by Bruce Hale
He scoffed, waving his hand. “Of course. Everything’s fine. Their Christmas break is coming up next week, and we’ll all be together again before you know it.”
But the sadness in his eyes told me the truth.
Everything wasn’t fine. And if the situation didn’t change soon, I’d have more in common with Tyler Spork than I cared to admit.
DARK AND BROODING? Gaunt and mysterious? I had no idea what psychic mediums were supposed to look like. I only knew that they weren’t supposed to look like Miss Freshley.
The next morning before class started, the tiny teacher greeted Benny and me at her door, wearing a huge smile and a red-and-white-striped top hat tall enough to hide one of her students under. Her curly hair looked like corkscrew pasta dyed electric orange. Her overalls sported a purple dinosaur on the front.
“Hi, boys, what can I do for you?” Miss Freshley asked, simultaneously wiping one kid’s nose, hugging another student, and taping artwork to the door. I’d always suspected kindergarten teachers were part octopus.
“Uh, yeah,” I said. “We heard that you, uh…”
“Will you hold a séance for us?” asked Benny, getting right to the point.
Miss Freshley blinked in surprise, checking on her students before replying. “I try to separate my personal life and school life,” she half whispered.
I could relate. That morning, I’d had to put the d-word (divorce, that is, not doughnuts) out of my mind, just so I could function at school. But Miss Freshley needn’t have worried about her students overhearing our psychic talk. The little rugrats were bouncing off the walls, jamming crayons up their noses, singing gibberish songs, and doing everything but listening to her.
“It’s kind of important,” I said. “You know that kid who went into a coma yesterday?”
Miss Freshley clapped a hand to her rainbow-sweater-covered chest. “Oh my. That poor dear boy!”
“We—and Mrs. Tamasese—think a haunting might have caused it,” said Benny. “And we need your help to talk with the, uh, ghosts and find out.”
Her green eyes went as round as the wheels of the bus that go round and round. “Spirits? At our school?”
“That’s our best guess,” I said. “We think they’re haunting the ducts.”
“Oh, those poor dear ducks!” she cried.
“The, uh, heating ducts,” said Benny.
“Even more reason to hold a séance,” said Miss Freshley, not missing a beat. “It’ll take—Caden, those are not for eating!” She hustled into the room to rescue some alphabet blocks, then rejoined us. “I’ll need to go home first for my gear. Say, four o’clock today? In the mechanical room?”
“Perfect,” I said. “We’ll get Mr. Boo—um, Decker—to let us in.”
“And we’ll bring some extra people for the whole group-energy thing,” said Benny.
“Delightful!” Miss Freshley beamed, as if talking to evil spirits was like having bonbons with Barbie. “I’ll see you after—Olivia, what did I say about putting graham crackers down your underpants?” And she rushed off to deal with another kindergarten emergency.
Benny and I had just enough time to visit Mr. Boo before class. Since we would have adult supervision, he agreed to let us talk to spirits in his equipment room. He’s open-minded that way. The custodian also mentioned that Principal Johnson had asked him to help figure out whatever had caused José’s coma. Plus he’d checked inside the heating vents as Mr. Chu asked, but he hadn’t found any confused possums or lost raccoons.
That meant the problem was either ghosts or something completely unknown. Somehow, that wasn’t very reassuring.
Morning lessons passed, as morning lessons do. We learned more about Hercules and other Greek heroes, and started making our own cardboard shields and helmets. We got the lowdown on the water cycle. We talked about science-fair projects. In fact, we made it all the way to break time without any more ghostly moans or strange smells.
And then recess shot that all to heck.
Out on the playground, I confronted Benny again about the way he’d treated Karate Girl yesterday. “What’s up with you?” I asked. “Were you in a bad mood?”
“I just don’t think we need her,” he said. “She’s always hanging around.”
I blew out some air. “Well, yeah. Tina’s a friend.”
“Your friend, maybe.” He shrugged, not meeting my eyes.
For some reason, I thought of my sister, Veronica, and how she’d flipped out when her BFF, Maya, made another friend. I glanced sidelong at my buddy. Could Benny be…jealous?
“You know,” I said cautiously, “you’re my best friend.”
“Well, duh,” he said. “Who else would have you?”
“And no matter how many other friends I have, you’re still number one.”
I caught a flash of gratitude in his eyes before he said, “What am I, a bug-eating moron? ’Course I know that.”
“Okay, then.” I punched his shoulder lightly.
“Okay, then.” He bopped me back.
“So you’re cool with me inviting Tina to the séance?”
He smirked. “Hey, if you’re willing to risk the cooties…”
Tina wasn’t hard to locate. As was often the case, she could be found strutting her stuff on the monkey bars. Esme, Amrita, and a couple other kids from our class tried to keep up.
“Hey, Karate Girl!” I called.
Reaching the end of the bars, Tina jerked her body forward and back, gathering momentum. At the top of her swing, she let go, executed a perfect flip, and touched down in the sand. “And she sticks the landing!” she crowed. “What’s up, Rivera?”
“How’d you like to go to a séance after school?” I said.
“Will there be snacks?” she asked.
“Nope,” said Benny. “Just spooks.”
I told her about our plans. To her credit, Tina merely nodded. “Glad you came to your senses, Brackman. Count me in.”
From atop the bars, Esme watched us. She wore a black cat T-shirt that read PURR EVIL and she had on the same ridiculous amount of eyeliner as before. I wondered if her mom knew Esme was swiping her Maybelline Great Lash. I also wondered how much Esme had overheard.
But before I could find out, a yowl erupted somewhere behind us. I spun.
A third-grade girl was staggering in our direction. “Bewaarrrre!” she screamed. “They’re heeere! No escape!”
Kids fled before her like cats avoiding bath time. A dark-haired girl trailed the third grader, her face tight with concern.
Staring ahead blindly, Scream Girl tripped on the wooden sandbox border and stumbled. She careened into me, gripping my T-shirt for support.
“Horrible, horrible!” she wailed into my face. Her breath smelled like oranges.
“W-what’s horrible?” I asked. Prickles erupted along my shoulders and arms. Could the ghost have struck again?
Suddenly she sagged. “Nobody came to my party, not even one person,” Scream Girl whimpered. “Everyone hates me.”
“Well, I’m sure if they got to know you…” Tina began.
And then Scream Girl’s eyes rolled back in her head, she sighed, and she sprawled like a boneless chicken. I only just managed to keep her head from smacking the sandbox edge.
Now that she wasn’t raving, everyone crowded around. We shook Scream Girl’s shoulder and patted her cheek, but she was out cold. Just like José.
“Somebody get Mrs. Johnson!” said Benny.
Amrita took off like a roadrunner with its tail feathers on fire.
Benny’s eyes met mine. He didn’t have to speak. His expression said it all: Another one? I scanned the faces around us until I spotted Scream Girl’s dark-haired friend.
“You,” I said.
She pointed to herself. “Abby.”
“What happened to her? Did you see?”
Abby’s shoulders climbed almost up to her ears. “I dunno. Trin was off behind there.” She indicated the building that housed the mechanical room, t
he arts classroom, and the playground equipment storage. “I heard a scream, and she ran out like a slasher was after her.”
At this cheerful thought, a chill struck the group like an ice cream headache—only a lot less sweet. The kids around us watched the building uneasily.
Tina’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
“Oh, really?” said Benny sarcastically. “I thought it was right up there with pony rides, fuzzy slippers, and frozen Snickers bars.”
She glared, and he stuck his tongue out.
“Um, girl in coma here,” I said. “Hello?”
Benny cleared his throat and turned away. Karate Girl busied herself fussing over the unconscious Trin.
“Is she gonna be okay?” asked Abby, her face whiter than a sheep in a snowstorm.
“Sure, she—” Tina began.
“Not if she was ghost-touched,” said Esme.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Her spirit will wander off, never to return.”
Abby stifled a sob.
I glared at Esme. “Great bedside manner.”
“Hey”—she turned up her palms—“I’m honest. If it’s a ghost, nobody’s safe.”
The kids around me murmured to each other and drifted away, eyeing the mechanical room. The unconscious girl was completely forgotten.
“Way to cause a schoolwide panic,” said Benny.
“The truth will set you free,” said Esme. “But first, it’ll tick you off.”
Tina snorted. “I bet you don’t get invited to a lot of parties.”
“Why no,” said the new girl, considering, “I don’t.”
Parties…That reminded me of what Trin had said. Nobody came to my party. It didn’t make any sense. Why…?
Just then, Mrs. Johnson arrived, trailed by Ms. Kopek, the school nurse. After shooing the four of us away, they lifted Trin onto a stretcher and carried her toward the office.
“This school is kind of different,” said Esme, watching them go.
“Girl,” said Tina, “you have no idea.”
I’M NOT QUITE sure what I expected after a recess like that, but it definitely wasn’t a lunchtime rain of mutant frogs. Word had spread rapidly about Trin’s freak-out, and my classmates were as twitchy as a traffic cop on an anthill. Between our nervous chatter and the sporadic moans from the vents, it was all Mr. Chu could do to get us to focus on fractions.
An unexpected PA announcement did nothing to settle our nerves.
“Attention, all students,” Mrs. Johnson’s voice buzzed from the tinny speakers on the wall. “Until further notice, we will be observing the buddy system.”
Frowns greeted this news. “What buddy system?” muttered Tyler Spork, probably because he’d never had, strictly speaking, any buddies. (Big Pete didn’t count. He was more like a pet.)
“Whenever you’re outside the classroom, stick with at least one fellow classmate at all times,” our principal continued. “That means at recess, at lunch, on bathroom breaks, before and after school. Nobody is to be alone—not a single, solitary, blessed soul. Understood?”
Even though she couldn’t hear us, many kids said, “Understood.” Such is principal power.
“We are working on solving our…unusual situation here at Monterrosa Elementary,” said Mrs. Johnson. “And until we do, your safety comes first.”
Unusual situation? A pizza party in the principal’s office was an unusual situation. This? Words could barely describe how weird it was. The room buzzed with my classmates’ concern.
“Not to worry,” said Mr. Chu. “Mrs. Johnson’s actually doing you all a favor.”
“A favor?” asked Gabi.
“Sure.” Mr. Chu chuckled, but his humor didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Who doesn’t want to spend more time with their buddies, right?”
“Right,” I said.
You had to hand it to the guy. Despite his own worries about monsters, he was trying to make this easier on us.
Then and there, Mr. Chu divided us into buddy pairs. Naturally, Benny and I were together, which suited me fine. But I don’t think Tina was nearly as pleased to be stuck with Miss Mini-Goth herself, Esme Ygorre.
“Don’t we get a choice?” she asked Mr. Chu.
“Not when safety’s at stake,” he said.
Tina scowled. “Safety is overrated.”
Lunch brought little relief. Pairs of kids huddled over their trays like prison inmates, shooting jittery looks around the cafeteria. It was like they thought the Ghost of Lasagnas Past was coming for them any minute. And maybe it was.
I had my own worries to add to the mix. I couldn’t stop thinking about my mom and dad, wondering whether they were discussing divorce. And if they did split, would Veronica and I go with Mom, or would one kid go with each parent? The mere thought of all this made my corn dog harder to choke down than a concrete casserole.
But at last, Benny and I finished our lunch, dropped our trays on the stack, and headed out to nose around. Aside from the edgy mood, it seemed like the same old playground. Knots of kids were doing regular kid stuff—talking, climbing the jungle gym, playing basketball and tetherball.
And then, halfway across the blacktop, the weirdness factor bumped up another notch. Just ahead of us, Amrita and Cheyenne squealed, hunching their shoulders like they were warding off blows. But there was nothing there.
Amrita turned and glared at Benny and me. “Quit it,” she said.
“Quit what?” asked Benny.
Cheyenne flinched again, as if something had struck her shoulder. “It’s not funny!”
“What’s not?” I asked.
“Stop throwing things at us!” snapped Amrita.
Mystified, I glanced over at Benny. “We’re not,” we said together, holding out our empty hands.
A thought occurred to me, and I gripped his arm, watching the two girls closely. Was this the ghost at work? Were we facing a poltergeist, a spirit that could actually be felt in the physical world?
“Oh, don’t deny—” Amrita began. Then, plop! Something small and dark ricocheted off her forehead.
Cheyenne registered that we hadn’t moved. “If you’re not throwing it,” she said, “then who…?”
Something squishy struck my cheek and rebounded. “Hey, knock it off!” I spun, searching for the prankster. But if someone was throwing things, they were better hidden than the softer side of Darth Vader. Could the ghost be doing this?
Something bounced off Benny’s head. He clenched his fists and whirled. “All right, smarty-pants. Show yourself!” But no one showed.
Hands on knees, I tracked the object, squinting down at a greenish lump a bit smaller than an Oreo cookie. Was it a toy? I reached down, and then, the thing moved.
I snatched my hand back. “What the what?”
“What is it?” asked Benny.
“I’m not sure.” Bending lower, I eyeballed the thing, which gave a feeble hop. “Aw, it’s a little bitty frog.” I extended a gentle finger to stroke it. The creature bared sharp teeth in a rodentlike head and chomped down.
“Yow!” I flicked the thing away.
“It bit you?” said Benny.
I sucked on my sore finger. “With its little mouse teeth.”
Benny scrunched up his face. “Say that again?”
But then, with a pitter and a patter, the sky was raining tiny mouse-headed frogs.
“Ow! Yow!” Benny and I hunched, raising our arms for defense. One of the creatures landed in the folds of my sweatshirt and nipped me on the neck. Swatting it off, I raised my hood for protection. (Probably not the advertising slogan its manufacturers had intended—Protects from light rain and the occasional amphibian shower.)
Kids across the playground shrieked and scattered as the bizarro storm struck. Most ran for the shelter of trees or nearby buildings. Benny and I hustled over to the closest covered hallway, right behind Amrita and Cheyenne.
There we took cover, watching the other kids flee th
e froggy rain.
“Unbelievable,” said Cheyenne.
“Cool!” said Benny.
“Freaky,” I agreed.
“Ick!” Amrita batted at her hair. “Are they gone?”
Cheyenne assured her she was critter-free—which was more than I could say for the students stuck on the playground. Several kids had frozen under pressure, curling into the fetal position and getting hammered by the tiny creatures. I wanted to help them (the kids, that is), but I didn’t want to be bitten by any more of them (the frog-mice). We yelled at the students to run.
Strangely enough, Big Pete actually dashed into the downfall, holding out a plastic wastebasket and chortling. From where we stood, I could just make out his cry of “Sweet science-fair project!” as he collected mutant amphibians from the sky.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the froggy rain slowed to a light shower, then a drizzle. Finally, only the odd plop and ribbit here and there. Pete scooped a bunch more frogs into his bin, then hurried off to examine his windfall. The whole school smelled like an aquarium desperately in need of a cleaning.
“That was different,” said Benny.
“You think?” I said.
“I’ve heard of pennies from heaven, but frogs?”
I scratched my head. “What could have caused it? Could it be connected to the haunting?”
“It’s a curse!” Cheyenne’s voice startled me.
“What now?” I edged back. Was she about to start raving and pass out like José and Trin?
Cheyenne clutched her jacket together and stared across the moving carpet of mutant amphibians. “Like in the Bible. It’s a plague on our school—we’re being cursed!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Benny scoffed.
“No, it’s not,” said Amrita.
Shaking her head, Cheyenne mumbled, “First, the kids going into comas; now this.”
I stepped closer to her. “But it wasn’t a curse that made those kids zap out. It was…”
“What?” said Cheyenne.
“We’re, um, working on finding out,” I said. Probably best not to mention ghosts when she was in this kind of mood.
Cheyenne brushed me aside. “I know what I know. Let’s go, Amrita.” She strode up the hallway.
