Leah wants to fly along next to me, but I explain we need to try that when time isn’t so of the essence. “Leah,” I say, “a gust of wind could pick you up and blow you to Kansas. Who knows how you’ll do as a ghost in the big real world?”
“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, Sherry,” she says, “but don’t leave me locked up in your purse. It’s small and dark and there’s a smell.”
After zipping her in, I sling the bag over my shoulder, and Junie and I trot off toward the Metro.
We find seats at the back of the train. Across from us, a young guy sits on the dirty floor, engaged in an argument with someone in his head. This is so not Phoenix.
Junie yanks her notebook and a pen from her backpack and writes, How exactly are we going to ditch Leah? She passes me the paper and pen.
I don’t know, I scribble back. Now she’s had some freedom and wants to hang with us all the time.
Hang with YOU. Junie presses hard on the YOU, and the letters are thick.
’Cause I can talk to her. Please tell me my best friend isn’t jealous of a ghost.
Junie takes the notebook and pretty much writes an essay. It’s going to be tough enough convincing Detective Garcia that she needs to jump on board and take over the case the way we see it. But if Leah’s with us, you’re half paying attention to her. Then you’re listening to her comments and trying not to answer. Basically, you end up looking like a flake. She shakes her head and adds another line. We can’t take Leah to the Beverly Hills PD. Junie pauses, her pen poised above the page. Tell her we’re going for food.
Me? Looking like a flake? I’m not even going there. I think we should tell her the truth. We owe her that much. I hitch my purse up higher. She’s been a huge help in this case.
“Humph.” Junie shrugs.
“Junie,” I say, “you’ve been my best friend for forever.” I point to my purse. “Not coming between us,” I say. “But it doesn’t hurt to be nice.” I write sideways on the notebook, which is on Junie’s lap. She’s lonely. She lives miles from us. She’s out of our lives after this trip.
Junie nods slowly.
I look around. No one’s paying one drop of attention to us. No one’s wondering why two girls sitting side by side are passing notes back and forth. People are hooked up to earbuds or Bluetooths or the voices in their head. We’re in a group, but at the same time, we’re not. We’re in a compartment with lots of other commuters, but we’re also in our own private world.
Same thing with David and his teen gang. With a few copies of Fahrenheit 451 as camouflage, they’re meeting in a busy public library to plan burglaries.
In Los Angeles, they hide the secret stuff right out in the open.
The train pulls into Hollywood Station. We exit and head to the hotel.
“I’m going to grab some snacks from our stash in the room,” Junie says. “I’ll meet you back here.”
“Grab the sour Gummis,” I say, unzipping my purse.
A root beer scent rushes out. “Any chance you could invest in a backpack? Something a little roomier? And some air freshener,” Leah says. “And please turn down your phone. A text came in and about gave me a heart attack.”
“Leah, I am so not carrying a backpack everywhere I go.” I pull out my phone. There’s a text from my dad, checking in with us. “But I’ll change my phone to vibrate next time.” I text Dad back.
“Okay.” Leah claps, ready for action. “What’s next?”
“The Beverly Hills PD,” I say.
She squeals. “This is too exciting! A chance to meet up with real detectives!” She pauses. “Not that you’re not a real detective, Sherry. But at this point in my sleuthing career, I’m ready to deal with professionals.”
“Actually, Junie and I are going to speak to the detective on the case by ourselves.”
“What? You can’t do that! You wouldn’t be this far along without my insider knowledge!”
“Too true. You’ve been amazing, Leah,” I say. “But you can’t exactly talk to the detective. ’Cause you’ve got that whole ghost thing going, right?”
“I know I’m a ghost. I’m not a moron,” Leah snaps. “Obviously, you’ll talk for me. Tell the detective that I’m right there next to you. He can ask me anything, and you’ll pass on my answers.”
I put my hand up like a stop sign. “Leah, we need this detective to totally believe in our whole theory. Not to decide I’m some kind of, uh, flake from Phoenix who, uh, chats with ghosts. I’m sorry, but you have to stay here.”
The elevator doors open, and Junie’s walking over to me, a plastic grocery bag of treats clutched in her hand. “Let’s go.”
“Just give me a sec,” I say.
“Oh, I get it,” Leah says. “Now that I’ve shared my Hollywood knowledge, it’s all about you and Junie stealing the glory.”
“Is she still here?” Junie asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leah says. “Tell her I’m still here because this is where I live. You guys are the visitors.”
I stick my fingers in my ears and close my eyes. I count to ten, taking slow, even breaths. I open my eyes, grab the bag from Junie, then march to the door.
“What’re you doing, Sherry?” Junie says sharply.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” Leah asks.
I push on the door. “You two are stressing me out.” I step into a yellow patch of bright sunlight. “I’m going by myself.”
Luckily, I’m in Hollywood where dreams come true and where directors make sure everyone follows the script and events fall into place just as they should.
A checkered taxicab pulls up to the curb.
I hop in.