by Susan Hatler
A chill crept across my chest. I distinctly remembered the planchette flying off the board. So, how did it get back there? I shook my head. Nicole or Brynne must have put it back when I wasn’t looking. . . .
“Do you think spirits were really talking to us?” I whispered to Brynne as Nicole opened my bedroom door.
Brynne shrugged. “Forget about it. Go have the night of your life. If you marry Alex, I expect to be a bridesmaid at your wedding.”
Nicole laced her arm through Brynne’s as they headed for the stairs. “She’s sixteen, Brynne. Not thirty.”
Left alone in my room, I slid my purse strap over my shoulder, reached for the light switch, and took one last glance over my shoulder.
The pointer’s circular window now covered the word “NO.” My breath caught in my throat. My heart pounded and pins pricked along my arms. The pointer had been in the center of the board a moment ago. I’d just seen it. I stared at the word encased by the plastic circle.
NO.
How had the pointer moved to the word “NO” all by itself? My brain searched for a logical explanation. Brynne must’ve kicked the board when she got up. Yeah, that had to be it.
I flipped off the lights and pulled my door shut.
It wasn’t like the spirit world cared about me or whether my date was going to kiss me. It’s doubtful there even was a spirit world.
Unfortunately, those thoughts didn’t ease the distinct feeling I had that someone was watching me.
****
After an embarrassing Q and A session from my parents on where Alex planned to take me (the movies) and what time he planned to have me home (before midnight), he and I were finally on my front porch. Alone at last.
“You look nice,” he said, then reached for my hand.
“Thanks.” My heart skipped a beat when his fingers laced through mine. I couldn’t help noticing that he looked extremely gorgeous himself with his thick head of blond hair styled up in front, a black long-sleeved shirt that fit snugly over his broad shoulders, and a shy half-smile meant solely for me. Wow. After fantasizing about him so long, it was hard to believe this was actually real.
We were ambling down the cement path toward his black sports car parked at the curb when I spotted movement behind the rear tinted windows. What the . . .? Every muscle in my body tightened. Maybe my mind had fabricated the “being watched” feeling, but there’s no way I was imagining the outline of a figure in the backseat of Alex’s car. I stopped in my tracks and threw my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream.
Could that really be one of Nicole’s “friendly” spirits?
My eyes bugged and I tightened my grip on Alex’s hand, chills skittering down my spine. “Something’s in the backseat of your car. No joke.”
“Right.” He tugged me along toward his car and then released my hand to fumble with his keys. “That’s just Todd and Josh. They’ve been wanting to see this movie too, so I said they could come.”
Relief washed over me that it wasn’t a ghost, but my forehead wrinkled as he opened the front passenger door so I could get in. I gaped up at him. “You brought your friends along?”
He shrugged like he didn’t see what the big deal was. “Yeah. They’re cool, huh?”
I stared at him, debating what to make of this. I’d thought he’d asked me out to spend time with me, not to hang out as one of the guys. Then Alex did that swoon-worthy half-smile thing and I decided that, even with a few tag alongs, all hope of a relationship wasn’t lost. “Sure. It’s fine.”
I slipped into the front passenger seat and he closed the door behind me. Todd and Josh mumbled greetings as I pulled my seatbelt across my chest. “Hi, guys,” I said, trying to sound perky and not like I thought it was (totally) weird they’d want to come on our date.
“Hi,” Todd said.
Josh patted my shoulder. “Hey, Amy.”
Okay, it’s not like spending Friday night with three of the hottest guys in school should be considered a drag, exactly. But I did want a real date. Ending with a kiss like the Ouija board promised. And, hello? If you’re interested in someone, you don’t bring your buddies with you. Right? If only there were a sly way to text Brynne to get her thoughts.
Shoot, if I’d known this was a group thing, I could’ve brought her and Nicole along, too. Nicole would’ve been ecstatic since she had a thing for Todd lately.
I watched Alex climb behind the wheel, then my arm prickled, causing the hairs on my right forearm to stand at attention. Heat radiated across my right shoulder so I flipped my gaze toward the window to scan outside. Goosebumps stampeded up my neck, once again giving me that bizarre feeling that someone was spying on me. But when I surveyed the area, all I saw was our three-car garage and the front walkway.
Nobody there. At all. This had to be lingering ick from using the Ouija board. I shuddered. Never again.
Swallowing my fear, I tried to shrug off the weird feeling, and turned toward my date. Unfortunately, Alex started up a conversation about football (yawn) with his buddies right before he put his foot to the pedal and we sped down the street.
****
On Monday morning, I sat at my desk in English class and tried to ignore the feeling of something pressing against me. You’d think that’d be easy since I couldn’t see anything besides my classmates hunched over their desks and the teacher reading his book. The freaking spirits were here, but nobody else in class seemed to notice them.
That or I was losing it.
After sensing them on and off all weekend, the feeling had gotten stronger last period during history class. Trying to get my mind off Alex and what a let-down our date had been, I’d been reading my new-to-me first edition Maisy’s Meow comic book I’d picked up at a thrift store last week when I had that feeling that someone was watching me. At first, I thought Mr. Gillespie had caught me—that he’d take away my new book—but it wasn’t Mr. Gillespie.
It was Nicole’s spirits.
I mean, what else could it be?
Now, in my seat, directly behind my English teacher’s desk, the spooks were pulling at me again. A tug of invisible emotion. Willing me to acknowledge them. My heart thudded in my chest and I sucked in a breath, but nobody else seemed aware of what was happening to me. The other students continued scribbling their five-page essay for Mr. Coleman on The Scarlet Letter.
My forearms prickled. I didn’t know what the spirits wanted and didn’t care. They just needed to go into the light, or wherever spirits went, and leave me alone. I bit my lip and refused to acknowledge them as I scribbled my concluding paragraph.
They didn’t like being ignored.
The feeling of ice-cold thumbtacks pricked over my chest and into my neck. They pleaded for my attention, but San Felipe High didn’t teach sixteen-year-olds how to deal with the invisible.
“Go away,” I muttered, then did the only thing I could do. I wrote the final sentence of my essay, then added a period. As I pressed the pen hard against the paper, willing the spooks to take a freaking hike, the ink seeped out, making my period look more like a comma.
Without warning, the pen jerked from my grip. It whipped across my paper and spiraled to the center of the page, spinning dark, loopy lines over my second supporting paragraph. What the . . .?
I blinked, wondering if I should pinch myself. My palms were flat on the desk, yet the pen stood upright in front of me, frantically moving on its own. I stopped breathing and watched as it traced a harsh line down the center of the page, heading straight for me.
Then, the pen stopped abruptly and dropped sideways onto the desk with a clink.
“You find that amusing, Miss Love?”
Heart pounding, I whipped my head up to where Mr. Coleman’s pinched face glared down at me. “W-What?”
He crossed his arms. “If you think I’m interested in reading through your chicken scratch, you’re quite mistaken.”
I glanced down at the strange markings my pen had made. That they had made because ye
ah, spirits really did exist. There was no denying it now. I certainly hadn’t made that scribble. Although, this wasn’t exactly a positive revelation. “But, I didn’t do anything, Mr. Coleman.”
“And I didn’t do this.” He removed a red pen from his pocket protector and drew a giant “F” next to my header, “How Hester Prynne Got Screwed.”
“That’s not fair!” I’d worked my bootie off on that essay—after staying up until midnight reading the Cliffs Notes—and I deserved at least a “C” on it.
“What’s fair is that you remain in here during the break and recopy your essay word for word. You will write every letter neatly to show proper respect to your English class and to me.” He made eye contact with the students who dared to watch our exchange. “There’s a lesson here, people. I will not tolerate practical jokes in my class, no matter how boring you find the subject matter.”
I gripped the edges of my desk. “But—”
“Time’s up.” Mr. Coleman zipped to the front of the classroom. “Pencils down. Class dismissed.” He peered at me in the back row. “Everyone except Amy Love.”
The man loved to rub it in.
Then the dismissal bell screamed its siren. My fists clenched, but I remained in my seat and endured sympathy looks from Brynne and Nicole as they flitted their fingers at me then filed out toward freedom. This wasn’t my fault. Why wouldn’t my lame teacher listen to me?
I frowned and retrieved fresh sheets of lined paper from my backpack. May as well get it over with. The lifeless pen lay in front of me and I wondered if it was safe to touch. Goosebumps popped along my arms, but from my own fear, not because of the spirits. I couldn’t sense them anymore. They must’ve taken off.
How many spirits had Nicole summoned? And what did they want with me anyway? Were they trying to send a message? If so, they’d done a lame job. The scribble marks didn’t exactly pass for English.
Footsteps approached, but I refused to look up. “The assignment won’t rewrite itself, Miss Love.”
“I didn’t think it would, Mr. Coleman.” The guy got his thrills by harassing me. What had I ever done to him? That would be nothing. Since he was still standing there, I raised my head and gave him a fake sweet smile.
He frowned down at me. “Unless you’re looking for a one-way trip to detention, I suggest you start writing.”
“Yes, sir.” I glared at his ugly wingtips as he walked away. He was such a tool for making me do this. Not like he couldn’t read my essay through a few random marks.
Voices clamored from the hallway. Nicole and Brynne’s giggles echoed in, reminding me what I was missing. I deserved to be at break with them, comparing notes on who was hotter: Todd Wilson or Alex Decker. Definitely Alex—even though our date had been oh-so-awkward with his friends present. Despite promises from Nicole’s wooden board, he hadn’t even kissed me goodnight. He had made some kind of awkward attempt, but ended up tripping over himself at my doorstep, then falling on his rear. Not exactly romantic.
The Ouija board spirits had done me wrong. And now they wouldn’t go away.
Those freaky spirits should be rewriting my assignment since they’re the ones who messed it up. I stared at the black pen that had charged at my chest mere minutes ago. If the possessed ballpoint killed me, it would serve Coleman’s right.
I poked the pen with my index finger and it didn’t zap me. I took that as a good sign, picked it up, and began copying my essay over on clean paper.
How had the spirits controlled the pen anyway? It’s not like they had hands. At least, none that I could see. And why were they bugging me? It’s not like I was psychic or special. Besides, Nicole was the one who had summoned them. They obviously had the wrong girl.
They needed to find the right person and move on. But how could I help them do that? Because there was no way I’d go near a Ouija board again. Ever. I hated to involve my friends in something this creepy, but it was time to get advice on how to ditch these spooks. I only hoped Brynne and Nicole would believe me when I told them.
After all, if the unseens could control my pen, there was no telling what else they could do.
Chapter Two
After recopying my essay for Mr. Coleman and grabbing a fast snack from my locker, I slid into my seat in the back row of U.S. Government class. Mrs. Beckencourt glared at me for being late then tapped her pointer against the scribble on the whiteboard. I rolled my eyes. Tardiness was the least of my problems.
One thing I knew for sure though: The very unfriendly spirits had just upgraded from low priority (aka: denial) to high priority. Moving pens were nothing to mess around with.
Desperate for advice from my friend, I drafted a note to Brynne. It would’ve been easier to text her, but she had accidentally sent her cell through the washing machine and, shocker, it was no longer working. The cell phone through the washer incident aside, Brynne was a total brain and didn’t even have to try. She should definitely have some good advice on the spooks. Nicole’s not exactly dumb, but she’s better for questions like “Do these shoes go with my outfit?” Plus, she wasn’t in our U.S. Government class and this couldn’t wait. What if the spooks shot a pen at me again? Or something sharper?
As Mrs. Beckencourt blabbed on about our U.S. Government speeches (I gave mine last week called “Why A President Shouldn’t Get It On With His Aide”), I scribbled to Brynne with my cramped hand.
I have to say, this was the ideal class to pass notes in. Mrs. Beckencourt was like a hundred years old and completely unaware. I’m not being mean. It’s just a fact.
As soon as Mrs. Beckencourt turned toward the whiteboard, I tossed the note onto Brynne’s desk. It said: Help, Brynne. I need to talk to you before I lose it!!
When she tossed it back, it said: I figured. How’d Old Cole stick it to you this time? You completely missed Alex bending over at his locker. It’s now been confirmed. He wears tighty whities. Pay up.
Even in danger from angry pens and who knew what else, I couldn’t let her get away with that. I scribbled a response in barely legible penmanship: No way, Brynne. Not giving you a dime. Take it from me, I’ve SEEN the boxers. Not in a good way, but—I can’t believe I’m admitting this—I searched Alex’s gym bag when he was at a swim meet once. Boxers from Old Navy. If you’re still my friend after this, I’m having a problem. A SERIOUS one. More serious than Alex’s underwear (and you know I hated to say that).
An entire five minutes later (Brynne had more faith in Mrs. Beckencourt’s eyesight than I did) the folded paper dropped back on my desk: OMG. I’ve never known you to prefer any topic over Mr. Hot Lips. I’m all ears. What gives?
I poised my pen to respond, but before the tip could meet paper, the note was snatched from under my palm. I gaped up in horror at the liver-spotted hand that clutched my note.
Mrs. Beckencourt raised a blue eyebrow at me in challenge.
I stared in horror as she did the unthinkable. She unfolded the paper and read it. Not aloud, thankfully.
My face heated and I slumped down in my seat. If she read my boxer confession to the class, Alex would know I’d stalked his underwear. The entire school would find out and I’d be forced to drop out of San Felipe High from pure humiliation. My entire life was in that white-haired old lady’s hands.
“I’m sorry,” I said, pleading mercy with my eyes, tension coiling inside me. Three seconds of that and I couldn’t stand waiting anymore—I reached up to grab my note back.
The old bat whipped it away quickly. She was much faster than I’d given her credit for. With a smug look, she walked to the front of the room and tossed the note onto her desk. My stress level went into the red.
Could this day get any worse?
“Thank you for your attention class.” She didn’t notice no one was paying attention. “Today, Owen Jenner is scheduled to give a speech on his elected U.S. Government topic.”
Yep, the day was getting worse. Owen was the school’s ultimate geek and can yammer on and on over a topic for
like, years. Brynne has had a huge crush on him since second grade, and yeah, he’s a total hottie in a geek-chic kinda way, but he does nothing for me. And the fact that he’s into the whole government conspiracy thing drives me a bit nutty.
“As usual, you are all to take notes.” Mrs. Beckencourt wrote “take notes” on the whiteboard. “You must turn in these notes at the end of the period to show what you learned. Owen, are you prepared to go today?”
Of course Owen Jenner was prepared. He was hot, but wow, what a complete and total geek. Beyond lame. He had brainiac genes since his dad was a doctor and his mom was a rocket scientist, but he was always spouting off whacky theories. You’d never know it to look at him though. He could easily pass for one of Alex’s crowd if everything out of his mouth wasn’t completely random. Too bad he hadn’t noticed how Brynne’s gaze followed him everywhere. They’d be a totally cute couple.
Last semester, for example, he gave a speech on how the U.S. Government was artificially producing human bodies at a closed naval base on the coast called Treasure Island—less than an hour away from us here in San Felipe. Owen was adamant the government was gonna “turn on” these artificial bodies during war times to bulk up the U.S. military.
Hot, yes. Out there, to the tenth degree.
“Yes, I’m prepared, Mrs. Beckencourt.” Owen strode to the front of the class, stopped behind the podium, and pulled out index cards.
Mrs. Beckencourt didn’t respond. She’d sat back down behind her desk and appeared to be nodding off in her chair. I turned to Brynne.
She glared at me. “You should’ve hidden the note better!”
Even though she’d mouthed this, I knew she was really yelling at me. I raised my hands in defense. “Not my fault,” I shout-mouthed back.
Like I’d gotten caught on purpose. Please. How was I supposed to know Mrs. Beckencourt had a clue?
“Ahem.” Owen cleared his throat and then scratched his unkempt mop of blond hair. I checked out Brynne—she loved it when he messed with his hair. “UFO is short for Unidentified Flying Object. Some theories say UFOs are meteors, others say they’re ships for space aliens. I’m here to tell you they’re very real. And you’d better watch out.”
