by Bruce Hale
My stomach was twisted up with guilt like a shopping-mall pretzel. If Benny and I hadn’t brought her into this, Miss Freshley would’ve been home making brownies, or learning silly songs, or whatever kindergarten teachers did in their free time.
“We’re coming with you,” I told the janitor.
This was strongly vetoed by both Mr. Boo and Mrs. Tamasese.
“No way,” he said. “You dudes need to get home. Your parents will be worried.”
“But it’s our fault,” said Benny.
The ex-wrestler scowled. “Not even,” she said. “Miss Freshley is an experienced medium; she knew the risks.” Her face softened. “I’m sure she’ll snap out of it soon.”
“But we—” Tina began.
“Nope,” said Mr. Boo. “Like the Eagles say, ‘Bikes in the fast lane.’ Go! We’ve got this covered.”
He drove away, with Mrs. T following in her van. Benny, Tina, and I looked at each other, shrugged, and shuffled off to unlock our bikes. I hadn’t felt quite so useless in a long while. First, my parents were careening toward a split, and now this.
The setting sun glazed the oak trees an applesauce gold, but I was in no mood to admire a sunset. Our school was falling apart—student by student, teacher by teacher. And so far, we hadn’t done a darned thing to stop it. My chest felt as tight as a superhero’s spandex.
“If this keeps up,” Tina said as we pedaled away, “you know what’ll happen?”
“What?” I said.
“The whole school will be in a coma.”
“No way,” said Benny. He still looked pale, but determined. “We won’t let it go that far.”
Tina stood on her pedals. “Brackman, you know I give you guys major respect as monster fighters. But you’ve never gone up against ghosts before. You can’t fight what you can’t touch.”
With a wave, she peeled off and headed home.
“We’ll find a way!” Benny called after her. But his tone held seven shades of doubt. “Spirits or no spirits, we’ll put a stop to all this. Right, Carlos?”
“Right,” I said. But what I wanted to say was, How?
Miss Freshley had tried and failed. And if a professional psychic had been beaten by this ghost’s evil mojo, what chance did two fourth-grade boys stand against it?
IF YOU MEASURE the success of school time by how much actual learning gets done, the next morning was a total washout. But if you measure it by the amount of rumors, backtalk, and misinformation, then Mr. Chu’s class was a raging success.
Talk of last night’s séance had spread all over school, in the mysterious way those things do. And it seemed like some strange attitude had spread with it. All morning long, kids were sending Benny and me suspicious glances. When Benny confronted AJ after our classmate’s dirty look, all AJ said was, “You know what you did.”
“No, what?” demanded Benny.
But AJ turned away with a scowl and said no more.
Kids were jumpier than a kangaroo rat in a rubber room. And the occasional moans and funky smells rising from the heating vents didn’t help matters much.
Even mellow Mr. Chu was edgy. Instead of leading us in Multiplication Wars or other fun math games, he actually had us do problems from the boring old textbook. And more than once, while he waited for the answer to questions like “Forty-one times six hundred and two is…?,” I caught him staring out the window, chewing on a knuckle. You could tell how much the recent events bothered him by how often he let talk of them interfere with our lessons.
“I heard the ghost made chocolate fly through the air!” said Amrita.
“I heard that it flooded the mechanical room with molten lava,” said Jackson.
“No way,” said Lucas. “It was ghost goo.”
Funny how everyone had an opinion on something none of them had seen. I caught Benny’s attention and rolled my eyes.
Gabi frowned, leaning toward us. “So, you put Miss Freshley in a coma,” she said. “Who’s next? Mr. Chu?”
Our teacher, overhearing this, flinched slightly.
“We never—” I began.
“We didn’t do anything,” said Benny. “It was the ghost.”
Mr. Chu cleared his throat. “And what’s, um, sixty-four times eighty-seven? Anyone?”
“Of course it’s the ghost.” Ignoring our teacher, Jackson glared at Benny and me. “And all this bad stuff just happens to take place while you’re around. Why is that?”
Tina scowled. “Hey, I was there, too.”
With a sigh, Mr. Chu said, “Does anyone have a question about something we’re actually studying?”
Tyler Spork raised his hand. “I do.”
“Go ahead.”
“What I wanna know is, why didn’t the ghost attack Carlos and Benny and put them out of my misery?”
Big Pete high-fived him across the aisle. Mr. Chu shook his head.
Esme leaned back, arms crossed. “Could have told you this would happen. I know all about the supernatural.”
“Really?” said Zizi.
Benny shot me a significant look. I remembered that we’d meant to investigate Esme and her mom but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Time to move that higher on the ol’ to-do list.
The morning went on in this vein. Up until the bell released us for recess, it was all Mr. Chu could do to sandwich in a few factoids here and there. (By the way, recess? An awesome invention. If not for recess, we’d never get any investigating done.)
As soon as Benny and I made it out the door, we headed off to hunt for Mr. Boo. The custodian had phoned each of us last night with the news that Miss Freshley was in a coma like the others, but we hadn’t seen him yet today. Maybe he’d discovered something new about the ghost. Maybe he knew where those strange rumors about us were coming from.
Unfortunately, Mr. Boo was harder to find than a sixth grader who believed in the tooth fairy. He wasn’t on the playground or in the cafeteria. His office and the mechanical room were both locked.
We never did locate him. But over on the basketball courts, we found something we weren’t searching for.
“Lookie-lookie,” said Tyler to Big Pete, “it’s the big bad ghost hunters.” The two were playing a halfhearted game of Horse. “Join us.”
“Maybe later,” I said.
“How’s never?” said Benny. “Is never good for you?”
Tyler scowled. “Come on, hotshots, play a game.”
“No, thanks,” said Benny. “We’re busy.”
Tyler tried a hook shot that bounced off the backboard. “Busy running away from spooks?”
Benny wheeled on him. “For your information, pal, we didn’t run away from anything.”
“Oh yeah, buddy?” sneered Tyler. “I heard you unleashed the forces of darkness, then let a kindergarten teacher face them for you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said.
“Or maybe this is all just some big prank,” said Tyler, dribbling the ball. “You’re so desperate for attention.”
Benny narrowed his eyes. “A prank? There were witnesses. We heard stuff—heck, we even smelled stuff.”
“Sure you did,” drawled Tyler. Big Pete snickered.
My ears went hot. “There’s bad stuff happening at this school.”
“And maybe you’re behind it,” said Tyler.
“We’re the only ones trying to do something.” Benny’s face flushed redder than a tomato kissed by a strawberry.
“If you’re trying to get the whole school knocked out, you’re doing a great job,” said Pete. He made a hyork-hyork sound that I guessed was his version of a superior laugh. It sounded more like a walrus choking on a Twizzler.
Tyler got up into Benny’s face. “Seems to me, if you really did see something supernatural, you’re afraid to tackle it on your own.”
“That’s a lie!” Benny snapped.
“Then why’d you bring along a whole posse yesterday?”
I spluttered. “It—it was a séance, and—”
“Séance, schméance,” said Tyler. “You’re as chicken as a bucket of Extra Crispy.”
“Are not,” said Benny and I together.
“Then prove it!”
I caught Benny’s shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got better things to do.”
He shook me off. “No. Nobody calls me chicken.” Benny glared at Tyler. “What did you have in mind?”
A wicked grin split Tyler’s face. “Tonight. The mechanical room. Just you two and the ghost. No adults. I dare you.”
My stomach flip-flopped like a gold-medal Olympic gymnast. Alone in that room with a ghost? The absolute last place we should be. I didn’t want to end up dead to the world for who knows how long, like José and Miss Freshley. And judging by Benny’s expression, neither did he.
Tyler took our common sense as fear. “Scaredy-cats, scaredy-cats, Carlos and Benny are scaredy-cats,” he chanted. Big Pete joined in, and a few bystanders laughed. It’s always worse with an audience.
“Are not!” Benny and I cried.
“Then spend an hour in that room tonight,” said Tyler. His eyes sparkled with an evil light, if evil eyes can sparkle. “I double-dog dare you.”
The playground near us went silent. The double-dog dare, as everyone knows, is the most serious dare possible. You back out on one of those, and your reputation is mud, all the way through college.
“We accept,” said Benny. And if his voice quavered a little, I didn’t blame him.
“Pinkie-swear,” said Tyler, extending his little finger. One at a time, Benny and I entwined pinkies with him, sealing the deal. As soon as possible, we’d need to sterilize our little fingers—I hoped we wouldn’t have to boil them.
“You’re all witnesses,” our obnoxious classmate told the onlookers. He turned to Benny and me. “And we expect photographic proof.”
“Done,” I said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. “And when we show it, you’ll have to do whatever we double-dog dare you to do.”
A flicker of doubt flitted across Tyler’s face. Too late—he’d already pinkie-sworn. “It’s a deal.”
Just then, the bell rang. Probably just as well. I didn’t think we could get into much more trouble before lunch.
As so often happens, I was wrong.
PARTWAY THROUGH OUR lesson on heroes and myths of ancient Greece, the class telephone rang with the message every student dreads.
“Carlos and Benny?” said Mr. Chu, hanging up the receiver.
“Yes, Mr. Chu?” we said.
“Your number’s up. Please report to the principal’s office.”
Our classmates were sympathetic and understanding. Everyone went Oooh! with great glee.
“Busted!” crowed Tyler. “I knew you were behind all the weird stuff.”
Benny gawked at our teacher. “Us?”
“Do you know any other Carloses or Bennys in this class?” said Mr. Chu. I glanced over at my friend, but he was rooted in place, just as mystified as I was. “Now would be nice. Mrs. Johnson has many fine qualities, but patience isn’t one of them.”
As eager as a prisoner approaching the hangman, we trudged down the covered corridor. Along the way, we passed a man and woman clad in sky-blue jumpsuits with the Hanzomon logo on the chest. Benny peered up at the guy.
“Hello, boys,” the man said. “We’re here to help coach science-fair projects.”
“Uh-huh,” said Benny.
I cocked my head. “Wouldn’t that be an unfair advantage?”
The woman smiled. “Not if we’re helping everybody.”
When we reached the office, Mrs. Gomez was sitting behind the counter, eating muffins and answering phones, same as usual. Like a spider at the center of a web, secretaries read the vibes of the entire school, so if anyone knew what we were in for, it’d be Mrs. Gomez. Her smile—or frown—could tell us a lot.
When she saw Benny and me, her face went as grim as an all-kale buffet.
So much for good news.
“Mrs. Johnson’s not ready for you yet,” she said. “Take a seat.”
We sat on the hard plastic chairs. Benny leaned over and whispered, “Now’s our chance.”
“What chance?” I said.
His eyes cut over to Mrs. Gomez typing on the computer. “You distract her; I’ll look up Esme’s address.”
“Are you nuts?” I hissed. “We’re already in trouble, and you want to land us in more?”
“That’s the best time,” he said, “when you’re already in trouble.”
But we didn’t get the chance to test Benny’s theory. Just then, a buzzer sounded behind the counter, and the secretary said, “She’ll see you now.”
We shuffled the few steps to Mrs. Johnson’s office door, and I wondered why we were in for it this time. Was it because our séance put a teacher into a coma? Or was it some other trouble we’d gotten into earlier? When you visit the principal’s office as often as we do, who can keep track?
Benny knocked. When we heard “Come in,” we entered the room.
“Close the door,” said Mrs. Johnson.
I swallowed. This wasn’t good. Closed doors meant bad news.
“Would y’all please—” the principal began in her Texas twang.
“I can explain,” Benny burst out. “See, we had no idea the thing was flammable.”
A frown line appeared between her eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”
Backpedaling, Benny said, “Um, it depends. What are you talking about?”
“The fix our school has gotten itself into,” said Mrs. Johnson after a pause.
I tried to quiet my suddenly queasy stomach. “Oh,” I said. “That.”
She gestured to the visitor chairs, and Benny and I sat. I was as confused as a goat on Astroturf. Had our principal been talking to Tyler? Did she believe all that stuff about us causing the troubles, or was something else on her mind?
“I heard about yesterday’s séance,” said Mrs. Johnson. “And—”
“We are so sorry about Miss Freshley,” Benny blurted.
“It was an accident,” I said.
She held up a calming hand. “I’m aware of that. And I don’t hold you two responsible.”
“You don’t?” said Benny and I together. Relief flooded me.
“You may have been going at it like an armadillo trying to tap-dance, but I believe you were trying to help the school,” she said.
“Absolutely,” said Benny.
Resting her elbows on the desk, the principal tented her long fingers. “Mr. Decker told me all about it—before he was struck down, too.”
“Say that again?” My hands seemed to tingle, like a bad case of pins and needles.
“But he was fine when we saw him,” Benny protested.
Mrs. Johnson’s lips compressed. “Last night, yes. But he came in early this morning to try to solve this problem, and…Mrs. Gomez found him raving down the halls.”
“No!” I crumpled like a cheap tissue. What good was it trying to be a hero if you couldn’t protect your friends?
“H-how is he?” Benny asked.
The principal shook her head. “Just like the rest. This is getting to be a very bad trend.”
I checked Benny’s expression. He looked just as stunned as I felt.
Standing up, Mrs. Johnson smoothed the front of her lime-green pantsuit. “It’s a…ticklish situation, to say the least. Parents are worried; the superintendent is having a conniption fit. But if I bring in the police, they’d never believe me.”
“Well, yeah,” I said, just for something to say.
“It’s getting bad,” she continued. “There’s even talk of shutting down the school.”
I gaped. The situation was serious.
Mrs. Johnson’s fists clenched. “Not my school, that’s for darn tootin’. I promised to educate and protect my students, and that is what I will do.”
“That’s right!” said Benny.
The principal’s eyes flashed. “I’ve been an educator for twenty-t
wo years. I’ve faced wildfires, budget cuts, even standardized testing—and I will not let this…whatever-it-is drive us out. Especially not now, when our whole science program is being underwritten by Hanzomon International.”
“Never give up, never surrender!” cried Benny, caught up in the moment.
My pulse was pounding, too. I was ready to draw a line in the sand, but…“Why are you telling this to us?” I asked.
She studied Benny and me for a beat. “I know that some strange and mysterious things have gone on at Monterrosa Elementary the last couple of months.”
Like were-hyenas and mutant mantises? Yeah, you could say that.
“Bad things have happened,” she said, eyeing Benny, “and I’m not just talking about exploding toilets.”
Benny struggled to keep a “She knows!” expression from his face, and failed.
Mrs. Johnson clasped her hands. “I believe that you two have done your part to protect the school, students, and staff from these…troubles.”
I offered a rigid grin and lifted a shoulder. “We try.”
“So…I would like to hire you.”
I blinked. “Hire?”
“Us?” said Benny.
“Yes,” said the principal. “You may be fourth graders, but for some reason, you seem to know things that no one else does.”
“Tell that to Mr. Chu,” Benny muttered.
Mrs. Johnson continued as though she hadn’t heard. “I want you two to get to the bottom of this situation and uncover the…whatever-it-is that’s putting folks into comas.” She couldn’t bring herself to say “ghost.”
“Um…” I traded looks with Benny.
“You’ve got to do it by the end of the science fair on Friday, or the superintendent will shut us down.”
“Wow,” I said.
The principal put a fist on her hip. “And here are the conditions: Don’t face this threat directly.”
“But—” I began.
“When things get dangerous, you leave immediately and call me,” said Mrs. Johnson. “I don’t want two more comas on my conscience.”
“I’m with you on that,” I said. Benny gave a thumbs-up.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
Before I could speak, Benny laid his hand on my arm. “If we do this,” he asked her, “what’s in it for us?”