Sanctuary Read Free

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. The
yearbook
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 to get through.”
    “You made
four
pies?” Claire, who, unlike me, was tall and willowy—and who must have had a hollow leg or something, because she ate more than practically any human being I knew—sounded pleased. “What kind?”
    “Apple, pumpkin, pecan, and persimmon,” my dad said, sounding equally pleased. Good cooks like people who appreciate their food.
    No one, however, that I could tell, appreciated Great-aunt Rose.
    “Joseph,” she said, the minute we reappeared in the dining room. “Who was that colored man?”
    It is really embarrassing having a relative like Great-aunt Rose. It isn’t even like she is an alcoholic or anything so you can blame her bad behavior on outside forces. She is just plain mean. A couple of times I have considered hauling off and slugging her, but since she is about one hundred years old (okay, seventy-five, big diff) my parents would probably not take too kindly to this. On top of