by Lin Oliver
The minute she saw Billy gazing at her, an expression of fear darted across her face. As quickly as she had appeared, she disappeared into thin air, leaving nothing in her place but Brownstone’s yapping voice.
Who was she? Where had she come from? And where had she gone?
Billy stood on the playground, gazing into the empty space where the girl had been. The Hoove circled around him, actually whirled around him, talking nonstop.
“Did you see her?” he said. “Tell me you saw her. She was about my age, right? And her straight hair glistened in the sun. Did it or did it not? Come with me. You’ve got to help me find her.”
“Hoove, the only place I’m going is back to the classroom that I left without permission.”
“I can’t believe you. You’re honestly going to go weave some acorn basket instead of helping me, your pal, your roommate for the last few months? Think of everything I do for you.”
“Like embarrassing me as I tripped over myself when you dragged me out of class?” Billy yelled. “Is that what you’re talking about?”
Billy felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around to see Mr. Wallwetter looking him square in the eye.
“No, what I’m talking about is you leaving class without permission,” he said, unaware that Billy was talking to his own personal ghost.
“Oh, Mr. Wallwetter, sir. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“That’s my job, Billy. To keep track of you wandering students. By my calculations, you’re supposed to be in the art room.”
“Your calculations are absolutely correct, sir. You are one fine calculator, if I do say so myself. If you were a machine, I could use you when I do my homework.”
“You’re sounding nervous, Billy Boy,” the Hoove whispered. “You better come up with an explanation of why you’re here. And whatever you do, do not mention the beautiful Native American princess.”
“Of course I won’t,” Billy whispered back.
“Of course you won’t what?” Mr. Wallwetter asked.
“Um … of course I won’t leave class again without permission. I just needed some fresh air. All the fumes of the reeds and the straw were making my nose itch.”
Mr. Wallwetter eyed Billy suspiciously.
“What fumes?” he asked, looking sternly at Billy. “I didn’t notice any fumes.”
“I have this weird thing with my nose,” Billy answered, making up a story on the spot. “It smells things that other noses don’t. I’m proud of it and yet it’s also a problem at the same time. But boy, is it powerful!”
A few of the kids from the playground had gathered around to see what the conversation was about. One of them was Rod Brownstone, who took the opportunity to butt in with his own observations.
“Mr. Wallwetter,” he said, using his official law enforcement tone of voice. “I have observed the suspect in question on the premises of his own house and I can report many things about him way stranger than his nose. For instance, just last night I observed his baseball bat moving around the room on its own.”
Mr. Wallwetter shifted his stern glance from Billy to Rod.
“That is an absurd story,” he said without even a hint of a smile. “I suggest you calm down and mind your own business.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” the Hoove snickered, flicking Brownstone’s earlobe in a really annoying manner.
“Cut it out, Broccoli,” Rod snapped. “Stop messing with my ear.”
“I am standing right here, Rod,” Mr. Wallwetter said. “And I see that Billy has both hands in his pockets. He didn’t touch you.”
“See? That’s the kind of strangeness I’m talking about,” Rod answered, “which is why I have him under a twenty-four-hour watch.”
The Hoove burst out laughing.
“I love it,” he said. “We’re making this guy seem like a total nut job.”
Billy had trouble stifling his laugh. No matter how irritating the Hoove could be, he always stood up for Billy in the most creative ways.
“What I suggest, gentlemen, is that we end this conversation and you both go back to your assigned activities,” Mr. Wallwetter announced. “Rod, go help Kayla with her bow and arrow practice. And Billy, follow your itchy nose back to the art room.”
Billy turned to go, but was stopped by the Hoove grabbing his shoulder.
“So you mean you’re not going to help me find her?”
Mr. Wallwetter noticed Billy pausing and raised an eyebrow. It was the kind of eyebrow raise that said, “If you don’t do as I say, I will send you to the principal’s office now.” Billy hated to get in trouble, especially since his mother was the principal, so he plastered a huge smile on his face.
“Boy oh boy,” he said. “I can’t wait to get back to my basket weaving. I’m on my way RIGHT NOW.”
Throwing the Hoove a determined glance, he turned on his heel and headed across the playground to the art room. Rod returned to bow and arrow practice under the careful watch of Mr. Wallwetter. That left the Hoove all alone in the middle of the playground.
“Fine,” he said to himself. “I’ll find her by myself. I’m the one she’d want to feast her eyes on, anyway.”
He floated across the yard, his dark eyes searching for any sign of her. As he passed the lunch area, he thought he saw a face peeking out from behind the water fountain. He zoomed over there, only to find a sweaty seventh grader sticking his whole face in the stream of water.
“You are disgusting, pal,” he said. “That’s why they invented the shower.”
He thought he heard a little giggle coming from underneath the fountain. The Hoove swooped down to investigate and got there just in time to see two moccasins flying off into the air. He followed the moccasins across the yard to a group of students who were standing in front of a long roll of paper attached with clothespins to the chain-link fence. They were working on a mural that was going to be the backdrop for their Native American Night at the museum. One boy was painting a canoe, one of the girls was painting Chumash money, which was made out of seashells, and Billy’s friend Ricardo was painting the ocean and the California coastline where the Chumash lived.
The Hoove looked around for the Native American girl, but she was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. He hovered above the mural, watching Ricardo add blue paint to the ocean waves. After a minute, Ricardo put down his paintbrush, wiped his hands on his apron, and announced he was going to let the paint dry while he took a bathroom break. As the Hoove watched him jog across the yard, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Something was moving in the mural itself!
The Hoove squinted his eyes and looked closely at the paper. It seemed as if the waves Ricardo had just painted were coming alive, rolling up to the sandy shore in the mural. With a sudden poof of pink light, the girl with the moccasins emerged from the paper, coming through the painted wave and taking her full shape in front of the mural. Unseen by the other children, she picked up Ricardo’s brush and with one or two flowing strokes, painted a dolphin jumping out of the water. It was the perfect touch to finish the mural.
“You are an amazement,” the Hoove said to her.
She turned and gave him a startled look, then dropped the brush and took off flying across the yard.
“Hey, don’t disappear again!” he called after her. “I’m not going to bite you.”
The Hoove threw himself into hyperglide and chased after her. She circled the entire playground with the Hoove following close behind. Finally, she zoomed through the chain-link fence and the Hoove pulled up short.
“Hey,” he shouted. “Come back. I can’t leave the yard. I mean, I would, but I can’t.”
She stopped in midair and spun around to look at him. Suddenly, the Hoove felt foolish. He didn’t want to tell her that the Higher-Ups had grounded him and he could go no farther than the school playground. When she saw that the Hoove wasn’t following her, she cautiously floated back toward the chain-link fence and looked at him without
speaking.
“Hoover Porterhouse the Third here,” he said with a smile. “But you can call me the Hoove. Or Mr. Wonderful, whatever mood strikes your fancy.”
She just kept staring at him without speaking, tilting her head this way and that, taking in every detail.
“Okay, so you’re the quiet type,” he went on. “I’ll do the talking for both of us. I know what you’re thinking. It’s very nice to meet me. Thank you. Most people feel that way.”
Still not a word came out of her mouth, so the Hoove continued.
“You’re probably wondering what a fun-loving ghost such as myself is doing spending the day at school when I don’t have to be here. Well, let me just say, I possess the answer to this and all your other questions. I came here to work with my human pal Billy, who sadly lacks my ability to trip the light fantastic.”
Her eyes grew wide as she listened to his words.
“Oh, I see you don’t comprehend that. Allow me to continue. Billy can’t seem to get the knack of the Chumash dance, which is not surprising, because it doesn’t seem like a dance to me. More like hopping up and down like your feet are on fire.”
A sudden frown crossed her face and she put her otherworldly hands on her hips.
“Those steps that you are making fun of are used by my people to awaken our spirit and teach respect for nature,” she said.
“Hey, who doesn’t respect nature? When I’m doing these steps, I am filled with mountains and rainbows and fields of green and all that stuff.”
The Hoove let out an enthusiastic whoop and burst into his version of the Chumash dance he had practiced with Billy the night before. He got a little carried away, and threw in some turkey trot steps as well. The result was a wild-looking waddle that bore only a vague resemblance to the original Chumash rain dance.
“Your fields would be much greener if you did it this way,” she said.
Then she turned in a circle and with the grace of the wind, began moving her feet to the rhythm of drums she heard in her head. The Hoove stopped his crazy dance and stared at her, captured by the lightness of her steps. What had looked like just hopping to him suddenly appeared to be the most beautiful dance he had ever seen. He watched in silence. His usual river of words ran dry.
When she finished her dance, the girl just looked at him and smiled.
“That’s pretty good,” he said. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“I am Princess Anacapa,” she answered. “I am Chumash. I lived here in this valley with my tribe over two hundred years ago.”
“Oh, an older woman. I’m just a kid; I’ve only been dead for ninety-nine years.”
“Then you should respect your elders,” she warned, wagging her finger at him.
“So am I safe to assume that you are a fellow ghost? Or in your case, ghost-ess?”
She giggled at the Hoove’s little joke.
“Yes, I am a spirit, sent here to protect the land and sea and traditions of my people.”
“So what, you just fly around from school to school helping kids learn native dances and weave baskets and stuff?”
“I live at the Natural History Museum,” she said. “In the Chumash diorama. I spend much of my time standing next to the hairy buffalo, showing children who pass by what a Chumash village looks like. But I leave there when I am called into action.”
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here.”
“I received word from my Higher-Ups that the children of this school needed some help learning the Chumash ways.”
“Oh man oh man, those Higher-Ups. Don’t they drive you crazy?”
“No, I find them very kind and helpful.”
“That is exactly what I was about to say. You took the words right off my tongue. Those Higher-Ups, they are one helpful bunch. If I had two words for them, it would be HELP and FULL.”
“If you would be interested to learn more about the Chumash,” Anacapa said, “I can teach you about our ways.”
“Now that’s a coincidence,” the Hoove said. “Because believe it or not, I was just on my way to the library to check out every research book on the shelf about the Chumash. A person can’t get enough of Native American history.”
Anacapa seemed pleased with the Hoove’s interest in her traditions.
“If you’d like to learn more about my people, you could come visit our diorama at the museum,” she offered.
The Hoove was thrilled with her invitation. It was the first time in ninety-nine years that he had met a ghost of his own age, and it felt really good to be invited somewhere by her. He answered before he had time to think.
“I will be there,” he said to her. “Give me the time and date, and I’ll materialize in all my glory.”
“I have more work to do at the school today,” Anacapa answered. “There is a boy here who is having great difficulty with the dance steps.”
“Don’t tell me. His first name starts with a B. Go easy on him. He’s a great kid who tries so hard, but each of his feet has a mind of its own. They always go in two different directions.”
“I will guide his feet on the day of the performance without him ever knowing I am there.”
“Lucky him. Way to go, Billy Broccoli.”
“I will go to this Billy Broccoli now, in his time of need. And I will see you tomorrow at our arranged hour.”
“Great,” the Hoove said. “I’ll be there.”
Anacapa drifted off across the playground. She was almost inside the building when the Hoove yelled out, “Wait a minute! When is our arranged hour, exactly?”
“Four o’clock,” she called out.
“Of course it is! I’ll be there or be square.”
Anacapa floated through the doors and out of sight. The Hoove smiled to himself, feeling very excited about his plans for the next day.
But his excitement only lasted for one second. The next second it hit him that he was grounded, and the museum was off-limits. And not just a little off-limits, but by miles. This was going to require a conversation with the dreaded Higher-Ups. They were the only ones who could grant him the freedom to move beyond his travel zone.
“Hey, guys!” the Hoove called out to the clouds above. “A situation has arisen and I’m going to need to change my boundaries. I’d appreciate your cooperation. You can just say yes and I’ll be on my way.”
In response, a jagged bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, which was never a good sign.
The Hoove was not the kind of ghost to take NO lightly. Even though the first sign from the Higher-Ups could only be interpreted as a big fat NO, he was determined to convince them to let him visit Anacapa. But how?
He always got his best ideas in his thinking tree in the backyard. There was something about lying on the swaying top branch and gazing up at the sky that allowed his mind to be its most creative.
Quickly, he floated back inside the building and located Billy in the art room. Poor Billy was still trying to tame the reeds into a round bottom for his basket, but he wasn’t having much luck. To the Hoove, Billy’s basket looked like a walrus with only one tusk.
“Hey, Billy Boy, I don’t know much about baskets, but I’m pretty sure they’re supposed to have sides. The only thing you could do with that thing is float it in your bathtub.”
“The Chumash didn’t have bathtubs, Hoove. They used the river to bathe.”
“I wonder if anyone asked the fish what they thought of that.”
“I’m trying to concentrate on this, Hoove. I need to get this done by the lunch bell. And you’re very distracting.”
“That’s what I do. I’m good at it.”
“Can you disappear, please?”
“That’s what I came to tell you. I’m leaving because I have to come up with a creative solution to a problem. Not that I’m asking you for help, but if you happen to have an idea or two about how I can convince the Higher-Ups to let me travel out of my zone to the museum tomorrow, I would consider listening.”
�
�The museum? When did you ever want to go to the museum before?”
“Hey, I’m trying to expand myself. You can’t knock a guy for that.”
“Well, just tell the Higher-Ups that going to the museum is educational. And that it’s important for your personal growth. Oh, and this will really get them. Tell them it’s your responsibility to improve your mind.”
“I’ll use the trip home to see if your ideas fit into what I had in mind,” the Hoove said. “And by the way, you just poked yourself with a reed and your finger’s bleeding. You might want to get yourself a Band-Aid. Oh, and remember Hoove’s Rule Number Two Hundred and Thirty-Seven. Never use a dinosaur Band-Aid over the age of four.”
“You actually have a rule for that?”
“There’s a whole chapter in the Rule Book on Band-Aids — the first of which is: Do not use fluorescent pink on any body part that is exposed to the human eye.”
Billy felt a hand, a human hand, on his shoulder.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Penny said, gazing down at his mess of a basket. “I notice that you were in full conversation with yourself.”
“Oh, I’m just fine.” Billy gulped. “I was just repeating the instructions for making this basket over and over to myself so I wouldn’t make a mistake.”
Mrs. Penny raised an eyebrow and glanced down at Billy’s walrus-tusked basket.
“Well,” she said cheerfully, “perhaps it’s time to try some different instructions. Your basket seems to come from a whole different tribe.”
The Hoove left Billy in the kindly hands of Mrs. Penny, and zoomed out of the art room. He glided down the hall, past Mr. Wallwetter’s room, and out the front door of the school. As he flew, he glanced around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anacapa, but no such luck.
He cruised over the rooftops of their neighborhood, passing Mrs. Pearson’s house on the corner. As usual, she was riding around on her electric lawn mower like it was a wild ride at Disneyland. When he arrived in the Broccoli-Fielding backyard, he floated over to the seventy-foot-tall live oak tree that had been planted by his father on the day of his birth. It was his favorite place in the world to sit and think a problem through.