I So Don't Do Spooky Page 2
The bell rings.
Nerdy Nick says to me, “Think your friend’ll make it on time?”
I don’t answer him. It’s my new strategy. Since the beginning of the school year, when Nerdy Nick and his entire nerdy family moved here, I’ve put up with his uncalled-for comments about my half-finished homework and less-than-stellar grades. I tried being nice. I tried being funny. Now I’m trying frosty.
I look over my shoulder. Jogging along the pathway is my best friend, Junie Carter. Hair flying out behind her and shirt all crooked, she’s hunched forward with the effort of running. Junie is the opposite of athletic. But she’s the definition of smart.
The classroom door opens and The Ruler says, “File in quietly and take your seats quickly. We have a lot to cover.”
Junie brakes to a stop, a shoe length away from crashing into me. “My dad had to get gas this morning.” With the back of her hand, she brushes hair off her sweaty forehead. “Come on.” She hitches up her backpack. “Let’s go in. She’s giving out the new assignment today.”
I shove the card at her. “Josh left flowers on the porch. It’s our two-month anniversary.”
“Very cool.” She glances down at the card. “‘Happy Anniversary!’” she reads aloud. “And a peace sign? He doesn’t even sign his name?”
“’cause we’re so tight.” Junie’s not interested in guys, so there’s a lot to do with dating, et cetera, that she doesn’t get yet. Although I have to admit, the peace sign is something new.
“Junie. Sherry. Move along.” The Ruler’s at the door, herding us in.
Junie hands me back the card.
The Ruler glances at it. She flushes. What’s her problem anyway? It’s not officially class time yet.
Junie and I scoot into back-row seats, adding to the general classroom noise of scraping chair legs, sliding metal zippers and rustling papers. This is the first week we haven’t had assigned seating. And I’m loving it.
Arms crossed and feet shoulder-width apart, The Ruler stands guard, making sure we’re all settling down. Once she’s satisfied we’re paying attention, she flips open her laptop.
“Let’s talk about your next assignment.” She punches the On button. “This is the perfect opportunity for any of you who need to recover from a low grade on the ‘Hello, World’ project.” She walks over to the wall and dims the lights. While the computer boots up, she’s spouting all kinds of computery mumbo jumbo.
I yawn. Another one of The Ruler’s boring PowerPoint presentations. I slowly ease my phone from my pocket and thumb-type a text to Junie:
Nerdy Nick wags his finger and silently tsk-tsks me.
Junie’s scribbling in her notebook. Then she reaches into her pocket and pulls out her cell. My message has arrived. She eyeballs it and goes back to writing. When The Ruler’s totally into answering a suck-up question from Honor Roll Girl, Junie mouths at me, “Another mystery?”
I shrug.
Technically, Junie shouldn’t even know about my mother or the Academy. But I had this one really bad day, when I was totally overwhelmed by life, and I spilled.
The good news is, Junie can help with investigations. The bad news is, Mom’s extremely talented ghost study group can’t. All because the Academy uses this crazy Weight-Watchers-ish point system to figure out how much support the spiritual students get. And Junie, being human, uses up too many points. Like she’s a double-double cheeseburger meal with a shake at In-N-Out Burger.
The Ruler’s clicking on her mouse and droning in a language that sounds like English but makes no sense. “Blah, blah, blah, pull, blah, blah, stack, blah, algorithm.”
The remainder of the class goes by in a blur. Let’s face it: the entire class went by in a blur. Which is totally understandable. I have a lot on my mind: Josh, Candy, freakish lips, lunchtime Dairy Queen meeting.
After the bell, I join a wave of students moving along the walkway. Junie stays behind to ask questions about the project. So I’m bobbing across campus and mentally scrolling through Josh’s classes, a schedule I know better than the periodic table. Next he has social studies, which means he’s going from English to social studies, which means he’ll cross the courtyard, which means if I hang out near the tall, ugly, stone saguaro cactus statue, he’ll pass by me.
Snippets of conversation manage to pierce through my calculations.
Tongue-Stud Girl says, “There’s a robotics club meeting today, right?”
“In the shop room,” Honor Roll Girl says. “We better get on top of things if we’re going to kill Donner Middle School again this year.”
“I heard they’re out to get us,” Tongue-Stud Girl says. “’cause we made it to the world championships last year. And they didn’t.”
Nerdy Nick says, “They better get used to the idea.”
Last year was the first time The Ruler took over the club. It was also the first time that Saguaro beat Donner. Donner’s been making it to the championships in Atlanta for, like, ever. But so yesterday’s news.
“Are you joining, Sherry?” Honor Roll Girl swings her backpack to her other shoulder. “You’d be a real asset.”
Me? A real asset to the robotics club? Doing what? Bringing snacks?
“She has a C in computer,” Nerdy Nick says. “Quit trying to recruit everyone, Meghan.”
Honor Roll Girl jumps away from me like I’ve got a rash.
“Sherry!” a male voice calls.
The voice lightning-bolts straight down my spine.
I gaze around and spot Josh.
My legs go all rubbery, like when you’re forced to run the mile the first week in PE, and you haven’t done one millisecond of exercise over the summer.
He’s leaning against the cactus statue, the sun lighting him up like he’s on a stage. His shaggy hair glints, throwing off extra sparks where the pool water has bleached it from light brown to blond. He’s wearing my favorite T-shirt, Totally Tones, that’s the exact same blue as his gorgeous eyes. And his Dickies jeans sag at the perfect angle off his hips. Sigh.
When I get close, Josh pulls me in for a hug. I inhale. It’s that Josh smell: laundry soap from his clothes mixed with chlorine from the pool.
We break apart.
“Missed you this morning,” he says. “What happened?”
“What happened was The Ruler. I had to help her find her keys.”
“Drag.”
“Definite drag.”
“I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” Josh says. “Well, this afternoon and toni—”
“Wait a sec,” I interrupt him. “Where were you? I got to the lunch tables before the bell.”
He looks surprised. “Didn’t Candy tell you?”
I cross my arms. “Tell me what?”
“About Magee.”
I squeeze my biceps. Well, where my biceps would be if I had any.
“Yesterday in class, Magee told me I needed to do my The Call of the Wild presentation with a strong student ’cause my English grade sucks.” Josh hitches up his jeans. They immediately slide back down. “So when he saw me talking to Candy this morning while I was waiting for you, he said she didn’t have a partner yet and we should work together.”
“I still don’t get why you weren’t there.”
“Magee made me follow him to his office to get some papers. Candy said she’d wait behind to tell you.” He shoves his hands in his pocket. “Guess something came up, and she left.”
Candy is so dead meat. Trying to make me think Josh doesn’t like me anymore. “Do you have to work with her?”
“Seems like I better. Magee said it would raise my grade.” With his palm, Josh tips up my chin and looks straight at me. “You’re not jealous of Candy Lopez, ar
e you?”
“Uh, no,” I say loudly.
“Hey”—his smile crinkles up his eyes and makes him look even more adorable—“wait’ll you hear my plans for later.”
I go all still.
“There’s a water polo scrimmage at Donner after school. Can you get a ride? I have to take the bus.” He’s talking fast, all excited. “My mom has time between clients. So after the game, she can pick us up at Donner and drive us somewhere for dinner. Sit-down, not takeout. For our three-month anniversary.”
“Two. Two-month.” I throw my arms around his neck. “Josh Morton, you’re the best.”
He hugs me back. “No argument here.” He steps away and pulls out his cell to check the time. “I gotta get to—”
“Social studies,” I finish for him. “And I gotta get to …”
Josh scrunches up his forehead, thinking. “Computer?”
“Science,” I say, all fake exasperated, pretending to be shockerooed he doesn’t know.
“Josh Man!” Eric, Josh’s best friend, calls from across the quad. “Wait up!” They have social studies together. Eric skids in, shoelaces dragging, and punches Josh in the arm. “Guess what, man? I’m going to the scrimmage.” He glances at me. “Hi, Sherry.”
I baby-wave. I would love it if Junie and Eric got together. Talk about your awesome double-dating possibilities. Sadly, both Junie and Eric have ignored my romance hints.
Josh punches Eric back. “Cool.” He plants a quick kiss on my cheek. “Catch ya at lunch.”
Those water polo guys are fast movers—Josh and Eric take off before I have a chance to mention I won’t be around at lunch. Probably just as well. Because secrecy is a major Academy rule, Josh can’t know about my mother. His speedy exit prevents me from having to make up a lame excuse.
I slap my forehead with the heel of my hand. I just remembered what I forgot to say to him.
chapter
four
Dairy Queen, Phoenix, Arizona. Aka the main campus of the Academy of Spirits, according to my mother. Apparently, there’s a satellite campus in Canada somewhere. Probably in an igloo.
Gripping the handle till my knuckles go white, I stand at the glass door. I am so not ready for this creepy, freaky, ghostly experience.
I stare into the restaurant. At least DQ’s not too crowded. Just a few construction guys ordering at the counter and a very pregnant woman zoned out in front of a giant Oreo Brownie Earthquake poster. I count to ten to get my courage up, then yank the door open and step in.
An arctic blast from the air-conditioning smacks me in the face. I sniff for coffee to see if my mother’s around. Negative. Nothing but a heavy, syrupy, ice creamy smell.
I round the corner, heading for the famous back booth. I slide in and wait, legs stretched out, ankles crossed.
With a sudden gust of coffee scent, Mom says in my ear, “Not this booth. The other back booth.”
I look around in confusion. “What other back booth?”
“Through the door. Follow me.”
“I can’t go there. It says Employees Only.”
“Hurry, Sherry. Mrs. Howard doesn’t tolerate lateness.”
With puffs of wind, she hustles me forward till I’m squished up against the door. I shoulder it open and step across the threshold.
Zap! Zap! Zap!
“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”
Zillions of teeny sparks zing and ping me. I’m trapped in some sort of Star Trek force field.
“Mom! Mom! Mom!”
“Keep walking, Sherry,” my mother says.
I stumble out of the portal of pain and slump to the floor. Every inch of my skin tingles and itches. “I’m injured. I’m injured,” I groan.
There’s a feathery fluttering as my mother moves across me, checking me out.
“You’re fine. Your hair’s just a little messy.”
I put a hand up to my head.
Ack. Eek. Ike.
My hair, if I can still call it that, bounces and springs back against my palm. It’s like a giant bird’s nest after a violent windstorm. I doubt even gallons of pricey salon conditioner will calm it down. I’ll probably end up getting a buzz cut and starting from scratch. And I don’t think Josh dates bald girls. Certainly Candy has hair.
“My—my hair,” I stammer, “my hair.”
“It’s not that bad, Sherry,” my mom says. “Stand up. She’ll be here any minute.”
My mother is not known for her sympathy. With a minimum of moaning, I pull myself to my feet. While reclipping my frizz, I gaze around. I’m in front of a booth identical to the one on the other side of the door. Well, almost identical. A Blizzard sits in the middle of the Formica table.
“It’s for you,” Mom says. The tall cup scoots toward me. “Oreo Cookie.”
“Wow. Thanks.” Oreo Cookie’s my fave.
“It was Mrs. Howard’s idea.”
I scoop up a spoonful. “I thought you said she was mean.”
“Shhh. And I didn’t call her mean. I just said you don’t want to tangle with her.”
The words are no sooner out of her mouth than the booth swells with the smell of cinnamon rolls. Fresh, warm dough, melted sugar, lots of cinnamon. It’s like I’m in the Cinnabon store at the mall. Only yummier.
I raise my shoulders and inhale deeply. Like a cat, I arch into the back of the bench, my spine xylophoning along the slats while the tension of the day slowly drains out of me. I’m totally chill and mellow. Cinnamon rolls do that to me. And Mrs. Howard smells like a cinnamon roll.
Wait a sec! I’m actually smelling a ghost other than my mother. That’s never happened before.
The bench across from me creaks and shifts.
I squint. Wow! I can make out a faint shape. A faint overweight, short, snowballish shape. I can very vaguely see Mrs. Howard. I wonder if it’ll be like that with my mother once she’s advanced through a bunch of Academy levels. What if one day I could actually see my mom? My throat goes all hard-to-swallow.
“Howdy, y’all,” a female voice says, the vowels stretched out and drowsy.
“Hi, Minnie May.” My mom sounds tense, her words crisp and clipped.
“Sherry, honey, I am so glad to finally make your acquaintance. I’m Mrs. Howard.”
Her voice is musical and friendly, full of kindness and hospitality. I can just imagine how in real life, she’d fold me up in a big, squishy, cinnamony hug. She is so not mean. Obviously, my mother is a lousy judge of character.
I smile. “Nice to meet you too.” I scoop up a spoonful of Blizzard. It melts into a tiny ice creamy puddle on my tongue.
“I want to thank you, Sherry, for taking time for us from your school day. Here at the Academy, we all admire your talent for juggling an active teen life and our spiritual business.”
Loving this Mrs. Howard. She so gets me.
“Sherry, honey, here’s a little something to make it easier when you need to summon your mama.”
A ziplock bag drifts lazily down from the ceiling, landing lightly on the table in front of me.
Mrs. Howard says, “Arabica espresso beans. From Costa Rica. Easier to handle than a cup of coffee.”
Coffee is what I use to call my mother. It’s a beverage I can’t stand the taste of.
I have spilled way too many cups of java, ruining way too many cute outfits. So, coffee beans? That’s rocking. “Wow. Very cool. Thanks.”
Mrs. Howard’s fuzzy head nods. “Okay, girls, time for y’all to get serious,” she drawls.
A hologram of a plasma screen appears on the wall. It’s blank for a moment with Halloweenish, bad-guy organ music playing in the background.
Uh-oh. Up on the screen is a head shot of me. I can’t help but notice it was taken on a good hair day. I’m sitting on my bed, smiling and yakking on my cell. The screen splits. On the left half, The Ruler, in an apron, is calling me from the bottom of the stairs. On the right half, I frown but keep talking on the phone. She calls me again. I ignore her again. She calls me a
gain. I still ignore her. She runs into the kitchen, turns off the burner where her spicy tomato sauce is bubbling away, trudges up the stairs and pokes her head into my room. I roll my eyes and snap my cell shut. Your basic teen attitude. But supersized.
My chest is squeezed tight like I’m wearing a rubber band shirt. How embarrassing to have my meanness captured on film.
A couple more scenes of me being rude to The Ruler and the screen goes blank, then disappears. Finally.
The delish Cinnabon smell has been replaced by burnt sugar.
“The Academy’s mission is to watch over and protect humans.” Mrs. Howard’s voice is all sharp and disciplining. “As of this moment, Sherry, the disrespect stops. Or you’ll lose the privilege of helping your mama.”
I gulp in some air. Shallow, fishlike breaths ’cause of the rubber band feeling.
“Now, let me brief you about your next case,” Mrs. Howard continues. “It involves Paula.”
The Ruler? I feel my eyes go round as water polo balls.
“She has a stalker,” Mrs. Howard says. “Y’all’s assignment is to identify the stalker and deliver him or her to the authorities. Do not, I repeat, do not let anything happen to Paula.”
“Is she aware she has a stalker?” Presto. My mother transforms into investigative mode.
“No, she is not,” Mrs. Howard says.
“How do you know it’s a stalker?” I ask. “And not just an annoyed student?” One of many, I think, but keep the thought to myself.
Mrs. Howard turns her blurry balloonish head toward me. “Because I trust the judgment of the Phantom Security Squad, the PSS. They’re a talented, experienced Academy department responsible for investigating misdemeanors against humans. If they’re convinced Paula has a stalker, I’m convinced Paula has a stalker.”
“What else does the PSS say?” Mom asks.
“They believe this to be a run-of-the-mill mystery,” Mrs. Howard replies. “We at the Academy expect that you ladies will be able to solve the case, all the while improving your relationship with Paula.”
Does the fun never end?
“By the way, I’ll personally be checking up on y’all. Making sure your behavior’s aboveboard.” With a loud rustle, like someone gathering up her petticoats, the roundish shape rises. “Because Paula and I are kin. We share a great-great-great granddaddy, which makes me Paula’s great-great-aunt. And we Southerners always look after our own.”