by Barrie Summy
I’m taller? That’s all she noticed? What about my increased cleavage? Seems like a fourth of a cup size would be noticeable.
Mom sighs. “Actually, the whole Academy experience has turned out to be more than I bargained for.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m stuck in the beginner Prevent a Crime class. Everyone else passed. It’s very embarrassing, given my background in law enforcement.”
“You always rocked at work stuff. What’s the deal?”
“I’m having a tough time with basic ghost skills such as flying and hanging on to a location once I get there. Also, a lot of areas that were difficult for me in life are next to impossible now.”
“Huh?”
“Well”—Mom pauses—“I’ve always had a poor sense of direction, right?”
“Definitely dismal.” I nod. “I was pretty much your personal MapQuest.”
“Now I can’t even find point A,” she says, “never mind get from A to B. The Academy is only on the other side of town. Under Dairy Queen. But it took me months to find my way here and even longer to make contact with you.”
Weird, weird, weird. Next she’ll be telling me she’s going on a field trip to Hogwarts. “And the Academy is what, exactly?”
“An organization that trains ghosts to protect the living. To enroll, you need prior experience in a field such as law enforcement, firefighting or PI work. And to advance through the various levels, you have to conquer your weak areas. For example, I’m currently targeting my sense of direction.”
I rub my forehead, thinking how a Blizzard will never be the same for me.
“Sherry?” Mom’s voice goes soft and gooey and sweet, like fresh bubble gum. “I’ve been watching you, and it looks as though you’ve gotten even more fearful of challenges since I’ve been gone.”
“Mom, I’m fine. Really.” Except for the fact that I totally freeze up in tough situations. Like a Popsicle. As in frozen solid.
“I did some research at the Academy library and found an interesting loophole in their rules.” She pauses. “A loophole that would allow us to work together.”
“Like . . . partners?” I picture Mom’s partner—well, ex-partner—Stefanie, with her cute haircut and cool blue uniform. I smile. Then I picture a bunch of bad guys with guns and scars. I frown.
“It would be completely safe,” Mom says, reading my frown. “You’d just be helping me with a little mystery solving. It would build up your self-confidence.”
It feels like an undigested carnitas burrito with guac and sour cream is sitting in my stomach.
“I don’t do mysteries, Mom. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Nancy Drew.” I fluff my dark hair for emphasis. “Do I look like a strawberry-blond-haired teenage detective?”
“Sherry—”
“You know me,” I say. “You know I’ll choke.”
I can make myself sweat with memories of my many mistakes. I always flunk pop quizzes; I was held back in beginner swimming five times; I’m the star of miles of videotape of school shows where I just stand there like a moron. And the lame list goes on.
“You wouldn’t be operating alone. I’d be very involved.”
“No, no, no.” I’m shaking my head so fast, the front of my brain has probably Jell-O-jiggled all the way to the back and vice versa.
“You can do this,” Mom says gently. “You’ve overcome challenges before.”
There’s a long pause where I can imagine her twirling her dark, curly hair into a ratty knot around her index finger just like I’m doing. Same hair, same habit. In fact, with my wild shoulder-length hair and large brown eyes, people often say I take after my mom. Maybe just to be nice. But still.
Finally, she sighs. “Sherry, I need to be a little more up-front. I didn’t want to put this pressure on you, but—”
“What? What?” I say. “What’s going on?”
“The Academy is”—Mom clears her throat—“highly competitive. This is my last chance. If I fail this assignment”—her voice cracks—“I’ll have to move on.”
The heavy burrito feeling is back in my stomach. My go-getter mother is failing at something? “Move on?”
“To the afterlife reserved for Academy failures.”
So I’d be losing her all over again. Right after we found each other. And to a terrible fate for which I don’t want details, thankyouverymuch.
“I really need your help,” she says.
Like the pitiful drummer in our school band, my heart beats all erratically. My mom needs me. My überindependent, never-turns-down-a-challenge mother needs me. And not just for babysitting but for big stuff. This is mind-blowing. “What would I have to do?”
“Someone is leaving unauthorized banana treats in the rhino enclosure of an animal park.”
“And?”
“They’re either using the bananas to lure the rhinos to a spot where they can shoot them or planning to poison the bananas and thus the rhinos. My assignment is to find the culprit, figure out the motive and prevent any rhino deaths.”
“Why doesn’t the park just tell the cops?”
“According to Academy sources, the park officials don’t know there’s a deadly agenda. They think it’s a simple case of unauthorized treats,” Mom says. “And they feel they can handle that internally.”
“Of course they can.” I’m big-time buying into the park-people-take-care-of-the-prob scenario.
“They most definitely cannot.” She pauses. “Besides, for me to get the credit for my class, we can’t let anyone else solve the case.”
“You have tons of experience catching criminals. Why do you even need me?”
“My basic ghost skills and sense of direction are not up to par,” she says. “It’ll take us both.”
“How do you even know something bad’s going on?”
“A ghost who knows a ghost who knows a snitch. Typical informer situation.”
“Why’d they assign you this case, anyway?” I scrunch up my face. “Like, why rhinos? Why aren’t you going after the scumbags who killed you?”
“The Academy’s not about personal revenge,” Mom says. “And I got the rhino case because”—her voice goes all proud—“I’m advanced when it comes to connecting with live animals. I was the only one who got an A plus in the Animal Mind Control class. Who knows? Maybe all that time I spent working Canine gave me a special ability. Remember Nero Wolfe, my springer spaniel? That dog could sniff out—”
Oh no. She’s on a roll. I swear she loved that dog more than me. “Listen, Mom—”
“You can do it, Sherry. We can do it together.”
Perched on the end of a palm frond now, the wren’s glaring at me with beady eyes. Creeeepy. His feathers are thin and ratty, and he’s got a bunch of wrinkled pink skin pouching out. Grooooss.
This whole situation is so not me. My stomach goes all churny. “I still don’t get what I’m supposed to do.”
“Go to San Diego over spring break. The rhinos are at the Wild Animal Park. You can stay at Great-aunt Margaret’s.”
Wham. It’s like the time I rode my bike into the garage door. After years of contradicting each other, now my parents decide to act as a unit? “So you and Dad are ganging up on me?” I spit out. “Just so he and The Ruler can go on their honeymoon?” I clap my hand over my mouth to stop the words. Too late.
“The math teacher?” The branch above me shakes wildly. “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Thud.
Sand from the sandbox sprays out onto the lawn.
“Ouch.”
“Mom! Mom! You okay?”
“See what I mean about having trouble staying in a location?”
Below me, a plastic shovel stands to attention, then begins digging. I guess she’s decided to hang out in the sandbox.
“I figured he’d remarry,” she says, “but not so soon.”
“Yeah. Well. He was pretty much a basket case after you died. She’s kinda been good for him.” Can you say awkward?
>
The shovel digs faster. “Weren’t the neighbors helpful? And how about Stefanie?”
“Yeah, everyone was helpful, bringing meals and stuff. And we still see Stefanie every once in a while. But you guys were so tight from being partners for a long time that I think chilling with us makes her sad.”
The shovel stops and lies down.
I have a sudden vision of Dad and The Ruler kissing. I wouldn’t want Mom to witness that. Actually, I wouldn’t want to witness that grossness myself. “Can you get into our house?”
“I can’t cross thresholds.” A toy dump truck drives slowly around the sandbox, leaving wavy tire tracks in its wake. “I can only make contact outside. And only with certain people.”
“Who else besides me?”
“Well . . .” The truck bumps a wall. “No one. You’re the only one.”
A warm, fuzzy feeling balloons inside me. I’m special. “Not Sam?”
Mom sighs. “Even in death I have to deal with sibling rivalry?”
“Not rivalry. Just an innocent question.”
“Only you.”
I punch the air.
“Sherry, I saw that.”
“Oops.” But I can’t wipe the grin off my face.
“Sherry. Sherry.” She sounds panicky. “I’m fading.”
“Don’t leave me.” My insides squeeze tight at hearing my always-in-charge, always-decisive mom half-hysterical. And when will she be back?
The truck flies onto the lawn. “I’m slipping. I can’t hang on.”
I look around wildly. Where is she now? A coffee-scented breeze wafts by my ear.
Her voice is little more than a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone about me.”
“Sure, sure. Whatever you say.” My pulse races.
“This is important. It’s an Academy rule.”
“I get it, Mom.”
And she’s gone. I can tell somehow. The air is thinner or something, which I know sounds totally bogus. Plus, the smell of coffee has disappeared. And nothing is moving in the sandbox.
The wren squawks and flaps off, the spots on his wings glowing in the dusk. Finally. He was seriously scaring me.
I shudder like a twanged rubber band. Why me? Why is my life so complicated? All I want is Josh Morton. And maybe a raise in my allowance. And I wouldn’t spit at a D-free report card.
I have to help her. I can’t let my mother go to a horrible flunked-out ghost world. A horrible flunked-out ghost world where we won’t get to see each other.
Whack. A stick hits the top of my head. “Sam!” I scream. So much for privacy in the pear tree.
My brother, his hair stick-uppier than usual, squints at me from under the tree. He raises his skinny little arm to launch another stick. “Dinner!”
“Throw that, and you’ll live to regret it.”
He waves a handful of twig ammo.
“Do your friends know you wet the bed last week?”
He lowers his arm.
I really should go easy on the shrimpy jerk. After all, now I have proof positive that I’m Mom’s favorite. Plus, poor Sam is stuck in Phoenix for spring break with Grandma Baldwin, who farts and snores through the evening television lineup.
While I get to go to San Diego.
And save Mom’s afterlife.
Fifteen minutes later I’m sitting at the kitchen table with a plate of rubbery whole-wheat spaghetti and ground turkey covered in runny fat-free tomato sauce. The Ruler’s cooking dinner for us. Again. She’s a health-food nut who seriously overseasons. I swear I’m losing precious brain cells from the herbal fumes in the room.
A sideways glance at my dad’s still-full plate indicates he’s as into this meal as I am.
Of the three of us, Sam manages to slurp down the most pasta, by muttering over and over, “I’m an alien from Planet Worm.”
Sadly, this is normal behavior for him. He doesn’t seem weirded out about the wedding. Then again, my brother’s hard to read.
If The Ruler’s aware her meal is less than popular, she isn’t showing it. Instead she smiles and chats and butterfly-flutters around the kitchen, refilling our water glasses and offering us brick-heavy bread and unsalted butter. Blech. Hard to believe this cheerful, friendly woman is Ms. El Stricto at school.
So I push spaghetti around my plate, biding my time and waiting for the Hawaii/San Diego discussion to begin. I’m so ready for it. I know what I want, and I know how to get it.
A mug of steaming chamomile in her hand, The Ruler pulls out a chair next to Dad and sits down, her back straight like, well, a ruler. Does she never slouch?
Dad leans toward me, elbows on the table.
Here it comes. The hairs on my arms stand. My head fills with the music they play on TV at the opening of the Olympics. Let the games begin.
“Sherry.” Dad makes eye contact. “I need to book your ticket to San Diego. The Internet special runs out tonight.”
Part A of San Diego scheme: Loudly reject adult’s suggestion.
“San Diego?” I screech. “What about hanging out with my friends during spring break?”
“We’ve been over this.” Dad runs his hand through already-tousled hair.
The Ruler bites boring beige lipstick off her lips.
Part B: Suggest totally unacceptable solution.
“If I have to go somewhere, I’d rather go to Hawaii with you two.” I grimace inside.
The Ruler sits up straighter. If that’s possible.
“Sherry, you’re old enough to know about honeymoons.” Beads of sweat dot Dad’s forehead.
Sam pipes up. “What do you mean?”
Dad says, “Go play video games.”
“Can I play LA Mugger?” Sam asks.
“Sure, sure.” Dad waves him toward the living room.
Part C: Act helpful.
“LA Mugger is rated T for ‘teen,’ ” I mention, always the concerned, vigilant older sister. “Full of violence.”
“It’s okay this one time,” Dad says through gritted teeth. After Sam is safely out of the kitchen, he looks at me, unblinking. “You’re not coming to Hawaii. Don’t even start.”
Part D: Mimic hurt feelings.
I stick out my lower lip.
“Would it help,” The Ruler asks, “if I checked with my sister in Scottsdale to see if Sherry could stay with her?”
Part E: Reject all solutions offered by adults.
“Stay with a total stranger?”
“Well”—the Ruler sips from her mug—“she does have a daughter about your age.”
“Still a stranger,” I say.
Part F: Act like you just dreamed up a new solution, then state real objective.
I snap my fingers. “I have an idea.”
Relief washes over Dad’s face. “What, pumpkin?”
“Why doesn’t Junie come to Great-aunt Margaret’s with me? My spring break wouldn’t be totally destroyed, ’cause I’d still have a friend to hang with.” Junie is my superbrainy, can-definitely-solve-a-mystery best friend.
“Take a friend?” Dad frowns.
“She’d have more fun in San Diego with a friend,” The Ruler says. “And Junie Carter’s very levelheaded.”
I’ve known Junie for ages, ever since my first time in beginner swimming, when she passed and I didn’t. We are hugely different and make great best friends because of it. I help her with social and fashion stuff. I’ve even offered to give her love advice, but she doesn’t want it, says she doesn’t have time for crushing on guys right now.
Personally, I don’t understand how she turns it off. I mean, whether I want him to or not, Josh Morton barges into my brain. Anywhere. Anytime. I can be in the middle of a pre-algebra test or reading the current boring book for English or loading the dishwasher, when suddenly he’ll appear and take over my entire mind. And if I happen to see him at school, well, just forget about me being able to concentrate on anything else for the next few periods.
Junie is überfocused on academics. She’s all ab
out Principal’s Honor Roll and factoring and science experiments. I’ve never stumped her with a homework question. She’s way, way smart. And it’s going to take way-way smarts to save my mother. That’s why Junie positively must come to San Diego with me. I know it’ll be tricky getting her to solve the mystery without telling her about my mom. But I can do it.
Dad calls Junie’s mom and explains the situation.
There’s silence on his end, which means she must be yakking away.
“Southwest Airlines,” he says. “I haven’t actually booked her ticket yet.”
More silence. Except for the sound of Dad cracking his knuckles.
“I’ll have to check with Margaret,” he says, “but I don’t see why three girls would be a problem.”
Three? Three? My stomach drops. What three? What’s going on?
“The Hawaiian Sands.” He sounds puzzled.
Finally, he hangs up. “It’s a go,” he says, his voice all monotone.
I visualize Elmer’s glue on the soles of my tennies so that I won’t leap up with excitement.
Staring at me, Dad continues. “Turns out Junie’s parents want to take a trip with Junie’s aunt and uncle.”
Oh no. I see where this is heading. The third person. Junie’s cousin, Awful Amber.
“They want to send Amber to San Diego as well,” he says. “She can keep an eye on you two. Plus, she has her driver’s license, so you’ll be less work for Margaret.”
Yuck. This is horrible, dreadful, terrible. Junie won’t be happy either. Awful Amber is seventeen years old, which means she’s had a few extra boob-growing years. And she has definitely taken advantage of the time. And she’s got fantastic emerald eyes, a creamy, zit-free complexion and straight, blond, behaves-itself hair. With all this going for her, you’d think she’d be nice. Not even close. She’s mean and stupid. With Amber on the beach, Junie and I might as well be stinky seaweed. And a stupid, mean, beautiful third person will only complicate my mystery solving.
I sigh.
Dad sighs.
The Ruler’s glowing like a bride-to-be. “What’s the matter with you two? Junie’s going with you, Sherry. And having her driving cousin along will give you more freedom.” Then she shifts her gaze to Dad. “And you’re getting what you want. At least, I hope you are.” She lifts her narrow shoulders in confusion. “I don’t see the problem.”