“No problem.” I slid two slices of raisin bread into the toaster. “What time did you guys get home last night?”
She yawned. “Around three, I think. Poor Shane. He was asleep at the monitors.”
“Three in the morning? Wow. Isn’t that the time I should be sneaking in?”
She pointed a finger at me. “Don’t even think about it.”
I sat across from her and buttered my toast. “So where were you?”
“We went to see someone about your situation.” She took another sip of coffee. “I think we have a solid plan now. Your father isn’t too thrilled, but he tends to be cynical about things like this.”
Mom explained that when we finally located the graves of Charlotte Pickens and her parents, we would need to perform a kind of “releasing ceremony.” It involved some chanting and prayers, but the most important aspect of it was that we needed to form a “Circle of Seven.”
“Seven people who believe in what they’re doing and can focus,” Mom said. “They join hands, recite the prayer, and hopefully, the spirits will be able to let go and join their daughter.”
“Sounds sort of cheesy,” I admitted. “I can see why Dad is skeptical.”
“Yes. But this woman we met with, Beth, seemed sincere to me. I believed her, and you know how rare it is for me to trust someone who claims to have that kind of knowledge.” Mom looked at me. “She said I should ask you more about your dreams. She said you would be having one very soon.”
I almost choked on my toast. “I had one last night.”
Dad shuffled down the stairs and went straight for the coffee. “Good morning.”
“Charlotte had another dream last night,” Mom said.
Dad froze with his hand on the coffeepot. “Did you tell her about the psychic?” He grimaced when he uttered the word “psychic,” as if it was painful to say.
“Yeah. She told me.” I described my dream to them. Mom grabbed a notepad and jotted down what I was saying while Dad simply listened and nodded.
“Interesting. Your previous dream may be more helpful to us, though. Annalise e-mailed a list of young men who went missing during the earthquake,” he said. “We can narrow the list down by age, but this accent you mentioned may be a useful clue. We can look for foreign-sounding names.”
“And if Charlotte Pickens married this guy, she would have taken his last name. We can trace them that way.” I was starting to get excited. We were taking a giant step toward solving the mystery.
While Dad was printing off Annalise’s e-mail, I tried to get more information from Mom about the psychic. “Did she say why I was having the dreams? Because I don’t get it. It’s like Charlotte Pickens is putting them in my head, but if she is, then she must be here with her parents, right?”
“Beth had a theory,” Mom said slowly. “I don’t know if I necessarily agree with her, but she thinks you are somehow serving as a connection between the energies involved. The girl’s energy is trying to reach her parents through you and vice versa. It doesn’t mean the girl is anywhere nearby, only that because her parents are nearby, she can connect to you.”
“So everybody’s using me,” I muttered as I took my plate to the sink and rinsed off the toast crumbs. I thought briefly of Jared asking for my help and Shane telling me it was important to aid the living. By the time this was all over, I would have helped enough people to earn some kind of Girl Scout badge. I almost laughed out loud at the thought of a little round badge decorated with a ghost.
“Here’s the list of males missing after the earthquake,” Dad said as he came back to the kitchen. “Let’s see. Only fourteen names, so that’s good.” He ran a finger down the paper as Mom looked over his shoulder. Most of the names sounded old-fashioned to me and not at all foreign. There were a lot of Fredericks and Franks and Walters on the list. “Alanzo de Paula,” Mom said, and we all knew immediately that was the one.
“Maybe that’s why her parents disapproved,” I suggested. “He was a recent immigrant or something, and they wanted her to marry someone else.”
“That’s certainly possible,” Mom agreed. “We need to research this last name, check records and vital statistics. I’ll see what I can do.”
While my parents planned a trip to the research library, I turned my attention to my backpack, which was propped against the sofa and bulging with all the homework I had to finish. I had no weekend plans, which was slightly depressing. I opened my British Lit text and began reading, feeling content to be doing something so perfectly normal.
I sat cross-legged on the sofa and tried to concentrate on my English assignment. I realized that I’d been spending a lot of time in the same spot. It was where I completed homework, watched TV, snacked and slept. If we left energy behind in places where we spent the most time, then I was in the process of creating a haunted sofa. Maybe one day my parents would sell it at a garage sale and some poor, unsuspecting buyers would take it home and feel my presence sitting next to them.
Halfway through writing a response to an incredibly boring poem written in a form of English I could barely understand, my cell phone rang. It was Callie.
“I need to ask you something,” she said, sounding breathless. “There’s a rumor that your parents are, um, some kind of Ghostbusters.”
“Well, that didn’t take long.” Less than twenty-four hours, I thought. A new record.
“It’s true?”
I shut my lit book. “Yes, it’s true. But they prefer the term ‘paranormal investigators.’” I explained everything as best I could and gripped my pen as I waited for a reaction.
“Wow. That’s pretty cool, Charlotte. I mean, you’re kind of a celebrity.”
“No, I’m not a celebrity,” I protested. “More of an oddity. Callie, I don’t want people making a big deal out of this. It can get really weird really fast.” I paused. “How’d you find out?”
“I got a text. Someone saw a TV guide thing, and it’s all anyone is talking about.”
“Wonderful,” I muttered.
“It’s not a bad thing! Seriously, people think it’s great.”
“Right. It’ll be great until after Halloween. Then they’ll start trying to figure out what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re obviously not seeing the big picture, but if you want us to downplay it, we will. Just say the word.”
“The word.”
Callie sighed. “Fine. But you’re missing out on an incredible opportunity to be known as the greatest thing our school has seen since one of the alumni made it onto a reality dating show.”
“I’ll live with the regret,” I said. “By the way, have you spoken to Avery today?”
“No, she’s not answering her phone. Does she know yet?”
“I told her yesterday. She didn’t seem too happy about it.”
Callie’s line clicked and I knew she had another call coming in. “Avery takes time to adjust to things,” she said quickly. “She’ll be fine. See you Monday.”
I said goodbye and lay on the sofa. Everything had changed right when I was beginning to enjoy the life I had established. I liked my friends and my anonymity and even my class schedule. The day before, people saw me as a regular senior girl. How would they look at me on Monday?
I thought about calling Annalise for a little moral support, but I already knew what she would say. “Who cares what other people think? Don’t let the opinions of others define you.” Annalise had always been so sure of who she was, and her confidence seemed to draw people to her, people who didn’t care that she walked into abandoned buildings as chum and called out to the energy that resided there. She confronted rumors head-on with a smile, while I pretended not to hear what people were whispering.
It was strangely simple the way that one thing suddenly defined you to other people. One day you’re a normal person, and the next you’re that girl whose parents hunt ghosts. People always tended to sum up others in just a few words, as if those meaningless descriptions defined them f
orever. You were the “shy girl” or the “obnoxious guy,” and no matter what you did, you were trapped inside the way other people chose to see you.
I wondered if that was part of the reason why Charlotte Pickens ran away from home. Maybe her parents had always seen her as the “good girl” and she couldn’t bear for them to see her as anything else, especially as an unwed mother. Whatever had been her ultimate fate, I was going to find out.
Soon.
fifteen
I heard two quick honks of a car horn at exactly seven-thirty and felt relieved, as if I’d been holding my breath underwater for too long.
“Avery’s here!” I yelled out to Mom and Dad. They were at their computers. “See you later!”
Mom walked with me to the front door. “We may not be here. We’re going to a research library near Charleston, but we should be back before dinner.”
I told her to have fun and walked out to Avery’s car, a tiny knot of nervousness gnawing at my stomach. I wasn’t sure what to expect from everyone at school, but I was more anxious about how Avery would treat me. Would she act aloof and irritated? Or had she decided that my family’s tiny slice of strange celebrity was no big deal? I opened the passenger door and slid in, determined to stay upbeat and hope for the best.
“Good morning!” I said, then immediately cringed. I had squealed like an overexcited toddler.
Avery laughed and backed out of the driveway. “Well, you’re happy today.”
“Just happy to see you, I guess. I tried calling you over the weekend.”
“I was busy. Spent a lot of time on the computer, actually, catching up on stuff.”
Avery didn’t seem angry or uncomfortable in any way, so I relaxed a little and settled into my seat. I was surprised when, instead of taking the long way to school, she turned left onto Main Street. I was going to say something but decided to let her bring it up if she wanted to.
“I’m sorry if I rushed out on you Friday,” she began. “I was just taken aback, is all. It’s not your parents’ career—it’s that you had a secret. You understand, right?”
“I understand.”
We stopped at a red light. “Don’t worry about today,” Avery said. “You might get some stares, but it should be fine.” She turned toward me, but her gaze was focused on something out my window. I turned my head as well and immediately saw what she was looking at: a short white cross near the side of the road. I’d seen it before but never made the connection.
“That’s where Adam died,” Avery murmured. I wasn’t sure what to say. The car behind us honked, and we both looked up. The light had changed.
“Avery, I’m really—”
“You know why I never go to your locker?” she interrupted.
“No.”
“Adam’s locker was the one right next to yours, closest to the drinking fountain. After he died, people taped cards to it and placed flowers there. The administration decided to leave it empty this year. I wonder whose locker it will be next year.”
I wasn’t used to Avery rambling like this. Her tone remained casual, as if we were discussing homework or the weather, but something was off. Why was she telling me any of this, especially now? I squirmed in my seat, unsure how to respond.
“Avery, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said brightly. “Just being open and honest. That’s what we need to be from now on, right? Open and honest.”
“Right. From here on out, no more secrets.”
Even as I said it, I felt guilty. I hadn’t told her about Jared’s visit or how I planned to help him.
We arrived at school early. Avery pulled into her parking spot but didn’t get out of the car. “You’re one of my best friends,” she said. “I hope you know that.”
I nodded. “Thanks. I do know that. And you’re one of mine.”
I didn’t tell her that I’d never had a best friend before. My family had always moved so much, there was never any time to establish lasting friendships. Avery and I had bonded almost immediately, something that had never happened to me before.
We walked into school together, and before long the empty hallways began to fill up with students and noise and the general morning rush. Some of the other girls gathered around Avery’s locker and we chatted about our weekends. Callie had obviously told them not to ask about my parents, but I could tell from the quick glances they were sharing that they were dying to ask me. Finally, I told them that it was okay.
“I know everyone has seen the channel guide,” I said. “It’s fine if you want to talk about it. I just don’t want it to be the only thing we talk about, you know?”
Callie was the first to ask me something. “So how many actual ghosts have you seen?” We were heading to first period in our usual group formation. I knew people were staring at me, but for once it didn’t feel so strange. I felt protected in a way, because I was surrounded by my friends.
“Actual ghosts? The kind that look like people and float around?” I smiled. “None, unless you count the ones I’ve seen in movies.”
I explained that most “ghosts” appeared as dark shadows or blurry shapes, not the full-bodied apparitions people expected to see. “It’s more common to hear things, or see an object move, or get a really cold feeling,” I went on. “It’s pretty boring, actually. You can wait hours and hours for something to happen, only to get a few seconds of activity.”
Trying to clarify my dad’s theory about residual energy proved to be more difficult. My parents probably investigated a hundred cases a year, and out of those hundred, they usually proved that over half weren’t hauntings at all but instead very simple problems involving bad wiring or faulty cables or something. They always discovered a few dozen cases of residual energy, some more complex than others.
We arrived at Doc Larsen’s English class. Half the girls went one way and half the other. Callie and I took our seats and waited for the bell to ring.
“I saw a ghost once, in my grandmother’s attic,” Callie whispered. “It was like you described—a blurry shape moving across the room. It freaked me out. Don’t you get scared?”
I shrugged. “Not really. When you grow up around stuff like that, it becomes normal.”
Even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t the entire truth. Certain things felt normal to me, like the sound of footsteps on empty stairs or doors opening by themselves. But when it came to the energy of the Pickenses, I felt as if I’d been thrust into the middle of something new and different. I knew if I thought about it too much I would be downright terrified.
The rest of the morning went by quickly. More people than usual said hi to me in the hallways, but only a few stopped talking entirely when I walked by. Any time I caught people looking at me, I smiled and said hello. No avoidance, I told myself. Just look them in the eyes.
By the end of the day, I felt like a seasoned pro in the art of polite nodding and smiling. I wasn’t even fazed when I arrived at the AV room and a gaggle of overeager freshman boys swarmed around me. They asked questions about exorcisms and UFO sightings and anything even remotely supernatural. One kid even took notes. I just smiled and told them to read one of my parents’ books.
I had been looking forward all day to seeing Noah. He was the person I wanted to help me with my plan for Jared, and I needed to talk with him. Before I could, though, Mr. Morley stopped me.
“I had no idea that your parents produced their own television series!” he exclaimed. “Think you could convince them to come in and speak to the class?”
I knew Mom and Dad would be thrilled with an invitation to my school, but the thought of them roaming the building and attracting attention was a little too much for me at the moment.
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll have to ask them. They’re really busy.”
Mr. Morley nodded. “Of course. Well, let me know soon, okay?”
He returned to his desk while I headed toward the editing monitors. I could see Noah already working at our station, but before I c
ould reach him, I was stopped again. This time, it was Bliss.
“What was that about?” she demanded. I was almost blinded by her bright orange blouse. She’d paired it with a green skirt, so she kind of resembled a carrot.
“What do you mean?” I was feeling impatient to see Noah, but then I realized this was a perfect opportunity to face another problem I had been avoiding: talking to Bliss for the first time since the hallway incident.
“Why were you talking to Morley? Wait, let me guess. You were trying to convince him that I should interview you, right? Since you think you’re such a big celebrity and all?”
I sighed. “No, Bliss, I was not trying to get an interview. Actually, I’d prefer that people just dropped it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Reverse psychology doesn’t work on me, Charlotte.”
“How about logic? Does that work on you?”
She shook her head in disgust and stomped off. I had planned on apologizing to Bliss for something, but suddenly I couldn’t remember what. She made things so difficult. At least we were speaking, although part of me questioned whether or not that was a good thing.
Finally, I was able to take my seat next to Noah at one of the monitors.
“What are we editing today?” I asked.
“The usual earth-shattering news,” Noah responded. “Football scores and a French Club bake sale. What was Bliss mad about this time?”
“The usual earth-shattering issues. She’s still convinced that I’m trying to steal the spotlight.”
We went to work, but Noah was quieter than usual, and it began to bother me. Finally, I said something.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about it?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Ask you about what?”
“I think you know. In fact, I think the entire town knows.”
“I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would. Besides, I’ve known since the first week of school.”
“What?” I was shocked. Noah had never even hinted that he was aware of what my parents did for a living.
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