Stacey And The Haunted Masquerade (3 page)

had signed up for the committee.

I thought about ideas for decorations during homeroom (Ms. Levine had to call my name three times before I finally answered) and through all my morning classes. I was full of creative plans. For example, I thought we should steer away from the typical orange-and-black color scheme. Why be traditional? Why not use, say, red and purple?

It’s funny. Everybody (including me) is used to thinking of Claudia as the artist, the talented one. But I can be creative, too. It’s true that I can't draw or paint the way she can, but I know I have a strong sense of style. During social studies class, I suddenly remembered something that happened when I was in sixth grade, when I lived in Manhattan. My mom had a friend who was an interior designer, and one day she saw my room. She was very impressed when she found out that I had done all my own decorating (at that time I was into an Art Deco look), and she told my mom that I had a "good eye," and that I could be a designer like her when I grew up.

Maybe being on the decorating committee was going to be the start of a whole new direction for me!

I was still thinking about decorating ideas when I walked into English class, my second-to-last class of the day. I took my seat and

started to sketch out some plans for a fake gallows, which I thought would make a great set for the stage where the band would be playing. Mr. Fiske was taking attendance, so I didn't really need to pay attention yet. I was lost in my drawing when I felt somebody nudge me, and I turned just in time to see Amanda Martin toss a folded-up note onto my desk. I opened it and read it.

New guy? I hadn't noticed any new guy. But when I glanced around, I spotted him immediately. He was sitting right next to me, and when I looked at him he gave me a big smile. He was cute (but not nearly as cute as Robert), with straight blond hair and brown eyes. He wore a blue denim shirt and khakis, and he was leaning his chair back on two legs, looking totally mellow. I was impressed. I doubt I ever appeared that relaxed when I was new at SMS.

I turned Amanda's note over and wrote on the other side.

I tossed her the note just as Mr. Fiske was finishing up attendance. Amanda opened it,

read it, looked at me, and shrugged. I looked back at the new boy, and he smiled at me again. This time, he even added a wink. I felt myself blushing.

Just then, Mr. Fiske put down his attendance book and sat on the corner of his desk. "People, may I have your attention?" he asked.

"I can tell you want attention just by looking at your tie," cracked Rick Chow, who was sitting in the front row. Everybody laughed, including Mr. Fiske. He's the kind of teacher you can joke with.

"Like it?" he asked, looking down at his tie. Mr. Fiske is known for his silly ties, and this one was no exception. It was bright yellow, and it was covered with red punctuation marks: exclamation points, question marks, commas, you name it. Just the thing for an English teacher.

"Very tasteful," called out the new boy. "Simple, yet elegant."

Everybody cracked up again.

"Why, thank you, Gary," said Mr. Fiske. "You may be new in town, but obviously you've already spotted the best-dressed teacher at SMS." He gave the new boy a little bow. "Class, I'd like you to welcome Cary Retlin. Cary just moved here from — " he checked a card on his desk " — Oak Hill,

Illinois. Welcome to SMS, Gary."

Cary smiled. "Thanks," he said. "This seems like a cool school." He was still leaning back in his chair.

"Cool enough," said Mr. Fiske. "Now, for today we're going to do a little free reading while I meet with each of you privately to go over last week's quiz. Gary, if you need a book there are plenty on the shelves over there." He waved toward the back of the room.

Free reading time in Mr. Fiske's class is generally an excuse to hang out. Some kids really do read, but most of us use the time to trade gossip or talk about what movies we saw over the weekend. Mr. Fiske doesn't mind too much, as long as he knows we keep up with our reading at home.

I pulled out my book, but I couldn't concentrate with everybody around me talking. I noticed that Cary was already engaged in a whispered discussion about sports with some of the guys. He seemed completely at ease, talking and laughing and cracking jokes.

Mr. Fiske called me up to his desk and reviewed my quiz with me. I'd done pretty well — I missed only two questions — so it didn't take long. -As I returned to my seat, I saw that Cary was tipped back in his chair again. The kids around him were laughing as he read out

loud in a funny voice from the book he'd chosen.

Suddenly, just as I passed by him, Gary's chair tipped too far over, and dumped him onto the floor. The room was silent for a second as the other kids stopped talking and laughing, out of surprise. I let out a loud giggle. I just couldn't help myself. Cary glanced up at me, and an odd expression crossed his face, an expression I couldn't quite read. Was he angry? Were his feelings hurt?

I stopped giggling and held out my hand to help him up. "Are you okay?" I asked.

"I'm fine," he said. By then he was grinning again. He turned to face the rest of the class. "And the judges are holding up their score-cards," he said, pretending to speak into a microphone. "Retlin is receiving some pretty high marks for that dive! Eight point six, eight point seven, eight point four, and — this is amazing! — nine point seven from the Canadian judge! Retlin is in first place!" Cary held his hands over his head and acknowledged pretend cheers from a pretend audience. "Thank you, thank you."

"Mr. Retlin," said Mr. Fiske, in a warning tone.

Cary sat down, but not before he'd given me another smile and a wink. I shook my

head, as if to dear it. This guy was a real live wire. English class was definitely going to be more interesting from now on.

Later, after math class, I made a dash for the bulletin board. I couldn't wait to see who else had signed up for the decorating committee. As I moved closer to the sign-up sheets, I could see that a few names were listed after mine. I walked up to the board and started reading. "Ride Chow, Todd Long, Grace Blume — " So far, the list looked fine. My friends and I didn't used to like Grace much, but lately we've discovered that she can be okay. I peered closer at the last name on the list, which was written quickly and sloppily. And when I'd deciphered it, my heart sank. Cokie Mason. Great.

Cokie (who is Grace Blume's best friend) is probably my least favorite person at SMS. She's petty, small-minded, devious, and totally unscrupulous. (That’s one of Mr. Fiske's vocabulary words. It means "without scruples." Cokie wouldn't know a scruple if it bit her.) I know that description makes her sound more like a soap opera character than an eighth-grade girl, but it’s true. Cokie will stop at nothing to get what she wants, and the BSC has been "Cokified" more than once. Believe it or not, one time she even went so far as to try to steal Logan away from sweet, sensitive,

wouldn't-hurt-a-fly Mary Anne. (I could have smacked her for that.)

I turned away from the bulletin board, trying to fight my disappointment. I had been looking forward to the first meeting of the decorating committee, but now I wasn't so eager. Still, I had to make the best of it, and not let Cokie ruin things for me. After all, why give her the satisfaction?

Chapter 4.

"Welcome! I am the Gatekeeper!"

"Nice to meet you, Gatekeeper," said Abby, shaking Nicky's hand. "Still looking for that Keymaster, are you?"

"How did you know?" asked Nicky, Mallory's eight-year-old brother. He dropped the deep voice he'd put on when he answered Abby's knock at the Pikes' front door. He'd been imitating a character from Ghostbusters.

"I'm a CPG," said Abby matter-of-factly.

"A what?" asked Nicky.

"A CPG," repeated Abby. "A Certified Public Ghostbuster. I'd show you my badge, but I left it at home."

Nicky's eyes grew round. Then he turned and ran toward the living room. "Hey, guys! Guys!" he shouted. "Guess what?"

Abby turned to Mal, who had answered the door along with Nicky, and grinned. Mal grinned back. "He's impressed," she said. "They just watched Ghostbusters — again. I can't believe they're not tired of it yet." Then she turned and called out, "Hey, everybody! Come say hi to Abby."

It was a rainy, gloomy Saturday afternoon, which meant that the Pike home was crammed with bored kids who had been stuck inside all morning. Abby and Mal were sitting while Mr. and Mrs. Pike went to a wedding.

Now, Abby had already met the Pikes, but just barely. That’s why, Mal told us later, she was so impressed by the way Abby remembered all their names, plus something about each one of them.

"Hey, Jordan," she said, as one of Mal's ten-year-old brothers (there are three: they're identical triplets) barreled into the front hall. "How are the piano lessons going?"

"Okay, I guess," Jordan replied, just as the other two triplets came running in after him.

"Byron! Adam!" said Abby. "What’s up?"

"We just spotted a ghost!" exclaimed Byron, who was armed with a plastic ray gun.

"A huge one!" Adam added, brandishing his own weapon, which looked suspiciously like an old vacuum-cleaner hose.

"Any ectoplasmic residue?" Abby asked, without missing a beat.

"Tons!" said Adam. "We were slimed in a big way." He grinned, as if being slimed were something to be happy about. Then he and the other two ran off, shouting something about telekinetic activity.

No sooner had they left than Vanessa showed up, with Margo and Claire in tow. "Hi, Vanessa," Abby said. "Written any new poems lately?"

"Lots," said Vanessa, who's nine and wants

to be a poet (she's already written volumes and volumes of verse). "Want to hear the one I'm working on today?" she asked. "It’s called "The Haunting of Pike House.' It’s going to be an epic, but so far it’s only three pages long. It starts off like this: 'Ghosts and goblins, witches and spooks, the Pike house has all kinds of kooks — ' "

"Make her stop!" cried Margo, covering her ears. "I already heard it five times, and I'm sick of it!"

"You're not going to throw up, are you, Margo?" asked Abby. Margo, who is seven, has a weak stomach.

"Not if she quits reading that dumb poem," Margo said.

"I like it," Claire piped up.

"That’s because you love witches and ghosts," said Abby, who had heard about the way Claire loves to dress up in her witch's costume. Claire is five, the youngest of the Pike kids.

"Yeah! Ghosts!" Claire cried. "I ain't afraid of no ghosts," she sang, mimicking the deep voice of the guy who sings the Ghostbusters theme song.

Mal glanced at Abby and rolled her eyes. "They're all obsessed," she said with a sigh. "I can't seem to escape that movie."

"Well, why fight it?" asked Abby. "Maybe today's the perfect day to do some real ghostbusting."

"Yea!" shouted Vanessa.

"Can we?" begged Margo.

"Ghostbusters!" yelled Claire, so loudly that her four brothers ran in to see what was up.

"What's going on?" asked Nicky.

"I have a strong feeling that this house needs to be ghostbusted from top to bottom," said Abby.

"Yea!" yelled Byron.

"Let’s do it!" shouted Adam.

"Who you gonna call?" Jordan chanted.

"GHOSTBUSTERS!" yelled all the kids at once.

"Okay, okay, let's calm down just a little," said Abby, grinning. "First, let’s divide up into teams. Mal, if you'll take the younger kids, I'll take Vanessa and the triplets."

"I want to be with Adam and Jordan and Byron!" yelled Nicky immediately.

"And I want to be with my sisters!" said Vanessa. "Who wants to do ghostbusting with you stinky old boys?"

"Okay, so you two can switch teams," said Abby, unruffled. "Now, I think Mal's team can search the basement and the first floor, and my team can check out the attic and the upstairs. Does that sound good?"

"Perfect," said Mal, who was enjoying the way Abby had taken charge. She told us later that Abby seemed to have found the perfect balance between being a baby-sitter and a pal. She was ready to have a great time playing with the kids, but she was also careful to organize activities and to keep the situation from becoming too wild.

"Let’s head out," said Byron, shouldering his ray gun.

"Hold on, buddy," said Abby. "Not so fast. First, we'd better do an equipment check. Does each team have their ghost detector all charged up?"

The kids looked at each other, bewildered.

"And what about your collection units?" she asked.

The kids looked even more confused. Abby grinned. "Don't have any?" she asked. "No problem. Who got new shoes for school this fall?"

Byron, Nicky, Margo, and Claire raised their hands.

"Still have the boxes?" Abby asked.

They nodded.

"Run and find them," she said. "We'll have our equipment ready in a second."

Sure enough, it didn't take long to transform the shoeboxes with markers and stickers, and attach straps made of string, using plenty of

tape. As soon as they were finished, Abby helped two kids on each team put the boxes on, backpack style. "Cool!" she said. "Now we're all set. Let’s see which team can catch more ghosts. Ready? Go!" She dashed up the stairs, leading her team.