Rumorz
All the celebrity gossip you need (and then some)!
POLL: Which former host would YOU most like to see guest star on Passport to Paranormal? by Shelly Mathers
- Carlos Ortiz. Miss those dimples!
- Bernice Boyd. Her historical insight actually made the show educational!
- Emily Rosinski. Give me the drama!
- Other: __________
Comments (1)
[The Real Kat Sinclair]
You won’t care about any of these idiots once you meet me.
“I’M sorry!”
I gasped, sitting upright in bed. Blood rushed in my ears as I gripped the sheets, my palms sweaty. The clock read 8:28—two minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I had a vague memory of Dad’s alarm going off a few hours earlier.
Throwing the comforter aside, I hurried over to the desk and stared at the laptop, my dad’s notes, his calendar, my camera. What was I even looking for? I pressed my fingers to my eyes, trying to think. I’d had a dream that I’d done something to make Dad upset. I’d woken myself up apologizing to him. But for what?
Exhaling slowly, I gazed around the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. It had just been a dream. A nightmare.
I showered and dressed quickly, pulling my hair back and brushing my teeth without looking in the mirror. It wasn’t until I grabbed my camera that I realized what was missing from the desk.
Dad’s contract.
Relief flooded through me, and I actually laughed out loud. He must have signed it and brought it to the Fright TV meeting this morning. Finally.
I grabbed my coat and headed to the lobby to meet Oscar, feeling ten times better than I had when I’d woken up. No more stress dreams about Dad leaving P2P and making us move back to Ohio. Maybe I’d actually get some decent sleep tonight.
The Montgomery apartment building took up almost half a block and loomed high overhead, all sparkling white stone and gray marble gargoyles. A doorman stood stiffly at the entrance, pulling the gold-and-glass door open after we gave him our names.
“The Coopers are expecting you.”
“Holy . . .” Oscar trailed off, gazing around the lobby. “I knew they were rich. But I didn’t know they were this rich.”
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets. “Maybe because Jamie and Hailey don’t, you know . . .” I stopped as a woman descended the grand staircase at the far end of the lobby. She looked like she was on her way to a photo shoot: thigh-high leather boots, gray sweater dress, and a dark yellow cloak with an almost laughably enormous hood. Oscar and I watched her cross the lobby, the heels of her boots clacking loudly.
“Because they don’t look like that?” Oscar finished.
“Yeah. I bet their mom does, though.” Over two weeks in New York, and we still hadn’t met Jamie and Hailey’s mother. Apparently, being the editor-in-chief of Head Turner fashion magazine meant you spent a lot of time traveling and attending fancy events without your kids. Hailey had complained about their parents’ busy work schedules on more than one occasion. Although at least their dad brought them on some of his trips.
Oscar shook his head. “Man, I wish they’d asked us over sooner. We could’ve spent the last two weeks hanging out here instead of at the hotel.”
“Yeah,” I said, pressing the up button on the elevator. Honestly, I’d thought it was kind of weird Jamie and Hailey hadn’t invited us to their apartment until the vlog came up. It was probably just my imagination, but it was almost as if they hadn’t wanted us to see where they lived for some reason.
As we waited, Oscar glanced around and pointed to another elevator on the opposite wall. The door was an ornate brass gate, and instead of a digital panel showing the floors there was a brass sign sticking out just over the doors that said “Floors: 1st to 28th” in old-fashioned script.
“That must be it,” he said. “The haunted one.”
It had been Hailey’s idea to record the next episode of our vlog, Graveyard Slot, in her own building. She swore the manually operated elevator the building’s owners had kept during renovations was haunted by the ghost of its first elevator operator. Oscar and I had agreed to film here, because it was a good story. And more importantly, all of the other supposedly haunted venues we’d looked into—theaters, bars, hotels—had wanted to charge us a fee to film an investigation there. A really, really high fee.
“Well, yeah,” Mi Jin, the show’s intern, had said when Oscar and I griped to her about it. “You don’t think all the places we’ve filmed just let us do it for free, do you?”
Luckily for us, the manager of the Montgomery, had said yes when the Cooper kids had asked if they could take some video of the building’s elevator for a vlog, free of charge. Then again, you’d have to be a serious miser to charge your tenants to film their own elevator in a place like this. The Coopers’ apartment probably cost thirteen times whatever our rent was for the house in Chelsea.
Oscar and I rode up the elevator in silence. He kept yawning while I checked my backpack for the tripod. I thought about asking if he was still having trouble sleeping, but decided not to. Clearly he was, and I didn’t want to make him cranky right before we filmed. I had enough anxiety of my own to deal with—or at least I would once I turned on my Elapse. Ever since I dropped it in a pool at the site of a residual haunting in Brazil, it had carried the same feelings of nervousness and panic that lingered around that campsite. Not exactly a feature I wanted in a camera, but the Elapse had been a gift from my grandma. And it was the nicest thing I’d ever owned. Even if I could afford a new one—which I definitely couldn’t—I hated the thought of giving up this one.
“Okay, 2206 . . . there it is.” I led the way down the hall, suddenly nervous for a whole other reason. I knew Mr. Cooper wasn’t home because of that meeting at Fright TV . . . but what if Mrs. Cooper was here? I knew exactly two things about Jamie and Hailey’s mom: She worked in fashion and she hated Ouija boards. Which pretty much guaranteed there was no way she’d like me.
Not that I should care. But Jamie and I were . . . well, friends. Friends who went on dates. Had he told his mom about that? What if he introduced me as his girlfriend? I wasn’t, at least not yet . . . was I? Did I want to be?
The door flew open, and a woman exclaimed: “Kat! Oscar! So nice to finally meet you!”
I gaped at her. Which was really rude, but I couldn’t help it. This was not how I’d pictured Mrs. Cooper. She was wearing torn jeans and a green flannel shirt. No makeup, no jewelry. She looked young—like, maybe even Mi Jin’s age, although that wasn’t possible. Definitely way younger than Mr. Cooper, though.
And she had brown skin, like me.
That’s what was making my brain short-circuit. Because my mom and grandma were white, and I’d been on the other side of this situation a hundred times. Watching people blink in polite confusion, looking back and forth between us, trying to work out if we were really related. Sometimes it was funny to watch them act all awkward. But it got old.
I didn’t want to do the same thing right now. So I stuck out my hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cooper.”
Her eyes widened. Then she burst out laughing.
“No, I’m Rachele!” she exclaimed. “Or, wait—oh, you were kidding! Jamie keeps talking about how funny you guys are. Mrs. Cooper,” she said, still giggling. “Yeah, as if. Come on in!”
I exchanged a glance with Oscar and was relieved to see he looked as confused as I was. We’d known Jamie and Hailey for about three months now, and I was pretty sure they’d never mentioned anyone named Rachele.
We followed her inside, and Oscar coughed loudly—to cover his surprise, I assumed. I had to consciously close my mouth before Rachele saw me gaping again. Because I’d never been in an apartment like this.
It wasn’t particularly large, but the massive windows, high ceilings, and mirrored cabinets gave the impression of a ton of space. The wood floors were polished so much I could see my own reflection, and the sofa and armchairs were so bright-white I found it hard to believe anyone had ever actually sat on them. A massive rectangular chandelier hung overhead, hundreds of strands of crystals catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows. I spotted the kitchen on the other side of the room and was momentarily surprised at how small it was . . . and then I realized it was a bar, complete with a sink, a small refrigerator, and a shelf lined with all sorts of bottles, along with fancy-looking glasses in all shapes and sizes.
“I think the kids are in Jamie’s room,” Rachele said, already heading down the hallway to the right. “Make yourselves at home!”
I waited until she was out of sight before turning to Oscar. His eyes were bugging out of his head.
“What?” he said, gesturing around. “What?”
I giggled. “So I guess your place in Oregon isn’t like this?”
“Um, no?” Oscar pointed at the wall of windows. The view was overwhelming; we were high enough to see all the way across Central Park to the buildings on the other side. “This is . . . I mean, is your house anything like this?”
I snorted. “No. It’s bigger, but it’s . . .” I pictured the scratchy blue carpet, the beige couch we’d had since I was six, the wallpaper along the staircase that was so scuffed up that the diamond pattern was indistinguishable in some places. “Well, kind of a dump, compared to this. Although weirdly enough, I do have that exact chandelier in my bedroom.”
Oscar’s lips twitched, but he nodded solemnly. “What a coincidence. I’ve got that statue in my bathroom.” He pointed to a large figurine on the fireplace mantel of a woman riding a horse. “Right on top of the toilet . . . wait.”
There was a second of silence as we both realized the statue-woman was completely naked. Then we started laughing. The silent kind, where you’re trying so hard to hold it in, tears leak out of your eyes instead. I heard footsteps and swatted Oscar’s arm, trying to get myself under control, too.
“You’re here!” Hailey squealed, flying across the room and tackling me in a hug. As soon as she pulled away, I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat.
“It’s only been two days since—oof!” Oscar winced as Hailey threw her arms around him. My rib cage ached in sympathy. Hailey’s hugs were no joke.
“Hey, guys,” Jamie said. He and Rachele joined us, and although he was smiling, I couldn’t help noticing he looked a little more subdued than usual. Like he was nervous.
“Hi!” I said a little too brightly, purposefully turning away from the statue. “Your apartment is amazing.”
“Really amazing,” Oscar added, his voice cracking a bit. Giggles bubbled up in my throat again, and I pressed my lips together, horrified. I couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Jamie’s and Hailey’s feelings. Not that Oscar and I had said anything mean about their apartment . . . but somehow, I knew that if they’d heard what we’d been saying, they wouldn’t find it as funny.
Jamie’s cheeks were pink. “Thanks. So, you guys ready?”
“What’s the rush?” Rachele exclaimed. “Oscar, Kat, do you guys want a drink? Snack? We’ve got carob bars—they’re gluten-free—and I think there’s some prosciutto rolls in the fridge . . .”
“That’s okay,” I said quickly. Jamie’s expression was even more awkward now, and even though I wasn’t looking at Oscar, I had the strong sense he was trying to hold back more laughter. Probably because I was, too. “We should really start filming. But thanks!”
“Any time!” Rachele followed us to the front door. “Well, I hope I get to spend more time with you guys later. Between the show, your blog, and everything Jamie and Hailey have told me, I feel like I know you both so well!”
She waved, then closed the door, leaving the four of us out in the hall.
“She’s really nice,” Oscar said as we headed for the elevator. “So, um . . . who is she?”
Now even Hailey looked a little uneasy. “She’s our nanny.”
“Oh! I didn’t . . .” I hesitated. A nanny? I thought that was only for really little kids. But saying that out loud seemed rude.
Oscar broke the awkward silence. “Like Mary Poppins?” he joked, and Jamie and Hailey looked even more uncomfortable. Oscar cast me a worried look as Jamie pressed the down button for the elevator. “I was just kidding . . .”
“You guys never mentioned her before,” I said lightly. “She seems really cool!”
“She is,” Jamie replied, not quite meeting my eyes. “Our parents hired her a few years ago, when things started getting really busy at both their jobs. They’re not home a lot.”
“It probably seems so dumb to you guys,” Hailey added, stepping onto the elevator. “You’re both traveling all over the world, doing all this crazy stuff, and our parents don’t even trust us to make our own dinner or get to school by ourselves.”
“It’s not dumb!” I said quickly. “Besides, my dad can be really strict, too. Remember what happened in Crimptown, when I saw Sonja? Dad was so mad after that, he and Lidia said we couldn’t even watch them film the next episode.”
“But you did anyway,” Hailey said, her expression equal parts admiration and jealousy. “You snuck out of the hotel and went all the way out to that prison, even though you knew Emily was probably there. You guys are really brave.”
Now Oscar looked uncomfortable. “And really stupid. She attacked us.”
“And you should’ve heard the huge lecture my dad gave me after that,” I said. “He almost quit the show, he was so upset!”
“Yeah, Aunt Lidia was seriously considering making me move back in with my other aunt,” Oscar said, making a face. “Which would’ve meant going back to my old school. Ugh.”
Jamie finally looked up. “But instead, they put you both on the show,” he pointed out with a grin. “So now it’s your actual job, sneaking around haunted places.”
I laughed. “Okay, true—but we’re literally not allowed to take one step away from the group without an adult coming with us.”
The elevator doors slid open. Hailey led the way toward the manually operated elevator across the lobby, Oscar right behind her. Jamie tugged my arm, and we hung back.
“Did you tell Oscar the plan?” he asked. To my relief, he didn’t look embarrassed anymore.
“Not yet,” I said. “He needs to focus on hosting, and trying to contact the doorman’s ghost. If I can’t do this thoughtography thing, this still has to be a decent episode. I’ll tell him when we’re finished.”
After we’d left the museum, Jamie had suggested I try projecting the Thing into the video for Graveyard Slot. He figured if I could control it, then that meant I could get rid of it. Neither of us was sure exactly how, but we’d worry about that later.
“Oscar! Kat!”
The four of us stopped and stared at the woman stalking across the lobby, another half a dozen people hurrying along in her wake. Behind them, the doorman was watching closely, his eyes narrowed.
“Do you know her?” Jamie whispered, and I shook my head. She was tall, blond, way too tanned for January, and totally unfamiliar. Beaming, she stuck out her hand at Oscar, who shook it, looking completely bewildered.
“Shelly Mathers, Rumorz. It’s so good to finally meet you!” Her teeth gleamed like Tic Tacs.
Oscar’s expression cleared. “Oh! Hi, Ms. Mathers!” Already, I could see him turning on his TV-show personality. While I kind of hated being on TV, Oscar loved it. He’d even done a phone interview with Shelly back when we were in South America.
“Oh, it’s just Shelly, please.” She gripped my hand next, and I winced. “Kat Sinclair, at last. And you must be Jamie and Hailey Cooper!”
“Yeah.” Jamie kept his hands in his pockets and took a protective step in front of his sister. He regarded Shelly with a cool, almost suspicious look that surprised me. Usually Jamie was nice to pretty much everybody.
Shelly, apparently unfazed, gestured to the people behind her. They all looked younger than her, maybe in college or even high school, and I realized a few of them were wearing P2P hats or shirts. “Apparently I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t resist meeting you all. I assume you don’t mind?” she added, aiming her blinding smile at me. “You did mention on your blog you’d be filming the next episode of Graveyard Slot today. Can’t blame your fans for taking the opportunity to meet you!”
I forced myself to smile back, but my stomach was tense. “I didn’t mention where we were filming, though. How’d you find us?”
“Oh, it was easy enough to find you.” Shelly pulled out her smartphone, tapped it a few times, then held it out to record us. “So! Can you give us a little inside scoop? What kind of spooky stuff happens here at the Montgomery?”
She was looking at Oscar, as was everybody else. He was the host of our vlog, while I did all the behind-the-camera work. And normally, Oscar ate up this kind of stuff. But now he looked uncertain.
“Well,” he said, glancing hesitantly at Jamie. “See that elevator over there? It’s the original, built in 1910 and preserved during this building’s renovation a few decades ago.” His voice grew stronger, more confident. “In 1947, there was a massive blizzard. Some of the gears froze, and the elevator operator was trapped between the top two floors. Before they could rescue him, the cable snapped and the car plummeted all the way to the basement. According to”—he faltered for a moment, glancing at Hailey—“some tenants, the operator’s ghost still haunts the elevator.”
A few of the fans had pulled out their phones, too, and I realized they were all recording and taking photos. My skin prickled, and my palms felt damp. I hated being on camera. And these people seemed perfectly nice, but it was a little creepy knowing they’d read about this on my blog and then come here just to see us. Not to mention Shelly. I shot a nervous glance at Jamie, but he was still glowering at the reporter. Hailey had stepped away from him and started gesturing at the doorman, who nodded and pulled out his walkie-talkie.
Shelly didn’t notice. “Fascinating story,” she was saying. “Can’t wait for the vlog! So I hear you’re taking off for China next?” Oscar nodded, but Shelly went on before he could say anything. “And then the finale will be in South Korea. Rumor has it you’ve got a big guest star planned. Any chance you can give my readers a little hint as to who that might be?”
“We honestly haven’t heard anything about a guest star,” Oscar said. “Sorry.” I squinted at him; he’d gone pale, his TV personality totally vanished.
“Aw.” Shelly pouted in a way she obviously thought was cute. “Well, feel free to drop me an e-mail if you hear anything. And speaking of rumors, Kat, is it true your dad isn’t coming back next season? The old host curse back in action, huh?”
Suddenly, all eyes—and phone cameras—were on me. Anxiety washed over me in a quick wave, and I clenched my fists.
“Actually, my dad turned in his contract to Fright TV this morning. Did you hear that rumor? Or did you start it?”
My voice came out way more aggressive than I’d intended. But I couldn’t help it. I’d never really liked Shelly Mathers’s articles, but this was different. She was cornering us into an interview without even asking if we wanted to give one. There was no way she’d ever do that with Dad or the rest of the crew . . . because they were adults.
They would be furious when they found out she’d done this. Somehow, that realization made me feel a little braver.
Shelly’s eyes hardened, although she kept smiling. “Oh, Kat, I’m so glad to hear that. We’d hate to lose Jack Sinclair, wouldn’t we?” she added over her shoulder, and several of the fans nodded fervently. “So I guess we don’t need to worry about the fact that he’s currently discussing joining Live with Wendy as co-host?”
I just stared at her, mouth hanging open. Live with Wendy was a local talk show that filmed in Cincinnati—only about an hour from Chelsea. But Dad hadn’t said a word to me about a job offer. Shelly was just making stuff up. She must be.
Except . . . why would a reporter in New York know anything about a talk show back in Ohio?
“He’s . . . I . . . no.” My tongue felt too thick in my mouth. “He’s not leaving Passport to Paranormal.”
Eyebrows raised, Shelly waved her phone. “Good to know. I’ll quote you on that.”
“Um . . .” I shook my head, vaguely panicked. “I’d rather not—”
“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted, and we all turned to see a security guard standing behind the fans. She was a good head shorter than Shelly, but stared her down with a look so fierce, the fans around her all took a step back. Shelly smoothly pocketed her phone as she turned around.
“Yes?”
“I’m going to have to ask you all to leave,” the security guard said. “Only tenants and their guests are allowed in this building.”
Shelly gave a little laugh that made the hairs on my arms stand on end. “Oh, fine. I’m sure I’ll catch them later.” She winked at Oscar before following the fans to the exit, where the doorman was waiting. Oscar’s charming on-camera smile was back, but he watched her warily. One of the fans, a teenage girl about my height wearing a T-shirt that said #TeamSamland, lingered behind. She glanced hesitantly at the security guard before holding out a glossy photograph and a Sharpie to me.
“Sorry, I just . . . I was wondering if I could get your autograph?”
My face burned. “What? Seriously?”
“Yeah!” She waved the photograph, which I recognized from the P2P website. It was a promo shot the cast had taken on the boardwalk in Rotterdam, right after Dad had joined. “I’ve been watching Passport since it started, but it’s so much better with you and Oscar. And I love your blog!”
The security guard still had her eye on Shelly’s retreating back, but she made a gesture at me that said “go ahead.” I took the paper and pen, unable to think of a reason to say no. “Oh. Thanks.” I scribbled my name on the bottom right corner, and she bounced up and down on her toes.
“Thank you so much! Oscar, can I get yours, too?”
“Sure!” Oscar said eagerly, taking the photo and marker from me. “What’s your name?”
“Laurie!”
I watched as Oscar wrote For Laurie: Believe! Oscar Bettencourt in big, sprawling script, and rolled my eyes. Of course Oscar had perfected an autograph. I wondered if he’d practiced it before.
“Hey, Kat,” Laurie said. “What did you mean about meeting the real you?”
I blinked. “Huh?”
She took the photo and marker from Oscar. “You know, that comment you left on Shelly’s poll this morning? The one about who people wanted to see as a guest star on the finale? Something like ‘you won’t care once you meet the real me’?”
“Sorry, I don’t—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” the security guard interjected, and Laurie blushed.
“Sorry! Thank you! It was great to meet you both!”
She hurried across the lobby and out the doors, where her friends were waiting. Shelly was nowhere in sight.
“Thanks, Kim,” Jamie said to the security guard, who smiled at him.
“No problem. I’m going to have to tell your parents about this, okay?” Kim glanced at the door again. “What was that reporter’s name again?”
“Shelly Mathers.” Hailey made a face. “From Rumorz. I liked her better before I met her in person.”
I glanced at Oscar, who had gone silent after Laurie left. He was the one who’d kept reaching out to Shelly, agreeing to her interviews. But clearly this little incident had made even him uncomfortable. After Dad and Lidia found out, there was no way they’d ever agree to more Rumorz interviews.
My stomach clenched as I remembered something else. I’d told Shelly my dad definitely wasn’t leaving the show. I’ll quote you on that. But what if it wasn’t true? What if she published it, and it turned out my dad actually was taking some job in Ohio?
No way, I told myself firmly. He would never keep something that huge from me. And besides, his contract had been gone this morning. It was fine. I had nothing to worry about.
“Kat? Ready?”
Jamie’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I realized Oscar and Hailey were already heading for the elevator. “Oh! Yeah, coming.”
I pulled out my Elapse as I walked, trying to focus on the Thing. But I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d told Shelly Mathers. If she was going to publish what I’d said, I had to warn my dad. Which meant we were finally going to have the conversation we’d been avoiding about our plans after the season finale.
“It’ll be fine,” I told Oscar as we hurried down the street, my voice muffled in the scarf I’d wrapped around half my face. The wind had picked up, and every bit of exposed skin stung from the cold. “Once I get it edited, it’ll be a good episode.”
Oscar shrugged noncommittally, but I could tell he was disappointed. Our attempts to record any sort of paranormal activity in the Montgomery’s elevator had been a total bust—not so much as a flickering light. Even Oscar was off his game, stumbling over the backstory and asking the elevator operator the same question twice in a row. The confrontation with Shelly Mathers must have gotten to him.
It had definitely gotten to me. I barely thought about the Thing the whole time. No chance of any thoughtography, not when I was so busy worrying about talking to my dad.
“Hey, why’d you look all freaked out when Shelly mentioned a guest star?” I asked, and Oscar’s head jerked up.
“What? No I didn’t.”
“You did,” I said, giving him a weird look. “And you do right now, too. What’s going on?”
He pressed his lips together. “I don’t know. Do you think there really is one and we don’t know about it?”
I shrugged, pulling open the door to our hotel. “Maybe. So?”
“Well, some of the fans in the forums think maybe—”
“Kat.”
My dad stood in the center of the lobby, and at the sound of his voice, I jumped.
“Hi!” I said, pulling off my hat and scarf. “Everything okay?”
But clearly it wasn’t. Dad’s arms were crossed, his mouth was set in a thin line, and—I squinted—yeah, his cheek was twitching. His patience timer, Grandma called it.
My heart began thumping painfully against my rib cage. Somehow, Shelly must have already published something in the last two hours. This was exactly why Oscar and I weren’t supposed to give interviews without someone else from the cast present.
“She ambushed us,” I blurted out. “She showed up at Jamie and Hailey’s building—a security guard came and kicked her out! It wasn’t our fault, we—”
Dad’s expression rapidly changed from upset to alarmed. “Wait, hold up. What are you talking about?”
“Shelly Mathers,” I said. “From Rumorz.”
“She didn’t even ask if she could interview us,” Oscar added. “She just started recording and asking questions. Just for a minute or two, then the security guard made her leave.”
Dad’s jaw tightened, and for a moment he didn’t say anything. “Oscar, Lidia’s up in your room,” he said at last. “Will you go tell her about this, please?”
Oscar nodded and headed for the elevators. Dad turned to me.
“I’m sorry, Kat.” His voice was softer now, and my shoulders relaxed. “Fright TV assured us the media knew its boundaries when it came to you and Oscar, but apparently not. We’ll take care of this so it won’t happen again.”
“Thanks.” I swallowed hard. “There’s something I need to tell you, though. She said . . . she said she heard a rumor you weren’t coming back next season, so I—I know I shouldn’t have said anything, but she even mentioned the host curse and . . . and well, that’s all garbage, right? So I told her you were definitely coming back.”
Dad didn’t say anything, just watched me. And now I was really nervous, because the patience timer had stopped, and I couldn’t read this expression. Not angry. Not alarmed. Not confused. But something close to all three.
“I mean, you are, right?” My voice rose a little. “The contract was gone this morning, so you turned it in. Right?”
Dad’s forehead wrinkled, and he pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. “Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I got back to our room after the meeting and found this under my pillow.”
I peered in the bag. It was filled with shredded paper, all ripped up like homemade confetti. And there were words printed on each strip in small black font. Words like network and warranties and agreement.
“Is that . . . your contract?” I stared up at him. “You tore it up? Why did you do that?”
Dad squeezed his eyes shut briefly, like he had a headache. “Come on, Kat. You’re too old for games like this.”
“What?” My head buzzed with confusion, and I had a flash of déjà vu. My dream. I’d dreamed about this last night, about Dad being angry with me for doing something.
For destroying something.
“You think I did that?” I whispered.
“Well, I didn’t,” he replied. “Housekeeping didn’t visit our room today. And no one else has a key. Who did it, if it wasn’t you?”
I gazed at the shredded contract, my eyes and throat burning. It hadn’t been on the desk when I’d woken up. Whoever shredded it had done it after Dad left, while I slept just a few feet away. And I knew who it was. What it was.
The Thing wasn’t just lurking in mirrors anymore. It was up to something.
Dad was still watching me. I felt trapped. There was no lie I could tell that he’d believe—but would he believe the truth?
“It was . . .” I paused, swallowing. “I think it was a . . . ghost. No, listen,” I went on hurriedly when his brows arched in disbelief. “I’ve been noticing that my stuff keeps getting moved around, like my camera, my notes for history lessons. And I’ve . . . I’ve seen it.”
“Seen what?”
“Um . . .” I couldn’t do this. Dad was already looking at me like he feared for my sanity, and I hadn’t even gotten to the crazy stuff yet. “Like a . . . figure. A ghost. I don’t know!” I yelled, suddenly frustrated. “Just something, okay? It’s following me and messing with me and it tore up your contract, not me!”
All traces of anger and frustration were gone from Dad’s face. “Kat, honey,” he said, his expression so filled with concern it made my throat tighten. “I didn’t realize . . .” He leaned down so he was at eye level with me. “We’ve experienced some scary stuff since we joined this show, haven’t we? And I know you love being scared, but . . . maybe it’s been a little too much.”
“What?” I gaped at him. “No, it’s not that, I’m not scared.” But the wobble in my voice betrayed me, and tears started to spill over. “I’m not scared,” I repeated anyway. “That’s not what this is about.”
“We don’t have to keep doing this,” Dad said gently. “We can go back to Ohio, Kat. It’s okay.”
I couldn’t believe this. “Are you trying to punish me?”
Dad blinked and straightened up. “I’m trying to help you, Kat.”
“By threatening to make me move back to Chelsea?” I wiped my eyes furiously. “You know I want to stay with the show. I’m not scared, and I didn’t rip up your—”
“Jack?” We turned to see Jess in the elevator, holding the doors open and looking at Dad expectantly. “I’ve been texting you—that conference call starts in a minute.”
“Be right there!” Dad faced me again, lowering his voice. “Kat, stick around the hotel for now, okay? Maybe get some rest. I’ll check in on you in an hour.”
I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I just nodded. Dad headed for the elevator, and I sank down onto the lobby’s sofa.
Dad hadn’t been angry, and he hadn’t thought I was lying. That should’ve been a comfort. But he thought I was scared. Like being on a ghost hunters show actually frightened me . . . not just that, but that I was so freaked out I thought a ghost was haunting me.
He thought I was crazy. And I hadn’t even told him the full truth about the Thing. If he thought the solution to me seeing a ghost was to send me back to Ohio, what would he do if I told him I’d created a ghost that was another version of myself?
Have me committed, probably. I didn’t want to lie to my dad. But the truth hadn’t worked, either. I’d have to fix this without his help.
Trouble was, I had no idea where to begin.