I So Don't Do Spooky (20 page)

I set the bag on the table next to the tray. “I'm leaving it here. Use it or not, it's up to you.” I point to a couple of the larger turquoise + sea green pieces. “These are perfect for the front of your robot. Very eye-catching.”

There's silence while Claire stares at the transparent bag. She doesn't make a move to open it or anything.

“How's Austin?”

“Fine.” Claire tears her gaze away from the bling and looks at me. “Give him a voltage meter and some driving time, and he's good as new.”

That makes me feel better. I pick up a brownie with white frosting for eyes and a turned-down smile. “What's this?”

“A frownie. My mother's specialty.”

Cupping my palm under my chin to catch crumbs, I bite in. It's like a party for my taste buds. “Is there chocolate pudding in here?”

Claire nods. She's not friendly, but she's thawing.

I polish off the frownie. Then, from my pocket, I gently tug out the amethyst necklace. “It's for you.”

She doesn't reach for it. “Why?”

I hold the necklace up. On the end of the silver chain, the amethyst spins in the air. “Without going into a bunch of mumbo jumbo, you need to wear this.”

She still doesn't reach for it.

“Claire, I know you saw Dylan's outline last night. I saw it too.”

She shakes her head.

“We've got some sort of strange talent to do with the spirit world,” I say softly. “I didn't ask for it. You didn't ask for it. But we have to keep ourselves safe. And this necklace will do that.”

“Did you know I'm so advanced in math, I go up to the high school for classes?” she says. “My world is scientific and logical. I don't do ghosts.”

“Claire, I hear what you're saying. I'm not into science or math or whatever, but ghosts don't fit easily into my life either.” I swing the necklace slowly. “For whatever reason, though, we're stuck with this strange spiritual gift.”

She takes the necklace from me. “You won't believe the weird rituals Dylan always did before competitions.”

“Like what?” I grab another frownie. Unless Sandra gives me the recipe and I learn to bake, I won't be eating too many more of these delish numbers after today.

“Eat a peanut butter and honey sandwich. He had that bee-allergy thing going, but, boy, he liked honey.” Claire unclasps the necklace and then fastens it around her neck. “And he always wore the same socks. Wouldn't let Mom wash them. He got the idea from the basketball team.”

That's just gross, but it explains his smell. Not that Josh doesn't have a ritual regarding a certain water polo cap.

Claire sighs, jutting out her perfectly plump lower lip. “You know why I was at school late last night?”

“Why?”

“I knew something was up with our bot. There is no way we should've killed Saguaro so bad at the practice competition. We're not that skilled at flipping rings off pegs, but we got all yours. We're not that fast at maneuvering around the field, but we beat you by a mile.” With the palm of her hand, Claire presses the stone to her chest. “Now I get it. It was Dylan. He doesn't trust me to lead the Donner Dynamos to the championships.”

“I don't know about that,” I say. “It might not be anything against you, but more that he can't let go.”

She cups the amethyst. “Decent-sized stone. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” I grab a couple more cookies for the ride home. Then I toss the backpack over my shoulder. It clunks heavily against my right hip.

We walk to the front door. “You're doing an awesome job with the robotics club. Everyone knows it, Claire. Even people from other schools.”

She ducks her head, but not before I catch a glimpse of a small smile.

Outside, I climb onto my bike.

The countdown is on.

Nine hours till midnight.

I
manage to stumble through the rest of the afternoon and actually read over the science study notes Junie and I wrote. Just in case Polly knows what she's talking about.

After dinner, I play video games with Sam, who bugs me for details about the ghost hunting.

“Überboring,” I lie.

Josh calls when he gets home from practice. “So, Sherry, last night was way weird.”

And tonight will be way weirder. But I'm not up for a supernatural discussion, which will lead to a massive panic attack on my part. So not good for detecting. “Yup, way weird,” I say without adding any comments.

“Yeah, anyway, Nick is helping me with math on Friday,” Josh says. “Then he and Junie want to do something with you and me that evening. My mom said we can chill at our house.”

Listen to my boy, planning a fun double date. Except for the Nick part. Which I am getting over for Junie's sake.

After I flip my phone closed, there's a couple more minutes where I'm still floating with good boyfriend feelings. Slowly, though, they leak out, like when Coke goes flat. And I'm left nervous and jittery and worried about Sun Cemetery.

The Ruler goes to bed at her regular crazy third-grader hour. Sam hits the sack too. He says he's catching a cold. I didn't even notice him sneezing or coughing. I hope he's not turning into a hypochondriac.

I head upstairs. I'm killing time till Junie shows. And I may as well lounge with my fish.

I open my bedroom door. There's a faint whiff of honey + dirty socks. Dylan was in my room!

Ack! Eek! Ike!

And then I spot her. Poor little Cindy, flopping on the floor, her silvery tail twisting and turning, her cute little fishy mouth opening and closing.

My heart hammering, I race to her, scoop her up in both hands and plop her into the tank.

Prince zips right to her, nudging her with his
handsome head. She gives a little flip. The two of them smile up at me and swim off.

The aquarium lid is lying by my bed. I grab it up and snap it back on. I never ever remove the lid, because bala sharks love to leap out of water.

Dylan tried to murder Prince and Cindy!

I am so talking him into the silver box. He's done messing with The Ruler. He's done messing with my fish. He's done messing with my life.

It's about eleven, and Junie and I are kneeling on the sidewalk in front of my house. We're under the streetlight. It's gloomy and dim, but we're trying to save our flashlight batteries.

Our voices low, we're dividing the stuff I took from Claire's living room. The sidewalk looks diseased, with all these odd-shaped shadowy lumps.

“Any trouble sneaking out?” I ask.

“Not really. It helps that my parents go to bed after the ten o'clock news and always sleep with the ceiling fan on.” Junie straightens her shoulders, enjoying her detective status. “Plus, I used the side door since their bedroom's at the back of the house.”

“You're a natural.” I give a nervous giggle. “Maybe we should open a private-eye business when we grow up.”

“Yeah, right.” She leans forward and picks up a couple of the lumps. She waves them at me. “Uh, Sherry?”

I squint into the darkness. The Popsicle-stick craft and the bronzed baby shoe. “I grabbed a little of everything.”

“And you brought us snacks?”

I squint some more. She's holding the peanut butter and honey sandwiches I made.

“They're not for eating.” I tell her about Dylan's pre-competition rituals with the sandwiches and the socks.

Junie pats the ground, feeling around. “I'll take the coffee beans.” She pauses. “Because he'll, uh, I'll probably be, uh, more free to call your mom.” She pauses again. “If we even have to.”

My insides feel like I swallowed the entire Hoover Dam with water whooshing over it. “Junie, I'm scared. I don't think I can pull this off.”

She stops cramming the cruise picture into her backpack. “Sherry, you're good at talking to people and figuring them out.” She pushes the photo in the rest of the way, then zips up her pack. “I wish I could be more help. But I can't see him or hear him or anything.”

“I know.” I stand and hoist my backpack on. In some ways, even with Junie there, I'm basically on my own.

There's a whiff of coffee. “Hi, girls. Any time you're ready,” my mother says.

Grandpa flaps in and perches on my shoulder. “Let's go.”

Junie and I hop on our bikes and get pedaling.

By the strong smell of coffee, I can tell Mom's flying between us. “What's in your backpacks, girls?”

“A bit of this and a bit of that.” I name the objects.

“Good job, Sherry,” Mom says. “And you have flashlights?”

“We have flashlights,” I say.

All leaning forward on her handlebars, Junie's huffing and puffing. She manages to nod.

“Extra batteries?” Mom asks. The questions are really only directed at me. The whole world's aware of Junie's super organizational powers. “The espresso coffee beans?”

“Chill, Mom. We're on it.”

We're quiet, each lost in our own thoughts. A few cars drive by us. But mostly all you hear is our lungs sucking in air, our pedals creaking and our tires squelching on the pavement.

“The. Cemetery. Never. Seemed. This. Far. Away.” Junie's face shines in the dark.

I bend down and rub my calf. “I'm getting some serious leg cramps.”

Junie doesn't even answer. Unless you count heavy breathing.

“Earlier today, Grandpa and I found a small woods on the opposite side of the cemetery from the entrance,” Mom says. “That's where we'll wait. We'll be far enough away that Dylan won't sense us, but close
enough that if you coffee-call, we can fly over in a flash.”

I fill Junie in on where Mom and Grandpa plan to hang out. “Mom, what exactly can you do to him? I mean, he's got more power than you.”

“Mrs. Howard is coming for backup,” Mom says.

“But if she bails us out,” I say, “we don't get credit for solving the mystery.”

“Sherry, keeping you and Junie safe is more important than class credits. Even more important than Real Time.” Her voice is heavy with emotion. “I want Real Time too, where we can sit and talk face to face, like … we used to. But I'm not willing to risk your life or Junie's.” She swallows. “So if Dylan starts to lose control, I want you to promise you'll call me. Immediately.”

All tight and tense, I nod.

“Mrs. Howard is the mistress of the silver box,” Grandpa croaks.

I stop pedaling and coast to give Junie a chance to catch up. While she's gasping and catching her breath, I tell her about Mrs. Howard.

Junie slows to a stop and clambers off her bike, her feet thudding heavily on the road. “Who knew there were so many hills on the way?”

I climb off my bike too.

“And you've got the silver box?” Mom asks.

I pat my pocket. “Right here.” I'm constantly aware of it pressing into my thigh.

Junie and I stop wheeling our bikes. There, in front of us, is a big Sun Cemetery sign and a drive with a chain across it. We're at the entrance.

“This is where Grandpa and I leave you two,” Mom says. “Remember, if for
any
reason you feel you need us, call.”

I repeat this to Junie.

She nods.

There's the faintest feathery squeeze on my shoulder. Mom! Grandpa waves a tattered wing.

And they're gone.

It's dark and creepy. We're a couple of teens armed with backpacks full of ordinary objects, a plastic bag of coffee beans and a magic silver box. Yikes.

We push our bikes over to the chain. Then we slide under, dragging the bikes after us.

The lights on our handlebars throw off dim, wobbly beams that stretch into long, quivering shadows. The palm trees rattle in the breeze. A cemetery at night is überspooky. And I so don't do spooky.

My hands sweaty, my pulse pounding, I force myself to keep moving forward. When all I want to do is race home.

Before we get to the gravestones, we reach a little garden area with a stone bench and a floodlight
shining from a nearby pole. There's no moon, but we won't need our flashlights.

“I'm not going any farther.” I lean my bike against the back of the bench.

“Sounds good to me.” Junie drops her bike in the grass.

Cross-legged on the ground, we start hauling Greene family treasures from our backpacks. The air feels thick with danger. There's no honey + socks smell. Yet.

Junie and I chat nonstop about nothing. To fill in the silence. To keep an ongoing link between us. Any thing to keep from getting totally creeped out.

I'm naming the objects as I pull them out. Like my backpack's a big party grab bag. “Oh, here's a shiny soccer trophy. And look at this little tiny baby shoe.”

There are times in life when the sound of human voices is more important than the words. This is one of those times. Our silly conversation feels like a big, comfy blanket that's wrapping around us and keeping us safe.

On the stone bench, I start building a little stalker shrine. The tall stuff in the middle, with some small stuff to the right and some small stuff to the left. I place the sandwiches in front.

Junie follows my lead, listing everything she hands to me. She plays along, all singsongy. Like nothing's bizarro or out of the ordinary. Like we often spend a school night in the cemetery, piling somebody's junk
up on a bench. In the hopes their mean ghost will show up and agree to getting squished up in a metal box. And sent on his merry way to wherever.

Then Junie clams up.

And the silence separates us, like someone threw up a brick wall.

“Sherry?” Her voice is high and squeaky. “Do you have the coffee beans?”

I shove my hand back in my pack and feel around. Nada. “I thought you had them.”

“I think I left them on the sidewalk in front of your house.”