Note: This story takes place immediately after Sanctuary. Oh yeah, and I plan to make it as long as a normal Jenny Carroll book…wish me luck. And I'll try not to post any addendums to author's notes at the end.

Or I'll just write as few notes as possible.

And please, please, please, review.

And also know that I didn't plan on posting this until I had all of it written. But Sweet-Oklahoma reviewed a Mediator story and asked about this one. I decided to change my mind.

Disclaimer: I disclaim this entire story…so now don't expect me to waste energy on disclaiming the rest of the story. I don't own anything, unless I make up characters you don't recognize.

Welcome to 1-800-Where-R-You: Anew

And I will shut up now.

Chapter One:

"Mom," I said, with a smile, still not getting up. "Dad. Glad you're here. I'd like you to meet my boyfriend, Rob."

I said this and everybody—well, Mike-and-Claire, Doug-and-Tasha, Ruth and her brother, Skip, at least—filed out of the room, looking quite shocked and leaving me behind to deal with what I hoped would not become World War Three with my parents. Only I don't think they were shocked to find out that Rob was my boyfriend—Claire, Mike, Ruth, Skip, Doug and Tasha already knew he was my boyfriend, anyway. But I do think Claire and Mike were shocked to see that Rob was my boyfriend. I think they expected him to be . . . well, different, if you know what I mean. And I think Ruth, Skip, Doug and Tasha were shocked to see that I'd finally told my parents. And Rob looked about ten times more shocked than any of them could ever feel.

I'd finally told them. About him, I mean. Something, I'm sure, that he'd never really expected to happen. But it did.

In the infamous words of Skip Abramowitz, "Whoa. Alert the Pentagon. The Mastriani household has just gone to Def Con One," or at least, it was something like that.

That's the truth. Most of the time, at least. But, to my surprise, Mom did not jump up and give Rob the third degree about his college plans, or lack thereof, and Dad didn't do anything out of character…he actually looked happy. Happy for me. Imagine that.

Mom remained silent, and Dad just said (with a smile, mind you), "Hi, Rob. I'm Joe Mastriani. Nice to meet you."

"You too, sir," Rob said.

"Toni?" Dad said.

Mom snapped out of her dream world, where she was most likely picturing which pattern she'd make me a new dress out of so I could "impress" Rob…What? It's kind of hard to look like One Hot Babe in gingham, you know? I mean, come on: it's gingham, for Pete's sake! But whatever…Dad owes me big time. Payment in full of a Harley… Okay, I will admit that some of Mom's dresses aren't so bad, like the green sheath dress (The dress I will hopefully wear to Rob's uncle's wedding), for example. But the Laura Ingalls thing gets old. Fast. Especially on school picture day.

Anyway Mom said with this totally sickening fake smile on her face, "Hi, Rob! I'm Toni Mastriani, Jess's mom. Nice to meet you."

Over-doing it much, Mom? Whatever. I mean, I know I should be happy that she loves me enough to not start in about Rob's whole not-going-to-college thing (in front of him, at least. I was pretty sure she'd have a lot to say when I got home), and that her initial reaction to finding out that he's my boyfriend wasn't the one she'd had when she and my dad had picked me up from the police station that time after Rob and I saved Heather Montrose's life…Yeah the one where she started in about how he's too old for me and how he works at a garage and blah, blah, blah. I mean, if she'd said all that to his face, that'd be it; I'd have a freaking embolism right there in the hospital room. But, let's face it, she was way over-doing it. You could fully see that the smile on her face was totally painted on, like the smile on a Barbie doll.

But may I take this time to point out that even though he has no plans of actually attending a four-year college, Rob has had an actual goal for his life since before his high-school graduation? He wants to own his own motorcycle repair shop so he can fix motorcycles and stuff. And that, let me also point out, is way preferable to the alternative, which, for most guys that are Rob's age, is wasting their parent's valuable money on frat parties and booze, caring nothing about college or passing any of their classes, just making sure that they don't get too trashed at their next party. And Rob? He's helping his mother to earn money. Now tell, me, what is so wrong with going out with a guy like that? Given that, there is nothing my parents would disapprove of Rob about, except for maybe the probation thing…and the fact that he doesn't plan on going to college.

All I have to say in response is "Oh freaking well!" because I am going to go out with Rob, no matter what.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, too, ma'am," Rob said in response to my mother's Oscar worthy performance.

"Well, we'll go and leave you two kids alone for a while…I bet you two have a lot to talk about. Pick you up in an hour, Jess," Dad said. "You'll be alright until then, won't you?"

Alright? Of course! He was practically telling me to make out with my boyfriend!

And, too, I could have sworn that as they left, Dad gave me and Rob the thumbs-up sign…a good sign. I mean, I could totally tell by that sign that he said it was okay for us to date, and whatever Mom said would be said. I could date Rob no matter what she said, and all because Dad said it was okay before she could protest.

Which she would. Most likely when I got home, too.

"See, Mastriani? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Rob said, apparently getting over his initial shock of having—finally—been introduced to my parents, and without any wars or fights . . . okay, I deserved that for all the trouble I put him through about going out with me and all.

"No, it wasn't. I'm sorry for not introducing you to them sooner…I was just being a stupid brat," I said. "I'll have to find a way to repay you someday."

"Someday? Forget it, Mastriani," he said. "You can start now."

Then he kissed me, which was nice, and all that romantic crap people talk about, but you really didn't need to know that, did you? And we just kind of kept kissing for a while, letting him finish proving how he liked me too much, until I decided to dive in for the plunge: asking him if we were still going on a date.

"So how about you and me going to see a movie Friday night?" I said, although I genuinely had no idea what was showing at the cinema.

"Yeah, but I've got one condition," he said, "We don't cancel for anything, especially if it involves the angry mashed-potato bowl wielding wives of idiotic white supremacists."

I laughed, really, I just couldn't help it. "Okay, okay. What else?"

"I said 'one condition', you nimrod."

I just looked at him, although, I did deserve that, too. "Hey! No fair!"

"Well, that's what you called me," he said, chuckling to himself. I hate men sometimes: they do stupid stuff and then get mad when you call them nimrods.

"Okay, okay, I deserved that."

"Rob, Dr. Krantz asked me if I wanted to work for the FBI again today…he has a whole team of people like me, and they find criminals and other important bad people. Agent Smith even apologized for all that they've done to me. And probably you, too. Anyway, I told him I'd think about it. What do you think?" Might as well ask now while he might actually listen to me. I don't know why, but Rob was seemingly in a good mood...Gee I wonder why.

"I don't know. I mean, it doesn't sound so bad." Huh, really? That was coming from Rob? Wow. Morpheme, that's good stuff.

Just then, Dad knocked on the door, and I went, "Call me!" to Rob.

He just looked at me and went, "You got it."

I smiled, and I think he smiled back, and let me tell you, that felt pretty good, and for once, I almost felt normal, but knowing my life, that feeling won't last for very long.

I was still smiling when I got into my dad's car, five minutes or so later.

Although, there was a strange thing I noticed: we weren't going home. Dad was driving in the direction of Wendy's, where he'd take me to get a Frosty after the burn therapy I went through for my leg. This couldn't be good, I knew.

"Jess," Dad said as I ate a few spoonfuls of my Frosty. "Can we talk for a minute?"

The smile on my face vanished. Instantly, my hands were about as cold as the ice cream in my them, but not because I was holding the cup too tightly: I was dreading what would happen next. "Talk about what?" I asked.

"Your boyfriend. And your mother."

Oh crap. I gulped to keep that Frosty down. This did not sound like a pleasant discussion, and at that moment, I was in too good of a mood to ruin it by talking about my boyfriend and my parents' wishes for me to dump him. No. No. No. Remember when I was little, Dad, and I said "no" to everything? Yeah, well, I'm saying "no" to this discussion. I am NOT dumping my boyfriend. Never. I know, I'm quite a brat when I put my mind to it.

But it turned out that I didn't have that to worry about…he was actually telling me that I could date Rob. "Listen, your mother . . . well, she's not exactly happy about your choice in boys. You can guess why. But I like him, and she knows that. I told her that trying to keep you away from him wouldn't help her . . . Do you understand what I'm saying?" I nodded, as if I did understand. "Jess, if your mother had it her way, you'd be calling Rob and saying good-bye right about now, but I talked her into giving him a chance. How does that sound, kiddo?"

"Good." Seriously, what did he expect me to say?

"And just so you won't have to hear it from her, I told her I'd tell you her only condition for it. You can date him, but if he, you know, tries anything, you have to break things off with him."

"Um, okay," I said, thinking of all the places I'd rather have been. And it didn't have to be making out with Rob on a nice cushy couch, either. You know, I really would not have minded being on the set of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre right about then. Or even at Crane Military Base.

Yeah, yeah. I'm not stupid, you know. And Rob's not like that, obviously enough, to me, but not, apparently, to my mother. I said that because when I said, "But Rob's not like that, Dad. He told me that he didn't want to go out with me for, like, six months before he just couldn't tell me that anymore and gave in. The fact that he and I are going out is my fault," he just went, "I know. But your mother wanted me to tell you that. I don't know why because, knowing her, you won't hear the end of it for a while." I guess my dad trusts my judgment of character better than my mom does.

He and I sat in Wendy's parking lot for about an hour talking, and really, just plain catching up. Which was nice, really. I mean, it was almost like old times, before Douglas went on his wrist-slitting expenditure and I got hit by lightning and developed this ultra-special power to find missing people and before Mike dropped out of an Ivy-league school and before the "True Americans" showed up, you know?

I was so happy that day. Even when Aunt Rose started in about my skirt at dinner (it is not that short! Ugh. I don't like old people! Ditto their judgments on fashion), I didn't complain, or even get in a bad mood, or grumble to Mike and Doug later about what a pain in the ass she is. Instead, I simply rejoiced in the fact that she was leaving the next day.

That night, when I went to go practice my flute, I didn't play my orchestra piece, instead I played what I could of the vocal part to No Doubt's "Underneath it All" (because Ruth stopped me).

I wasn't very far into the song when Ruth, standing on my front lawn, went, "So Gwen, did Gavin propose or something?"

Unaware of what she was referring to, my brilliant response to her remark was, "Huh?" I am so eloquent . . .

"I was coming over here to deliver a package from Rosemary and to ask you if you'd like to practice our orchestra pieces, but it looks like you're more interested in giving the entire neighborhood a free No Doubt concert…

"But it is sort of romantic…you and him…it's like Romeo and Juliet."

Okay . . . this statement officially freaked me out . . . I mean, it didn't make much sense coming from somebody with an IQ of 167, you know? Clearly she must remember the end of the play: we read it in the ninth grade, for Pete's sake. Hell, I don't remember much about it, just that Romeo and Juliet commit suicide at the end.

"Ruth, are you on crack? Rob and I are not going to kill ourselves. First, we're allowed to date, and secondly, I'm—and Rob—am not that stupid, okay?"

"Yeah, but it's disgustingly romantic . . . Just like you."

I didn't respond because if she didn't shut up about my boyfriend, I was going to jump down from my third-story bedroom window and pound her.

"Good, God. Just tell me what happened after I left. It must be pretty good, since you seem to have morphed into Gwen Stefani over it."

She said that with some contempt because she:

A) Thinks I'm weird,

B) Thinks Rob is a jerk, and

C) Doesn't like Gwen Stefani . . . or No Doubt.

Yeah, so you don't need a smart person to tell you that Ruth was just a little angry with me. She compared me with Gwen Stefani…that's certainly an indication of her anger: Ruth doesn't like No Doubt because their lyrics are full of lovey-dovey romantic crap.

Not knowing what else to say, I just said, "Rob met my parents. My parents met Rob. No big deal."

"It was not 'no big deal'. Spill."

"Okay, okay. They said we could go out."

Ruth said a bad word.

"I just don't want to be around when he dumps you . . . See you tomorrow, I'll just give this envelope tomorrow."

Annoyed at her pessimism, I tried to finish getting ready to go to bed without forgetting Mr. Goodhart's anger-management techniques.

I was almost ready for bed when I heard Shave-And-A-Haircut knocked on my door. Dad. That's how he knocks on the door. "Phone," Dad said.

I picked up the extension, "Hello?"

No one answered me. All I could hear of the other person at the other end of the line was static and some breathing-type noises.

"Look, I don't know who you are, but you're being a complete jerk, and I don't appreciate it," I said.

Laughter. That's what came from the other end of the line.

My life sucks, I tell you.

I could tell by the type of laugh that the person on the other end of the phone line was a male. Great, just great. The only calls I get from guys (save the few times my actual BOYFRIEND calls) happen to be calls from psychopathic creeps. And usually psychopathic creeps that want to kill me…or torch my dad's restaurant, whichever happens to be more convenient for them.

Oh yeah, and when my boyfriend calls, we don't talk about which movie we're going to see on Friday night…no, we're discussing how to take down a back-woods militia group . . . my life is just a nice, big bowl of cherries, huh?

And all the Frosties in the world won't change that, will they?

Probably not.