“How do we make them go away?”
We. He said we. As in the two of us. I’m part of a “we.”
I stared intently at a can of Diet Pepsi in the vending machine to help keep my expression neutral.
“It’s different with every spirit,” I said. “Plus they have to want to move on. Well, first, they have to realize that they’re dead. Actually, before that they have to realize you can see them. Oh, it’s complicated.”
We had taken cushions from the couch, which tended to consume people and make it impossible for them to stand back up when they wanted to, and were sitting on them on the floor below the window.
“No, I think I understand,” Ben said. “So we’re going to have to come up with a completely different plan for each of these ghosts.”
Oh. There was that “we” again.
“Yeah,” I said.
“How do you start?”
“You figure out everything you know about them in life. Lady Velma, for example. We know she’s a tour guide, obviously, and we know she’s stuck in the seventies.”
“Drag,” said Ben.
“Yeah. And Britches. I have a theory that he’s from Jacques Cartier’s time. I’m not sure what time period—”
“Sixteenth century,” said Ben.
I had forgotten Ben was a brain, due to my focus on the rest of him.
“And he’s looking for someone named Hochelaga. So that’s a place to start with him,” I said. “Beige Girl I have no idea. She could be from the sixties or from last year. She doesn’t speak, though I’m sure she knows I can see her. It’s hard to know what she wants.”
“Maybe if we can help Britches and Lady Velma move on, she’ll get the idea and offer us a clue,” Ben said.
“Exactly,” I said.
We. We. Wheee.
Sorry.
“And once we’ve figured out how to help them, we’ll have to find a way to get back on the bus when no one else is there without getting ourselves expelled.”
“Yeah, Jac’s mom doesn’t exactly belong to the ‘bake fudge and hug it out’ school of parenting. Or chaperoning,” I added.
“I hear Jac is like a prodigy level cellist,” Ben said.
I nodded, filled with pride.
“She is,” I said.
“I heard her last year, that one time that she played—remember? At that pre-dance talent show thing Shoshanna Longbarrow threw together.”
Oh, I remembered it okay. I lured Jac there under false pretenses knowing she hadn’t played her cello in a year, and tricked her into performing a duet with the ghost of a student who needed her old teacher to hear her in order to be set free. It occurred to me that I could tell Ben about it—tell him about all the things that had happened—the dark entity that had stalked Jac’s mom at the Mountain House, the lost boy in the abandoned house next door to mine.
But I was here with Ben now, with a bus downstairs rapidly filling with ghosts. Maybe the other stories were best left for another time.
“Wait, I think I have an idea, actually,” Ben said. “This person Britches is looking for. Hochelaga, right?”
I nodded.
“That might be a good place to start. Do you have wireless Internet?”
I shook my head. I didn’t have a laptop either, but it seemed pointless to get into that much detail.
“Okay, well, I do. I’m going to get online and do a little research about that time period. Google that name. Maybe I can come up with something.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. And it was, except for the fact that it would involve Ben going back to his room, where I was not allowed to follow. I needed a task, too, so Ben could see that I was a busy medium, not merely a lovesick eighth grader.
“I’m going to read through some of the handouts about the Biodome and the Olympic Complex,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get some insight into Lady Velma that way.”
“Great,” Ben said, flashing a grin that should definitely be qualified as a lethal weapon. “Let’s see if either of us can come up with something before final check-in.”
He was already standing. Raring to go.
Or raring to get away from me?
Stop it, I told myself. It was his idea to meet you here in the first place. Don’t be ridiculous.
“I won’t,” I said.
“Won’t what?”
Oh, great. Had I said that out loud? There was something worse than hearing voices. It was hearing your own voice, saying something you didn’t mean to say.
“Won’t give up till I’ve figured it out,” I said.
“That’s my girl,” Ben said. Then he turned on his heel and walked quickly toward his room.
My? Girl?
My head was swimming.
It’s only an expression. Stop planning your wedding, my inner voice commanded.
Then another inner voice immediately began singing “My Girl.”
Sometimes the inside of my brain is a really terrible place to be trapped.
I stood up slowly, still nursing a bit of a Ben-induced head rush. Then something truly hideous, something spine-tingling and 100 percent evil, loomed into view in front of me.
Brooklyn Bigelow.
“Talking to yourself?” she asked. “You and Cello Girl are a couple of freaks. Do you know what you get when you put two freaks together?”
“I don’t want to tax your math skills, Brooklyn,” I said. I held out my purse. “Here. I think there’s a calculator in here somewhere.”
She made an ugly face, on top of the ugly face she usually had.
“Rumor has it you got busted for going through people’s backpacks on the bus,” she said. “I guess when you can’t afford stuff of your own you’re tempted to steal from people who can.”
I knew she’d make it something bad.
“Actually, Ben and I didn’t see any back-packs on the bus,” I said, emphasizing Ben’s name.
“Everybody knows the truth about you, Kat. Everybody. Knows.”
“Enjoying the food in Montreal, are you?” I shot back. “Looks that way. Hey, listen, I could probably conjure up the spirit of a personal trainer for you, no problem. Get you some help with your muscle tone issues. Should I go ahead and do that for you? It’s no problem, really. I could have someone following you around 24/7.”
I wasn’t supposed to make threats like that, I know. It sort of violates the medium’s code of conduct. But the step back that Brooklyn took was so gratifying.
“Shut up,” she said. “You’re a sick person, you know that? Just like your mother.”
I pressed my lips together tightly as the blood rushed to my face. I had no snappy comeback for that. When Brooklyn brought my mother into things, I just saw red.
“I’ve been thinking about your mother, actually,” Brooklyn said. “Since I’ve been seeing her every day and stuff. I mean, I keep as far away from her as I can. Everybody does. But people can’t help noticing those disgusting old thrift store clothes she wears, and stuff. Not much money in the spook business, huh?”
I glared at her.
“That is my grandfather’s sweater.”
“What? Oh gosh, is your grandfather a medium, too? That is so, so sad. I actually feel really sorry for you, Kat. I mean, you can’t help being what you are, can you?”
“I guess that makes two of us, Brooklyn. What are you doing out here anyway? Oh, right, I remember now. You’re not welcome in Shoshanna’s circle right now. You know, once you’re out it can be very hard to get back in. Remember Lanie Bingham? Shoshanna kicked her out, and that was the end for her. She ended up in the math club,” I added meanly. “Before she transferred to another school, that is.”
“What makes you think I’m out?” Brooklyn said. Her eyes had gotten huge and dark, like a lemur I’d recently seen in Extreme Bush Babies on Animal Planet.
I hadn’t really thought that, actually. Only wondered about it after Brooklyn ended up sitting by herself on the bus after spilling the Kat and Ben story to Shoshanna. But judging by Brooklyn’s expression, I’d hit kind of close to home.
“Oh, everybody is saying that,” I lied. It was so easy to lie to Brooklyn. Something else I had to be careful about.
“Everybody as in who?” she asked. She looked more scared by this than she had by the prospect of a dead personal trainer being assigned to her.
“You know. Everybody,” I said. “Actually, I think they just feel really sorry for you,” I added, borrowing another one of Brooklyn’s lines.
“Yeah? Well, that’s ridiculous. Anyway, if there’s anyone people feel sorry for, it’s Shoshanna Longbarrow.”
“Is that a fact?”
I turned around. Shoshanna was standing behind me, in the doorway of the alcove. She was barefoot, wearing tiny low-riding jeans and a little Aeropostale T-shirt with a monkey on it. Her glossy dark hair hung perfectly straight around her face. Her pink lipstick was impeccably applied. Her expression was unreadable.
“I asked you a question, Brook. Why is everybody feeling really, really sorry for me?”
I looked over at Brooklyn, half amused and half embarrassed for her.
Well, maybe not half. She had brought it on herself, after all.
“No, Kat said that,” Brooklyn said suddenly. “I was just repeating it back to her.”
“That’s lame,” Shoshanna said. “You’re usually better a much better liar.”
“I’m not a… She’s the one who…”
“No, I’m done,” Shoshanna declared. “I am so done with you, Brooklyn.”
“Sho, let’s just go and—”
“Which word didn’t you understand? I’m done. That’s your cue to go away.”
Dang. I wasn’t even close to being a Satellite Girl, but I could feel the authority in Shoshanna’s voice. This girl was a born leader. At least, in a country of eighth graders.
Brooklyn made a sort of half-whine, half-protest. After a moment’s hesitation, she ducked her head and stormed past both of us. Shoshanna watched her go, shaking her perfect head.
“Whatever,” Shoshanna said. The word didn’t seem to be directed at me, or at anyone in particular. But the cans of Diet Pepsi in the vending machine looked like little silver soldiers standing at full attention.
“So,” she said, looking at me.
“So,” I repeated.
Shoshanna nodded, like I’d said something very deep and unusual. She rummaged around in her pocket, pulled out a Canadian dollar bill and some change, and inserted it in the soda machine. The machine accepted Shoshanna’s dollar on the very first try. Even the vending machines did her bidding.
Diet Pepsi in hand, Shoshanna turned toward me. I assumed she’d simply walk back to her room, but she stood where she was.
“So you and Ben,” she said after a moment.
I didn’t know where this was leading, so I just looked at her. I tried to keep my expression totally blank.
“Did they really bust you two on the bus?” Shoshanna asked.
She looked curious and almost sympathetic. So I nodded.
“That bites,” Shoshanna said. “Did you get detention or something?”
“No. We weren’t really doing anything. Just talking. It was no big deal. They basically let us off with a warning.”
“Cool,” Shoshanna said. “He’s nice, that guy Ben.”
“Yeah, he is,” I said.
“Cool,” Shoshanna repeated. “Anywayz. Catch you later, Kat.”
And she walked out of the room, clutching her Diet Pepsi while all the other unchosen cans watched jealously from the vending machine.
I really had no idea what had just gone on between me and Shoshanna Longbarrow.
But whatever it was, I couldn’t wait to tell Jac.
When I got back to the room, Jac was lying on her stomach, watching television from the bed. The floor was littered with blue and silver wrappers.
Before I could even open my mouth, Jac turned to me with a rapt expression on her face.
“They have the. Most. Amazing. Shows. In Canada.”
“Aren’t they the same as—”
Jac pointed at the television as if it were a case of Godiva chocolate.
“They have this program called Stargate,” she declared breathlessly. “It is the most outstanding thing I have ever seen. I am totally going to marry Colonel Jack O’Neill,” she added.
“Jac, they—”
“See, they’re in this secret Air Force base underground and there’s this Stargate you can dial like a phone and it makes a wormhole and it can send you anywhere in the universe to another planet with a Stargate!”
“But Jac—”
“Shhh! I can’t miss any of this. There’s a Stargate marathon on this channel all night, and I’m going to watch as much of it as I can stay awake for. We only have one more day in Canada, Kat.”
She looked suddenly glum. “I really don’t want to go home,” she added.
The boys of Stargate disappeared and were replaced with a box of laundry detergent. Jac’s face went blank. She looked odd—not like her usual self.
“Is something bugging you?” I asked. “Are you still mad at me?”
Jac sat up and fussed with the pillows, then lay back down again.
“I was never mad at you,” she said. “I’m just… ugh. Something happened I didn’t tell you about.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What?” Jac looked the same way she did when our mothers went out for coffee.
She sat up again, and put one of the pillows in her lap.
“My father kind of lost his job.”
“What? When?”
I had only met Jac’s father a few times, because he traveled a lot for his computer work, and when he was home he was usually napping or holed up in his study.
“He told my mother the night before we left for Montreal. I almost didn’t get to come, Kat. She wanted both of us to stay home. I think if the trip fee wasn’t nonrefundable, I wouldn’t be here.”
“Jac, I’m so sorry. What… what’s going to happen? What will this mean for you?”
“I have no idea,” Jac replied. “Nothing good, that’s all I know.”
“I’m really sorry,” I repeated, because I didn’t know what else to say. “I’m sure he’ll find another job soon, right?”
“I guess,” Jac said.
“He will,” I said.
“Anyway, that’s the mystery of our mothers having coffee solved. Knowing my mother, she probably won’t tell any of her friends what happened. But…”
“My mom is a sympathetic ear on this trip, but she’s not in her… in her circle back home.” I said.
Jac nodded.
“When we get back I guarantee you my mother will act like they never talked at all. That’s actually bugging me almost as much as the deal with my father.”
“Jac, you know my mom. She doesn’t get her feelings hurt over stuff like that—she’s used to it. People come to her hoping she can contact some departed relative, but then they pretend like they don’t know her in the supermarket because they’re embarrassed. She’s got a pretty thick skin.”
Jac looked like she wanted to say something, but didn’t.
The boys of Stargate reappeared on the television.
“They’re back!” she said, flopping down on her stomach again.
And because she was my best friend and I understood her so well, I knew Jac was done with the subject of her father and his job. That’s just the way Jac was—she liked to shut unpleasant things out, and act like they weren’t happening. My mother called it compartmentalizing. I resolved to keep a closer eye on my friend. But I’d also play it her way—the subject of her father was completely closed.
“I have to read about the Olympics,” I said. “Where are those booklets and handouts we got?”
Jac pointed toward a bag with her foot, then shushed me.
“Quiet,” she commanded. “Colonel O’Neill is talking.”
I got the bag, pulled out the contents, and settled on the other bed. Before I started reading, I glanced over at my friend.
“Hey, Jac? You know, they do show Stargate in the U.S., too.”
Jac let out a scream so loudly euphoric I doubt anyone needed a wormhole to hear it clear across the galaxy.