I So Don't Do Spooky (22 page)

Maybe she can send someone over on Saturdays to clean my room too.

As Mrs. Howard flies off, the silver box twinkles in the night sky like Tinkerbell winging her way to Never-Never Land.

Mom's right by me. “Tell me about Sam. Why was he holding up the coffee beans? How did he get involved?”

I explain how he was eavesdropping when Mom, Junie and me were in the office, discussing the mystery. And how he snuck out tonight to help in the cemetery, then rode fast to get the left-behind coffee beans.

“I'm so proud.” Mom sniffs. “My kids are watching out for each other.”

Then, Mom and Grandpa go on to say all the right ego-building things about how I'm this talented person who succeeded at this incredibly difficult task. I'm pretty sure Grandpa croaks, “Good work, Sherry,” not “You're a jerk, Sherry.” Which wouldn't make sense at all. Anyway, I just keeping nodding and saying thank you while I swell up to the bursting point with pride.

Because I'm sitting so still, soaking up the compliments, I forget about my wrist and go to stand. I scream.

“Sherry, what happened?” Mom says in the voice I associate with Band-Aids and Popsicles and cuddles on the couch.

“I tripped getting on my bike. My wrist really, really hurts. I'm sure it's broken and I'll have to go to the hospital.” I swallow. “I better call Junie and find out where she and Sam are.”

Then I'll call The Ruler.

And face the music.

T
he Ruler, Sam and I don't get home from the hospital until way late. Turns out I do have a broken wrist. Our long and painful wait at the emergency room gave The Ruler tons of time to let me know how disappointed she is in my sneaky behavior. Little does she realize that the field trip to Sun Cemetery protected her from the evil plots of a ghost-stalker. Instead of blasting me from here to Canada, she should be slinging gift cards my way.

Then again, saving someone before they even know they're in danger might be the best kind of saving. I think maybe it is.

Quite frankly, I am limp with exhaustion. It is shocking to see how much I've aged. I have dark circles
under my eyes like someone drew on me with thick black marker. And my skin has this green, sickly alien-ish hue. I look at least twenty. Maybe twenty-one.

Even The Ruler cannot argue with the fact that I'm a mess. Plus, I advise her once or twice of how much my wrist aches.

In the end, she decides that she and Sam will go to school in the morning. I'll stay home.

I trudge upstairs. My knees go weak with happiness at the sight of my room and my fish. I'm home. I did it. I'm only partially broken.

Tap. Tap. Tap
.

Grandpa's at the window. “You're okay?” he croaks.

I hold up my waterproof pink cast. At least with my fashion creativity, it won't take much finagling to work this baby into my wardrobe. “Cool enough?”

He nods his raggedy head. “Your mom and I were worried. I said I'd fly over and check on you.”

That is by far the absolute longest sentence from Grandpa I've ever understood. “Grandpa, can I give you a note for Mrs. Howard?”

He nods again.

I explain on my bubble-gum-scented notepaper how I gave my five minutes of Real Time to Dylan for use with Claire. In the hubbub of the cemetery, I'd totally forgotten to tell anyone about this.

Then I push aside the screen, enough to squeeze out the paper.

Before grasping my note, Grandpa says, “Grandma called me ‘Wilhelm.'”

We high-five through the screen, a raggedy wing and my noninjured hand. “I'm so happy for you, Grandpa.”

With my note poking out from his yellowed beak, Grandpa flaps off.

I hit the sack, where I sleep coma-hard. When I wake up, I have pillow lines denting my cheek and I'm all sweaty and starving and disoriented. I stumble into the shower, then down to the kitchen to grab up tons of food, especially items high in sugar.

I stick in my earbuds and click on my iPod till I'm listening to some ska that Josh uploaded for me. Then I'm sprawled on my bed, chatting to my fish. I bust open a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints.

Dad phones. He skips his usual “How you doing, pumpkin?” to launch directly into a parental tirade on safety and trust and being the big sister. Bottom line: I'm grounded. Indefinitely. There will be an even more in-depth discussion next week when he gets home.

I bite my tongue and seethe. I wouldn't be surprised if steam is truly billowing out of my ears. Life is so unfair. Especially when you're part of a secret organization. I didn't want to go to the cemetery. I don't like dangerous and scary. I blink back hot tears.

“Has the world gone crazy?” Dad asks. “I leave on business for two weeks and get reports from home of slashed tires and broken wrists. What's next?”

After hanging up, I sit in a funk and stare at my pretty-in-pink arm.

Tap. Tap. Tap
. Grandpa again. Probably bringing a thank-you note from Mrs. Howard. Surely
she
appreciates me.

I drag myself over to the window and slide it open. “Hi, Grandpa.”

Perched on the outside ledge, he offers up a bunch of birdspeak.

It's frustrating how sometimes I can decipher his speech, but sometimes I can't. I guess this is an improvement on when I couldn't understand a word he said. “Mrs. Howard wants to see me?”

He nods.

I start muttering under my breath and stomping around my room. “I am so not solving another mystery right away. I have tests. I'm exhausted. I have a broken bone.”

Grandpa taps on the glass again. “Now.”

“Now?” And I'm back to muttering and stomping. “That woman is loco-crazy. Along with bossy and demanding.” I look at Grandpa. “Wait. I'm grounded.”

He frowns at me in a birdy way.

“Yeah, I know. Grounding doesn't apply to Academy business. Grounding is for normal kids with a normal existence,” I grumble while trampling into the bathroom, where I throw on a black skirt, a polka-dot shirt and flip-flops.

This time I'm taking supplies. I one-handedly grab a box of aluminum foil and my bike helmet and jam them in my backpack. Then I hoof it to the bus stop. Honestly, I've gotten more exercise in the past week than I have in the past year of PE classes. I hope Josh likes muscular girls.

At Dairy Queen, I yank open the door and march to the back. Thankfully, I don't see anyone I know.

I strap on my bike helmet. And my oversized owlish sunglasses. I wrap my arms and legs with tinfoil. Not that this is easy with a broken wrist. But I'm determined. Once I'm outfitted, I push on the Employees Only door and step through.

Sparks fly everywhere, ricocheting off my tinfoiled arms and legs, shooting up to the ceiling, then showering down to the linoleum floor. No entry pain, thanks to a roll of aluminum foil.

Finally, they stop. I pull off my helmet and feel my hair. Fine. Not any wilder than usual. The bike helmet worked.

“Sherry, honey, you are so inventive,” Mrs. Howard drawls. “Here at the Academy, we all surely love the way you think outside the box.”

“Thanks,” I say, pushing the sunglasses up to the top of my head. I wiggle out of my backpack and let it clatter to the floor.

“Are you exhausted after yesterday?” Mrs. Howard asks.

“Majorly. Which is why I'm not up for mysteries or investigating or anything else along those lines.”

“Oh, honey, I didn't call you here to give you another case. No, no, no.” With a long-nailed finger, she points at a Blizzard on the table. It slides obediently closer to me. “We are so impressed with your abilities, the way you talked Dylan Greene into the silver box. All the higher-ups are aware. And we'd just like to know that you'll make yourself available if that kind of situation arises again.”

“But there's not a ghost to be talked in right now? You're not tricking me?”

“Absolutely not, dear. We just want to know you're available for the future.”

“Well, probably,” I say. I mean, this is pretty flattering. And I do love flattery.

“Wonderful, honey,” she says. “One more thing. The Academy administration feels you should be rewarded for your unselfish behavior in offering up your Real Time to Dylan.”

“Seriously?” I'm leaning forward.

“We're granting you five more minutes of Real Time.”

I'm speechless. Which I don't think has ever happened before, outside the presence of Josh Morton.

“Is this satisfactory, honey?”

I'm nodding like a bobblehead.

I can't stop bobble-nodding. All that movement breaks loose a recent memory of my brother going mega stubborn and refusing to abandon me in the cemetery.

I open my mouth and out flies a suggestion.

“I
know Sam and I are grounded until Sam starts shaving,” I say to The Ruler when they're home from school. “But if you think about it, that's a pretty unhealthy punishment.” I put on a serious, logical face.

The Ruler looks up from the couch where she's typing on her laptop.

Sam stops reading and sets his book on the coffee table.

“What do you mean, Sherry?” The Ruler says.

“Being stuck in the same place day after day could stunt our emotional growth.”

Obviously sensing this won't be a short conversation, she turns off her computer and folds down the
screen. “Just last night, the two of you visited a cemetery. Sam attended school today, and you'll both be at school tomorrow. That's getting out and about.”

I perch on the edge of the La-Z-Boy, keeping my back perfectly straight so she'll relate better to me. “I've been inside all day. I definitely need some exercise, which isn't easy given this.” I jiggle my cast. “How about Sam and I walk to the bus stop, then ride over to Dairy Queen, where I'll buy him an ice cream out of my allowance. It'll stretch our legs, broaden our horizons and teach Sam about generosity. And”—I pause for dramatic effect—“I'll pick up some of that soy milk you love.” End of rehearsed speech. Behind my ramrod back, I cross my fingers for luck.

Sam owl-blinks.

The Ruler's lips twitch at the corners. “Are you already feeling a little housebound, Sherry?”

“Maybe a little,” I say.

“I do want to run over to school and see how this new code affects our robot's performance.” Thinking, she places a finger on her bottom lip. “You'll take your cell phone? It will only be the two of you? You'll order small cones and not ruin your appetites for dinner?”

I nod after each of her questions.

Sam's still owl-blinking.

“Okay, then.” The Ruler stands. “I'll drop you off at
Dairy Queen and pick you up after I've done a little robotic testing. I don't want you riding the bus so soon after breaking your wrist.”

That is such a mom statement. Like climbing on a bus and a broken wrist are even related. I smile. “Thank you.” With my good arm, I pull Sam to his feet and drag him, still stunned, through the front door.

The Ruler chitter-chatters about robotics for pretty much the entire drive. She really wants to figure out why the Saguaro bot let the Donner bot walk all over it at the practice competition. I wish I could tell her to let it go, that the Donner bot is now under control because Dylan's under control. But I can't.

She stops in front of Dairy Queen. “Is half an hour long enough?”

Actually, a little over five minutes is long enough. “Sure,” I say, “or even less.”

I'm pulling on the DQ door handle when Sam says, “What's going on, Sherry? I secretly follow you to a cemetery. We both end up grounded. But you're buying me ice cream? I don't get it.” He plants himself between me and the door. “I'm not going in till you spill.”

Ack. Eek. Ike.

Is it asking too much that I get this kid to his Real Time appointment?

I shrug, acting all nonchalant. “I just wanted out of the house, Sam. You're my excuse.”

“Is Josh really meeting you here, and I'm your cover?”

Talk about your suspicious eight-year-old. No, no, no. This isn't even about me and my boyfriend. Just hustle yourself to the back room, little brother, and you'll get to hang with Mom. Sure, you won't remember it. But a part of your brain won't forget it either.

I paste on a fake scowl. “Josh might show. But keep it to yourself.”

He smiles and scoots through the door. “Okay, but it'll cost you a large Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Blizzard.”

I think the same overly pregnant woman from last Friday is still standing in front of the Oreo Brownie Earthquake poster.

Once we have our treats, I herd Sam toward the rear of the restaurant, where we easily find a booth. Just like Mrs. Howard promised, it's empty.

I pick off a wedge of chocolate shell from my dipped cone.

With a grin, Sam dips his plastic spoon into his Blizzard.

My cone in my left hand, I use my right hand to fold a napkin into smaller and smaller squares.

With each fold, an incredibly cool feeling mushrooms inside me. I am giving Sam a gift. Which he doesn't even know about. And somehow that makes it even more amazing.

Cinnamon and sugar tickle my nose and Mrs. Howard hazily materializes beside me. “It's time, Sherry. You can wait at the front of the store.”

“Hey, Sam, I'm gonna get some water.” I stand.

He nods, all busy and noisy, scooping up his Blizzard.

I back away slowly, my eyes on his face. Mrs. Howard stays by me.

Sam's cheeks are puffy, full of his frozen treat, when the smell of coffee wafts into the back room. The bench seat across from him, where I was sitting, sinks a little. An invisible someone picks up the napkin I was fiddling with and continues folding it.

Sam startles and gazes up, like he heard his name. The spoon drops from his grasp. He beams. Hugely. You could turn off all the lights, and DQ would still be lit up.