriguez and Poling tonight?”
“Till one in