by J. A. White
“I guess,” Cordelia said.
She knew her friends were probably right, but she was bummed that they weren’t more curious. At the very least, she had hoped to bat around a few theories, just like old times.
They’re too busy thinking about the dehaunter, she thought. Well, Agnes is. Benji’s probably thinking about Vivi.
They entered Ms. Jackson’s science classroom. It had the number 313 outside its door, but everyone just called it the Window Room. It was easy to see why: The walls were jigsaw-puzzled together out of windows that varied in shape, size, and style, without an inch of drywall between them. As if this wasn’t odd enough, not a single window looked upon the outside world; instead of staring at trees or clouds, bored students could watch the comings and goings in the hallway, or make faces at the kids in the adjoining classrooms. Like the second-floor staircase that looped back on itself or the goblin-sized door in the ceiling of Mr. Hearn’s room, the windows were there for reasons only Elijah Shadow understood, a necessary part of the architectural magic that drew spirits to the school and kept them from leaving.
Cordelia, Benji, and Agnes took their seats at one of the tall, old-fashioned lab tables. Ms. Jackson—who had curly brown hair and could have been mistaken for a high school student—stood just behind them. Each time a new student entered, she shrank deeper into the back corner of the room. Cordelia heard her mumble: “Nothing to be scared of. It’s just like you practiced last night, only with a bunch of kids staring at you.” Ms. Jackson closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Forty-eight little eyes. Watching every single move you make. Judging you . . .”
“She seems even more nervous than usual today,” Benji whispered. “Maybe it’s because Agnes corrected her like five hundred times yesterday.”
“It was only seven,” Agnes insisted. “And I was very polite about it.”
At last, Ms. Jackson found the courage to begin the class. “Today we’re going to learn about cell structure,” she said, her voice so quiet that Cordelia had to lean forward just to hear her. “It’s truly fascinating. Each cell is like a tiny little organism hidden inside our bodies. There’s the nucleus, which is the brain. And the cytoskeleton, which is like a body. And, of course, the . . . the . . .”
She stared at the class, her face blank, like an actress who had forgotten her lines. Mason whispered something to the other kids at his table and they burst into laughter, which rattled Ms. Jackson further.
“Cilium?” Agnes suggested helpfully. “Lysosome? Mitochondrion?”
Ms. Jackson wiped the sweat from her forehead, cleared her throat twice—and ran out of the room.
“You scared her off,” Benji said to Agnes.
“I didn’t mean to! Should I run after her?”
“I’m sure she’ll come back eventually,” Cordelia said, though she thought it was equally possible that Ms. Jackson might run out the front doors of Shadow School and never return. “In the meantime, maybe we can try to figure out why all these ghosts have been turning down their—”
“Oh!” Agnes exclaimed. “That reminds me. There’s something I wanted to show you.” She dug through her backpack and retrieved a leather-bound journal, turning her body to shield it from the other students (who had all started conversations of their own). “I read a few of Elijah’s journals on the train ride to Boston and learned some cool stuff. You remember last year how Dr. Roqueni told us there were super-rare people who could see ghosts everywhere, not just Shadow School? Elijah was one of those people.”
“I wondered about that,” Cordelia said. “Guess that’s how he was able to tell how all those houses were haunted. He could see the ghosts.”
“Except he did more than just see them,” Agnes said. “If they were causing problems, he actually got rid of them.”
“Cool,” Benji said, half listening. The majority of his attention was focused on Vivi, who was waving at him to join her table.
Cordelia smacked him in the arm.
“Ow!”
“Pay attention,” Cordelia said.
“Elijah didn’t get rid of the ghosts for free,” Agnes continued after giving them both an amused smile. She flipped through the pages of the journal. “Not usually, at least. The owner had to pay him first. Check this out. There’s actually a price list.”
She held the page open while Cordelia and Agnes read it:
Spirit (child) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Free
Spirit (animal) . . . . . . . . . . . . . $15 per attempt
Spirit (nonviolent human) . . . . . $40 per attempt
Spirit (violent human) . . . . . . . . $70 per attempt
Poltergeist . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $125 per attempt
Phantom . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . To be determined on a case-by-case basis
“That’s it?” Benji asked. “I would have charged a lot more than that.”
“This was a long time ago,” Agnes said. “Forty dollars then would be like a thousand dollars today.”
“Not bad,” Benji said, nodding in admiration.
Cordelia placed her finger on the bottom of the list.
“What does this mean?” she asked. “‘Phantom?’”
“I knew you’d ask about that,” Agnes said. “Apparently when some ghosts got old—like, really old—they changed. Sometimes they developed special abilities. Like Elijah himself. He probably didn’t become a poltergeist until he had been dead for a long time. But sometimes the changes were more horrific. In his journal, Elijah wrote about seeing spirits that barely looked human anymore. He called them phantoms. They were so dangerous that even regular ghosts were scared of them.”
Benji’s face turned pale. “I am so glad you finished that dehaunter,” he said.
“You finished it?” Cordelia asked in disbelief. “The dehaunter? It’s done?”
“You didn’t tell her?” Benji asked.
“Sorry,” Agnes said, blushing. “It’s just, every time I talk about the dehaunter, you go all scrunchy face.”
Cordelia furrowed her brows.
“That face!” Agnes exclaimed. “Right there!”
“It’s a little scrunchy,” Benji agreed.
“Sorry,” Cordelia said. “But I just think that before we do any dehaunting, we should figure out why these ghosts have suddenly decided they’re not interested in their Brights anymore. Aren’t you curious?”
Benji shook his head. “The only thing I’m curious about is what it’ll be like to walk through these hallways and not have to wonder, ‘Hmm . . . is that dude a new teacher? Or a new dead guy?’” He slipped down from his stool and patted his hair into place. “I’m going to say hi to a few people. I’ll be back.”
By “a few people,” Benji meant Vivi, of course. There were no available seats at her table, but she quickly grabbed an unoccupied stool and set it by her side. Benji hopped on it eagerly, and the two jumped into an animated conversation.
“Benji’s right, you know,” Agnes said. “If this dehaunter works, it doesn’t matter if the ghosts are acting weird or not. They’ll all be set free. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Of course,” Cordelia said.
For the most part, she was telling the truth—more than anything else, she wanted to save the ghosts. And yet, there was a small, selfish part of her that wanted the ghosts to stay. Cordelia liked saving them, and she was worried about how things might change once the ghosts were no longer a part of her life.
Will I ever find something I love as much as helping them? she wondered. And will Benji and Agnes want to stay friends with me afterward?
There was no way to know for sure.
After spending the rest of science deep in conversation (until Ms. Jackson finally returned with ten minutes left in the period), Benji and Vivi walked together to their next class, shoulders practically touching as Agnes and a grim-faced Cordelia trailed behind them. They made sure they were on the same volleyball team at gym—Benji serving up perfect bump passes that Vivi smashe
d over the net—shared a plate of french fries at lunch, and chose seats at the same table during art and social studies. For the first time ever, Cordelia was excited for math, since Mrs. Machen never let the students pick their own seats—but in some ways, this ended up being even worse. Every time Cordelia glanced over at Benji, he was craning his neck in order to get Vivi’s attention from the other side of the room—or maybe just to catch a glimpse of her.
It was enough to make you sick.
Finally, Cordelia couldn’t take it anymore. She asked to use the pass and wandered down to the first floor with no particular destination in mind, just wanting to get away from Benji and Vivi as quickly as possible. Agnes thought Cordelia was jealous, which was ridiculous—she had no interest in dating right now. Yes, she had noticed that Benji was kind of cute, but only in a passing way, like when her mom commented on a nice house. It was natural to notice, but that didn’t mean they were house shopping. Right now, she had more important things on her mind than flirty texts and holding hands in a movie theater.
The ghosts came first.
That being said, thinking about the stupid smile Benji seemed to get whenever he talked to Vivi made her stomach hurt. Cordelia didn’t want to date Benji—at least, not yet—but she didn’t want anyone else to date him, either. Could you reserve a boy like a book at the library?
She heard someone call her name.
“Hello?” she asked, looking around. The hallway was silent and empty.
“Cordelia,” a voice whispered. “Is he gone?”
She spotted a pair of scared eyes peeking from behind a partially open door.
“Hey, Ezra,” Cordelia said, recognizing the boy she had met on the first day of school. “Whatcha doing?”
“Hiding,” he said. “I was coming back from Dr. Roqueni’s office when I saw that boy who was picking on me the first day of school. He was looking down at his phone, but I didn’t want to take any chances, so I hid.”
“The coast is clear,” Cordelia said. “By now, Mason is probably on the other side of the school, pulling the wings off flies or kicking a puppy.”
“You’re funny,” Ezra said, stepping into the hallway.
“I’ve always thought so,” Cordelia said.
Ezra was wearing blue corduroy pants, a pink button-down shirt, and a polka-dot bow tie. His parents aren’t doing this poor kid any favors, she thought.
“Do you think you could walk me back to Mrs. King’s room?” he asked. “I’m a little lost.”
“My pleasure,” Cordelia said. “What were you doing in Dr. Roqueni’s office?”
Ezra blushed, setting the freckles on his face aflame.
“Mrs. King sent me there,” he said. “I got in trouble for letting Lemonade out of his tank. He looked kind of lonely, so I wanted to hold him for a while. Only he got away, and now we can’t find him.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Cordelia said.
“Dr. Roqueni was really nice about it. She said she didn’t think anything should be trapped in a cage, even a gecko, so she appreciated the sentiment.”
“That sounds like her,” Cordelia said. “Sorry you’ve had such a rough day.”
“It’s not as bad as my sixth birthday party, when I threw up all over my cake,” Ezra said. “Or my seventh birthday, when my parents wrapped up a pet guinea pig in a box but forgot to make air holes.”
“You haven’t had much luck with birthdays, have you?”
“I dread them every year.”
They walked through an intersection. Out of habit, Cordelia registered that there was a new ghost at the end of the hallway to her left, but she ignored it for now. There wasn’t much she could do with Ezra there.
A few steps later, however, she came to an abrupt halt. Something about the ghost was nagging at her—a teasing familiarity.
She backtracked for a closer look. The ghost was heading in the opposite direction, but even from this distance there was no mistaking his distinctive hat and gloves.
The gardener.
“What are you looking at?” Ezra asked, following her gaze. “There’s nothing there.”
“Shh,” Cordelia said, pulling him out of view and holding a finger to her lips. “I have to go. Just keep walking straight, and you’ll go right past Mrs. King’s room.”
Ezra nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but you’re a little weird.”
Cordelia couldn’t really argue with that, so she gave a brief nod and took off after the gardener, just in time to see him make a left at the end of the hallway. Not only had the gardener escaped his ghost zone, but there seemed to be no limitation to where he could go. She followed him up to the third floor, maintaining her distance in case he looked behind him. At one point the gardener took a shortcut through a wall of lockers, which was hardly fair, but Cordelia was able to pick him up on the other side. His stride was determined and purposeful. Cordelia didn’t think this was haunting for haunting’s sake. He had a particular destination in mind.
Where are you off to? she wondered.
The bell rang.
Within moments, the hall was packed with students. Cordelia tried to keep following the gardener, but she was moving against the traffic, jostled left and right by a stampede of much bigger kids. A quintet of gossiping girls refused to part, and Cordelia had to press herself against the wall to dodge their moving barricade. By that point, she had lost sight of the gardener altogether. Cordelia grunted in frustration and kicked a locker.
“Everything okay?” Mr. Derleth asked, walking over. His classroom was right across the hall. “You look as if you’ve seen a . . . well, you know.”
“I’m fine,” she said. “But there is definitely something weird going on here. Can we meet after school? All of us?”
Mr. Derleth shook his head. “There’s a faculty meeting today,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “And Dr. Roqueni and I have a lot to do to set up the dehaunter for its test.”
“This is important,” Cordelia insisted.
“Nothing is more important than the dehaunter,” Mr. Derleth said. “But let me talk to Dr. Roqueni. I’m sure we can find a time to meet after the test, if that will make you feel better.”
“Why do we have to wait until—”
“Sorry, Cordelia,” Mr. Derleth said. “I have to run.”
Before she could say another word, Mr. Derleth crossed the hall and entered his classroom. Cordelia noticed him massaging his temples as he closed the door.
11
Test Run
By the following Friday, they were ready to test the dehaunter.
Cordelia, Agnes, and Benji headed up to the mirror gallery immediately after school. The hallways were empty. Dr. Roqueni had canceled all after-school activities and given the entire staff permission to leave as soon as the dismissal bell rang. She didn’t want to risk any interruptions.
Agnes paced back and forth as they waited for the adults to arrive. She had been nervous and scatterbrained all day. For once, Ms. Jackson had actually corrected her.
“Relax, Agnes,” Benji said. His eyes shone with anticipation, as though he was stepping onto a plane for a long vacation. “This school is about to be ghost free!”
“I’m forgetting something,” Agnes said, lifting her spectercles to check a to-do list in her notebook. “I calibrated the dehaunter so it only worked with a single mirror, baked preemptive brownies in case we needed to celebrate . . . uh! The curtains!”
She walked past Hopeless Bob, who looked grateful to have so many visitors for a change, and drew the curtain of the mirror behind him. Dust flew everywhere.
“The dehaunter can’t do its thing if the mirror is covered,” Agnes said. She grabbed a roll of paper towels and a bottle of Windex from her backpack. “The surface has to be spotless, too.”
“Is that why the curtains are there?” Cordelia asked. “To keep the glass from getting dirty?”
“Actually, no,” Agnes said. “The curtains are there
to keep people from looking into the mirrors. This way they can stay at full strength. Elijah had this theory that each time a mirror cast a reflection it lost a little of its ‘inherent mystical power.’”
“Wow,” said Cordelia. “And here I thought mirrors were just to show me how bad my hair looked in the morning.”
“You could never look bad,” Benji said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. “I meant your hair, not you,” he added quickly, trying to recover. “Your hair could never look bad. ’Cause it’s so short. Like, how messy can it get?”
“Thanks,” Cordelia muttered.
Benji snagged the paper towels and Windex from Agnes, who seemed to take great delight in his awkwardness.
“I got this,” he said, and began to scrub the mirror. Though his back was facing her, Cordelia could still see Benji’s reflection. His cheeks were aflame.
He said I could never look bad, Cordelia thought. Does that mean he thinks I’m pretty? The thought made her feel confused and excited in equal measure. No, that doesn’t make sense. Benji is into Vivi. Just because he thinks I never look bad, doesn’t mean he thinks I look good. It just means I’m average. And even if he thought I was, maybe, a tiny bit pretty, there’s no way I’m in Vivi’s league.
She shook her head, annoyed that her thoughts had wandered so far, and refocused her attention on the more important matter at hand.
“Make sure it’s perfect,” Agnes told Benji, peeking over his shoulder as he scrubbed the mirror. “Not even a single streak.”
“No worries,” Benji said. “My mom makes me clean our windows every weekend. I’ve got pro skills.”
He started to whistle, no longer blushing. This is a big day for him, Cordelia thought. For both of them. She wished she could share her friends’ excitement, but there was something about the dehaunter that continued to trouble her. Just one press of a button and all the ghosts are gone? she wondered. It shouldn’t be that easy.
Dr. Roqueni entered the room. She had dressed up for the occasion in an old-fashioned green dress embroidered with black flowers. It wasn’t her usual style, but Cordelia thought she looked beautiful.