When you’re unathletic, something as simple as climbing on a bike can trip you up.
Instead of my leg arcing over the bike seat, my foot jams against it. Hard. I tumble backward, twisting my body around to land on my front. I stick my hands out to break the fall.
Ouchie ouchie mama.
Best-case scenario: I have broken only one wrist.
Worst-case scenario: I have broken both wrists, both legs, both hips, and all my fingers and toes.
Junie drops her bike and sprints over to me. “Are you okay?”
I explain the two scenarios to her.
All doctorish, she orders me to stand and walk and wiggle my fingers and toes. Quickly. Because a ghost-stalker is on the way. Because the clock is ticking closer and closer to midnight.
When we get to the left wrist, I gasp and whimper.
“I bet it’s broken,” Junie says. “It’s swelling and your hand’s twisted kind of funny. At least it’s your left; you can still take the science test.”
With my right hand, I press on my left wrist, massaging it feather-gently. I yelp. “This is the worst pain of my entire life.” My eyes swim in tears. “No way I can ride my bike. No way I can even ride on the back of yours. What’re we going to do?”
“Can you smell Dylan yet?” Junie asks.
I stick my nose in the air and sniff. “No.”
“Okay. You stay here. And sit.” Junie claps for each point. “Move as little as possible. I’ll get the beans.”
“Don’t leave me.” My voice wavers. “We can handle Dylan together, without Mom and Grandpa.”
She touches my shoulder. “Sherry, I’m next to useless. I can’t hear him, or smell him, or see him.” She’s talking fast and breathless. “But the second I find the beans, I’ll summon your mom. As soon as she spots me by myself, in front of your house, waving the bag of beans, she’ll know you need help desperately. If your grandfather happens to arrive before her, I’ll tell him. Then I’ll speed back.”
She leans in close, her worried-best-friend face right next to mine.
“Pedal faster this time,” I say.
Junie runs her bike to the chain, flings it under, then jumps on and soars down the drive. All that’s missing is a superhero cape billowing out behind her.
I drag myself over to the bench, carefully cradling my wrist. Then I sit down, lean back, close my eyes and gulp baby breaths. The stiller I am, the less I feel like I’m at death’s door.
“Sherry?”
Ack! Eek! Ike!
My eyelids jerk open. “Sam!”
From behind a nearby bush emerges a dark blur of a brother. Perched on his bicycle, his toes scrape along the bumpy ground, slowly propelling him forward. “Sherry, are you okay?” His forehead is crinkled with concern.
“What are you doing here?” I shriek.
“I heard you and Junie talking in the office today. So I came to help trap the bad-guy ghost.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I shriek again. “Get out of here, Sam. Go catch up to Junie.” I point with my good arm.
“Do you really think your wrist is broken?” His voice is small.
With the back of my hand, I rub sweat off my forehead. Sweat from pain. Sweat from fear. “Yeah, I do. But you gotta leave, Sam.”
He sets his lips in a thin determined line.
“Go! Home! Now!” In my agitation, I jostle my arm. I bite back a scream. Sam will never leave if he figures out how much agony I’m in.
“Where’d Junie go?” he asks.
“To get magic beans.”
“Magic beans!” Sam says. And the fact that he swallows this bizarro paranormal explanation so easily only goes to prove how much he bought into Harry Potter. “Where are they?”
“Under the streetlight in front of our house,” I say.
Suddenly, all goes still. The small breeze dies. Every blade of grass stands perfectly stiff at attention. Every leaf freezes. Maybe even the blood has ceased swimming in my veins.
From somewhere, a clock starts gonging midnight.
The silver box hums in my pocket.
The smell of honey + dirty socks swirls gently through the air.
“Get out of here!” I scream at Sam. “Go home!”
Sam crosses his stubborn twiggy arms over his stubborn sunken chest and plops down on his stubborn bony butt. “I’m not leaving my big sister with a broken wrist all alone in a cemetery to face an evil ghost.”
Sam, my math-whiz younger brother, responds to logic. Not to screaming. I switch tacks. “I need you for a very, very important task. It’s not something I’d normally ask my younger brother to do. But with this wrist …”
His face goes all intent and focused, like a cat getting ready to spring.
“It’s the beans. You’ve seen Junie ride a bike?”
He nods.
“You’re, like, a thousand times faster. Even with the head start she’s had, you could easily pass her and leave her in the dust.”
He stands, arms straight at his sides. Like a soldier awaiting orders.
The sickly smell of honey + dirty socks is stronger.
It takes all my willpower to speak slowly and evenly. “When you get to the beans, open the bag and hold it up high above your head. The magic beans will banish the ghost.”
He grabs his bike, hops on and is gone, a hair before the twelfth clock gong.
The ghost-stalker’s smell surrounds me. The silver box is fighting to get out of my pocket. My wrist throbs like it’s going to fall off. The last gong echoes.
It’s midnight.