Giving Up the Ghost
Page 9
I nodded, feeling totally relieved. She didn’t mean anything by that comment, I thought to myself. “It was totally brilliant.”
“And then,” Lily continued, “there was the added challenge that it was you.”
The feeling of relief froze in my chest. A shudder eddied up and down my spine. “Why did that make a difference?” I asked cautiously.
“Well, because of, you know—” Here she dropped her voice and leaned in so only I would hear. “Because of your abilities. I know you can do things, Sara. You don’t need to keep pretending. I am your best friend, after all.”
I looked at her, stunned. Had she just said what I thought she’d said? Did she really know about my powers?
One look at her face told me that she did.
I felt different today, and I didn’t know why.
Was it that I was wrapped in a little girl’s princess comforter and matching pink sheets? Was it the always-present warmth that filled Lily’s house? For some reason, I felt younger. Watched over. Part of my best friend’s family.
I liked the feeling.
I snuggled under Lily’s little sister’s comforter, as the morning sun poked through the eyelet-lace curtains and formed kaleidoscope patterns on the walls. Every window in the Randazzos’ huge Victorian house was draped with the same curtains. Lily hated them. Too frilly. Not cool. But I liked how the curtains were all alike. They made the big house cozy.
So unlike my own house.
My house creaked with strange noises. The air hung damp and chilly, and, although Dad and Lady Azura were always there with me, it never felt cozy, because we were never alone. There were others. Some came and went, while others lingered. Not everyone could see them, but I always knew they were there.
Who were they? you might be wondering.
Ghosts.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?” Lily asked, her long, dark hair falling in a tangle around her face. Her big brown eyes glinted mischievously at me from across the room.
“No.” I stifled a yawn. We’d stayed up really late talking. Mostly about Jayden, my sort of kind of first boyfriend, who had recently moved back to Atlanta. Did that make him my ex-boyfriend? I had wondered. But according to Lily, since Jayden and I were never officially going out, we never officially broke up when he moved. We just sort of said good-bye and promised to keep in touch. We’d been texting off and on, but it wasn’t the same. Lily was convinced I’d meet a new boy in no time . . . she managed to change her crushes practically weekly . . . but I wasn’t so sure. It had taken me twelve years to meet one Jayden. What were the odds I’d meet another one anytime soon?
I pushed myself up and faced Lily, who was stretching in her bed. Lily’s four-year-old sister, Cammie, gave me her bed whenever I slept over. She always made a big drama of it, but I knew Cammie was secretly thrilled. My bed takeover was the perfect excuse to spend the night tucked between her parents.
“Come on,” Lily scoffed. “You so know what I’m thinking, Sara.” She raised her thick eyebrows and gave me a knowing stare.
I gulped. I’d thought we were done with that. “I don’t know.”
“Try harder,” Lily coaxed. “Focus.”
“I can’t do that anymore,” I protested. “The mind reading was a one-time thing. Really,” I insisted. “I hate talking about this.”
“Whoa!” Lily raised her arms in protest. “I was totally not going there. I was just thinking how we should challenge my lame little brothers to a pancake-eating contest. That’s all.”
“Oh.” Color flamed my cheeks. I felt heat rise around my ears.
Lily swung her legs onto the floor. “You should trust me. I mean, I promised to never mention the mind reading, right?”
“I’m sorry,” I said lamely. And I was. Truly. Lily had been my best friend ever since I’d moved to Stellamar last year. She’d stuck by me through a lot of weird stuff and never questioned me. I knew she was the real deal. Lily was loyal and never judged me. “You always keep promises,” I told her. “I’m just really tired. And hungry. I bet I can down more pancakes than you.”
“You’re on!” Lily hurried out the door with me at her heels. And like that, my weirdness was forgotten. As always.
Recently, right before my birthday, she’d figured out I could read people’s minds. She’d seen it happen, right before her eyes. I avoided talking about it, hoping and praying she hadn’t put it all together . . . but she had, of course. When she finally asked me about it, I was sure she would flip out. Not want to be my friend anymore. But when I explained that the mind reading was a borrowed power—a once-in-a-lifetime, never-to-happen-again strange thing—she vowed to keep it between us. And she did. She never told Miranda or Avery or Tamara or any of the other girls at our lunch table, girls she’d known years before I showed up. She kept my secret because we were best friends.
Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve trusted her with the whole truth about me.
The truth is, I can do other things. Other supernatural things. Lots of other supernatural things. I can still read minds, too, if I wanted to, but I’ve learned how to block that power because believe me, it’s way more trouble than it’s worth. The other stuff I can’t block. I’m not sure anymore that I’d even want to.
I think a lot about telling her, but I’m pretty positive that even she would be weirded out by what I can do. After all, my powers weird me out.
“Good morning, sleepyheads!” Mr. Randazzo boomed as we entered the kitchen. He stood at the stove. His wife’s frilly floral apron tied haphazardly around his waist was a stark contrast to his torn jeans and Bruce Springsteen concert T-shirt. “A tall or short stack?”
“Tall, for sure!” Lily answered for both of us. Cammie was coloring at the large oak table, and her mother, already dressed for the day in a blue shirtdress, typed on a laptop next to her. The thump of a ball hitting a baseball glove floated through the open window. “The little beasts?” Lily asked.
“Yes, your three brothers are already outside causing chaos,” her dad replied as he furiously whisked pancake batter in a white ceramic bowl.
“Sam! It’s getting everywhere!” Mrs. Randazzo cried.
Mr. Randazzo glanced at the batter-splattered counter and shrugged. “That’s what the sponge is for. You see, girls, the secret to great pancakes is the wrist motion. Quick flicks.” He demonstrated and the batter erupted, dripping over the edge of the bowl onto the already dirty counter.
Lily’s mom started to stand.
“No!” her dad cried. “Lily, make her stay put. It’s her day, after all.”
Lily’s eyes grew wide with sudden realization. She leaped forward and wrapped her mother in a massive hug. “Happy Mother’s Day to you!” she sang to the tune of “Happy Birthday.” Lily loved holidays. She made a big deal out of even Groundhog Day and Arbor Day. Lily sang her song all the way through, and Cammie joined in.
I stood awkwardly by the table. Mrs. Randazzo wasn’t my mother. I stayed silent and watched. I’d forgotten it was Mother’s Day. It wasn’t a holiday I ever circled on the calendar.
Lily gently guided her mom back into her chair. “Dad has it under control.”
“So he says.” She glanced dubiously at the batter dotting her husband’s wavy black hair, then at the dishes stacked precariously in the sink. She fingered the sticky table where earlier the boys had dripped syrup. “Maybe I’ll just—”
“Just relax,” Mr. Randazzo ordered. “I’ve got this. It’s Mother’s Day. Lily and Sara, entertain her. Distract her. Anything. Please.”
“Are you working on the fund-raiser?” Lily slid into the chair next to her mother and purposely blocked the view of Mr. Randazzo’s backhanded pancake flip.
�
�I’m making a chart of all the donations.” Mrs. Randazzo and Lily shared the same thick dark hair, olive skin, and high cheekbones. I often thought Lily looked like a mini version of her mom. Everyone says I look like my mom too, with our blond hair and light-blue eyes. Lily’s mom turned to me as if noticing I was there for the first time. “Cammie, scoot down and make room for Sara.”
“I should just go.” I took a tentative step backward. I didn’t want to leave, but it was Mother’s Day, after all. I didn’t belong here. “It’s a family holiday and . . .”
“Oh, get over here, silly.” Mrs. Randazzo patted the place next to her. “You are so a part of this family, Sara. Believe me, I need some more girl power to balance out the boy egos in this house.”
“Ego? What ego?” Mr. Randazzo called. “I am only the best pancake maker in all of the Jersey shore.”
“You are needed here, Sara. Badly,” Lily’s mom said, smiling widely at me.
If I couldn’t be with my own mom this morning, Lily’s mom was definitely next best. I squeezed a chair between her and Cammie. “Hey, Camsters. I like that you’re coloring the tree purple. Trees should definitely be purple.”
Cammie handed me a darker shade of violet from her enormous box of crayons, and I shaded in a pine tree. Cammie’s full cheeks and broad forehead resembled her dad’s, but she had the same magnetic sparkle in her eyes that made everyone at school hover about Lily, like moths attracted to light.
“Ohhh, is the shoe lady coming again?” Lily asked. She raised her voice to be heard over her dad’s off-key singing. “Born to run . . . baby, we were born to run . . .” He was forever singing Springsteen songs.
“She is.” Mrs. Randazzo tapped the screen. “She promised to bring twice as many as she did last year.”
“Coming where?” I asked.
“Wow, that’s right, you don’t know about Bargain on the Boardwalk!” Lily exclaimed.
“Bargain on the Boardwalk is a fund-raiser for the local schools that happens every year. It’s next weekend, in fact,” Mrs. Randazzo explained. “It’s a big Stellamar tradition—kind of the unofficial kickoff to summer for the locals before the tourists descend.”
“It’s the most amazing flea market, but not with junky stuff,” Lily added. “Well, okay, there is some junky stuff that’s donated, but there’s also lots of really cool crafts and accessory vendors and people selling jewelry. Last year, this lady who works for some shoe company in New York brought all these amazing shoes. You know those cute aqua sandals I have with the chunky heels that make me almost tall? I got those for only fifteen dollars. Fifteen! Don’t they look like they cost a lot more?”
“They do,” I agreed, as Lily’s dad set down a mountain of pancakes dripping with butter. I attempted a sincere smile as Mr. Randazzo sang, “Hungry heart . . . ,” but I was the only one. His Springsteen soundtrack had become background noise to his family.
“We have ten different jewelry vendors this year. This one guy, a new vendor this year, weaves together the thinnest silver wire into stunning necklaces. I know he’s going to be a big hit.” Mrs. Randazzo squinted at her list. “We need more stuff to be donated, though. We make the most money on the high-end rummage sale items. I do hope we get enough—”
“Don’t worry about it today,” Mr. Randazzo scolded. He plopped into a chair and sipped a mug of coffee, the mess by the stove and the promise of using a sponge temporarily forgotten. “Your mother needs to be stopped before she completely heads up Bargain on the Boardwalk again.” She started to protest, and he gently cut her off. “It’s a lot of work, honey. You can’t do it all by yourself!”
“I’m going to help,” Lily said, already finishing her second pancake.
“Me too,” I offered. “What should I do?”
“See what you have to donate in your house. We’ll take anything as long as it’s clean and working,” Mrs. Randazzo said.
“Sure.” That sounded easy. “Hey, I bet Lady Azura has some really great stuff to donate.”
“Seriously! Can you even imagine what she has? It’s like opening some old-fashioned movie star’s closet.” Lily loved Lady Azura’s style.
“Lady Azura does have classy clothes,” Lily’s mom said. “But for some reason, she’s never given anything to the sale before.”
“Really?” I was surprised. Lady Azura was quirky and more than a little odd, but she was one of the most generous people I’d ever met. Was there a reason she had never donated any of her things before?
About the Author
Phoebe Rivers had a brush with the paranormal when she was thirteen years old, and ever since then she has been fascinated by people who see spirits and can communicate with them. In addition to her intrigue with all things paranormal, Phoebe also loves cats, French cuisine, and writing stories. She has written dozens of books for children of all ages and is thrilled to now be exploring Sara’s paranormal world.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
Simon & Schuster, New York
Jacket illustration by Erin McGuire
© 2013 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Jacket design by Laura Roode
saranormalbooks.com
Meet the author, watch videos, and get extras at
KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT
An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
Copyright © 2013 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Text by Sarah Albee
ISBN 978-1-4424-6617-3 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-6616-6 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4424-6618-0 (eBook)
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2012938943