I So Don't Do Spooky (8 page)

Smoothing out her T-shirt, Amber steps toward Zane. “What's the rush? The tires are already wrecked.”

Junie shakes her head with impatience. “The rush is you need to drive us back to Sherry's before you and Dana go to the movies.”

“Movies?” Amber says, ogling Zane like she doesn't have a boyfriend. Which she does, but she likes to have more than one. That way she always has a guy to hang out with that she's not tired of. Of course, if she had a high-caliber boyfriend like Josh, she wouldn't be going for quantity over quality.

Junie's freckles are 3-D, standing out like they always do when she gets frustrated. “The movie you and Dana are going to. You know, the reason you couldn't give us a ride home in the first place.”

“Oh, that movie.” Amber sidles up close to Zane. “We're not going anymore. Instead, we're learning all about the ghost-hunting business. Right, Dana?”

“I guess.” Dana isn't smiling.

“I'd really like to get home. I'm kinda worried about The Ruler.” I pull my phone from my pocket
and glance at the time. “How about five more minutes here, then we head out?”

Zane springs with enthusiasm back to the table of equipment. He carefully picks up a yellow rectangular box with a plastic handle on top. A rubber hose with a metal end snakes out from the back. Totally reminds me of my old Fisher-Price cassette player + microphone.

“This is a Geiger counter. It scientifically measures electromagnetic radiation,” Zane says. “So I can tell if there's ghost activity in a particular setting.” He holds it like it's real gold. “I made it myself.”

Amber's hanging on his every word. Dana looks less convinced.

Junie's up close at the table, examining the equipment. “This is the gaussmeter?” She points to a black box about the size of a calculator, but thicker.

Zane carefully lays down the Geiger counter, coiling the hose around its base. He lovingly picks up the gaussmeter. “It is.”

“Is it the same thing as a magnetometer?”

Zane's eyes open wide in surprise. He's not used to dealing with people like Junie who're chock-full of engineering genes. “It is.”

“Can I see what it looks like on?”

“Sure. It's charged.” He prods the switch to On and the skinny needle on the screen wiggles like a hula dancer, then settles in at zero.

Ack. Eek. Ike. I smell coffee. It's my mother. Apparently she found the note I left her about the psychic fair. I stuck it under a pile of espresso beans in our usual meeting place, the pear tree in our backyard.

The gaussmeter needle starts hopping.

“I don't believe it!” Zane says. “We're showing activity.” He starts striding around the room, the meter cradled in his palm.

On the table, a couple of metal rods clang against each other.

“Grab the Geiger counter!” Zane says to Junie, his voice quivering with excitement.

She picks it up and turns it on. The rubber hose bounces in the air. She grabs it.

“What can I do? What can I do?” Amber's pogoing up and down, minus the pogo stick.

“Camera!” Zane's gone bug-eyed. “I haven't seen activity this strong in a while. Watch for ectoplasmic mist, Amber.” He's walking toward me.

“Hi, Sherry,” Mom says. “What's going on?”

I whiz to the corner of the tent, figuring she'll follow me. I turn my back on everyone. “The equipment's sensing you, Mom. You gotta get outta here.”

“Dana,” Zane says, “close the flap. Beginner ghosts have trouble with thresholds. Let's see if we can trap this one in here.”

“What makes you think this is a beginner ghost?” I call over my shoulder, doing my best to not sound defensive.

“Coming here, with all this equipment.” Zane doesn't even look up from the meter. “A seasoned ghost would know better.”

“I can't get out.” Mom's panicking.

“Junie.” I wave her over to me.

As she gets closer, the Geiger counter clicketyclicks like it's having seizures. Junie's fighting with the hose, which surges and sways around her face.

“It's my mom!” I whisper.

She goes still. All it takes is a millisecond. A millisecond of not paying attention to the excited rubber hose.

Whap
. It smacks her ear.

“Ow!” Junie yells. She drops the Geiger counter.

I scoop it up before it hits the floor. I turn it off and set it down.

Then I cover my mouth with my hand and, doubled over, race across the room. “Gonna barf. Gonna barf.”

I throw open the tent flap.

Mom whooshes out with a breathy “Catch you later.”

I sink down to the grass; my head flops against my knees. I'm sweating buckets.

Finally, Junie comes out and sits next to me. “You okay, Sherry?”

“That call was too crazy close, Junie. He knew my mom was there. He wanted to trap her. Who knows what he would've done to her. Yikes.”

“Your mother needs to stay way far away from Zane and his equipment.” Junie rubs my back. “Definitely.”

Amber and Dana arrive. “You're not going to throw up in my car, are you?” Amber asks.

That girl has about as much sympathy as a rock. I shake my head. “I'm good now.”

Junie stands and pulls me to my feet.

While we're driving, Amber says to Dana, “Sherry is, like, Junie's weirdest friend. You have no idea.”

I don't even have the energy to tell her to be quiet.

Amber's plan is to drop me off first, then Junie.

Junie, however, has other ideas.

W
hen we get to my place, Junie jumps out with me. Over her shoulder, she shouts to Amber, “Give me a sec to check out the tires!”

Junie and I buzz to where The Ruler's hybrid is hanging by the curb. All four tires look the same: sad and saggy with a big cut in a semicircle by the rim. Yikes.

Junie pokes at one of the splits. “Sure looks like you'd need a sharp knife to do this.”

“Polly predicted something with a knife
and
outside
and
The Ruler,” I say with a shudder.

“Seriously creepy.” Junie rubs her arms.

Amber honks.

“I wish I could stay longer,” Junie says. “But you
know Amber. Plus, my mom is actually home for dinner.”

She takes off and I head inside.

At the kitchen table, The Ruler's frantically sipping a mug of calming chamomile tea. There's a mini mountain of used tea bags on a saucer by the kettle.

Sip, sip, sip
. “The police were already here to take photos of the tires. They said it could've been some teens having fun, or maybe it was the work of a disgruntled student. They were surprised that it happened in broad daylight and that none of the neighbors saw anything.”

Sip, sip, sip
. “I've talked to the insurance company. A tow truck is coming in ten minutes. I'll ride with them to Tires Tires Tires.”

Sip, sip, sip
. “Grandma Baldwin has Sam.”

My ears prick up. Because if Grandma is back from Sedona, then Grandpa, who followed her there, is back too. And he'll help with the mystery.

A few years ago, Grandpa died of a heart attack. He took on the shape of our state bird, a wren, and joined the Academy. His croaky voice is tough to understand, but he's got a great sense of direction and good ideas too.

Grandma, Queen of Birkenstocks, Chants and Aura Combing, hasn't figured out Grandpa's true identity. She thinks he's just a hungry wren who hangs around
her bird feeders. Which, by the way, she has about fifty of in her backyard. I'm sure Sam went over to her house to help fill the feeders after Grandma's weekend away. Stocking those feeders is a job and a half. I avoid it.

Sip, sip, sip
. “Grandma and Sam will pick me up at the tire place and drive back here. I'll use your father's car until my car's ready.”

Polly's warning about The Ruler echoes in my brain:
She needs to seriously watch out
. “Yeah, well, be careful,” I say. “Maybe I should come with you.”

She stops mid-sip, peering at me over the rim of her mug. “Sherry, I'm fine. Someone ruined my tires. They're not planning to do something to me. I don't want you to worry.”
Sip, sip, sip
. “Besides, the towing company will only allow one passenger.”

She's so Energizer Bunny. My head's spinning with the complicatedness of all this. So upstairs I trundle for some quiet, thoughtful time with my fish.

In my bedroom, I slide open the aquarium cover. Then I tap in some fish flakes. Cindy and Prince glintily zip to the surface, gobbling floating flakes. I'm careful not to overfeed them. And I'm careful to close the cover, because bala sharks will leap from a tank to their death.

The Ruler calls out to let me know she's leaving. From my window, I watch her climb into the
passenger side of the tow truck, and Polly's warning floats into my brain. I do believe The Ruler'll be okay on this short trip to town. But tire slashing? That's scary stuff.

The tow truck clanks away from our curb, The Ruler's car humped on its back. After they're nothing more than a lumpy speck in the distance, I go back to vegging in front of my aquarium.

I'm planning to mull over the mystery, but my brain has other ideas. My thoughts drift to Josh. It's like I'm relaxed and sitting at the edge of the ocean while gentle waves of romance lap at my feet. Polly saw The Ruler stuff, which means she also saw Josh choose me over pushy, glittery Candy.

I'm just hanging there, full of ripply waves of love, in the I-got-the-boy place. My fish, their tummies all full of flakes, are gliding lazily through the water, happy to have each other. I could chill here forever.

My cell rings: “Workin' Overtime” by the Father Figures. It's my dad.

“What is going on out there? Is Paula okay?” he says. “I'm out of town for a couple of weeks, and look what happens.”

You'd think my dad would be cooler with wacko situations given that he was married to my mother the cop for so long. But, uh, no.

“I think I better cut this trip short and come home
now,” Dad says. “And I'll just come back here next month to finish up.”

“Yikes. Stay there and get everything done. So you don't have to go back for a while,” I say. “Paula's handling it okay. Although it's definitely gotten to her. But, Dad, remember, either me or Sam are pretty much always here. We'll be a good support.”

“And the police believe a student slashed her tires?” he asks, all anxious.

“Dad, chill. They said maybe. Emphasis on the ‘may' and the ‘be.' Could just be total random violence. As in, Paula's car was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He makes me promise to keep a watchful eye on The Ruler and Sam and to call him if I see anything strange. Thanks to Verizon, I can actually hear my father's nervous habit from across the miles—he's cracking his knuckles.

“I'm counting on you, Sherry.”

“Pinky promise, Dad.” I wave my baby finger in the air even though I know he can't see it.

Imagine if he knew the truth. That The Ruler has a stalker. A stalker she doesn't even know about. You have to be übercareful how much you share with parents. Reality often throws them into a tizzy.

Now for some investigating. “Dad, you should send Paula some flowers. You know, to make her feel
better.” I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping beyond hope that he'll say he just sent a bouquet yesterday, and maybe he should send something else, like a box of fake-o chocolate-carob squares.

“Good thinking, Sherry. I haven't sent her flowers since before the wedding. They'll really perk her up.”

Ack!

O
ut to the backyard. My arms up, I jump, then swing a leg over the bottom limb of our ornamental pear tree. The tree my mom planted when I was born. And the place where she first made contact with me. I get all settled, my back rubbing against the rough bark, my legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Then I open the plastic bag of espresso beans and wave it back and forth while thinking Mom thoughts. Hopefully, Grandpa will show up too.

“Mom. Mom.” I wave the bag. “Anytime now.”

Just as I'm about to give up and go grab a Mountain Dew and some Doritos, a breeze rustles the leaves at the top of the tree.

Thud!

I clutch the bag tight to my chest. Mom has got to work on her landing.

“Sorry about that, pumpkin.” My branch shakes as Mom settles herself in.

The smell of coffee wraps around me.

“Caw, caw.” Grandpa lands by my feet, his ratty wings fluttering furiously, his pink belly pooching out. I guess we're all in a row, me by the trunk, Grandpa sandwiched in the middle, then Mom at the end.

“Yay, Grandpa! You're here.”

He flashes me a beaky smile.

The shaking of my branch slows down but doesn't completely stop. Which means Mom is in her fave position, one leg crossed over the other, jiggling a foot.

“Are you okay, Mom?” I ask. “Did the ghost-hunting equipment hurt or anything?”

“No, it didn't hurt,” she says.

“You couldn't just lift up the tent flap and leave?” I jam the bag of beans in my pocket.

“I can cross thresholds, but I can't manipulate barriers to get to them,” Mom says. “Yet.”

“Did you tell Grandpa about the ghost hunter?” I ask.

Grandpa nods, and a feather comes loose and flutters to the ground.

“Did you learn anything of interest at the psychic fair?” Mom asks.

“Uh, yeah. Where's my brain at?” I shift position so the branch isn't digging into my thigh. “The psychic, who's my age, by the way, predicted something bad with The Ruler and a knife. Right after that, The Ruler called because—get this!—someone slashed her tires! All four of them. Flat as pancakes.”