The Ghost in Me Read online

  I shake my head. "Well, would you be saying that, if you knew she helped Roz cheat? If you knew she did that by possessing Roz's body, so she could take a history test?"

  Mom gasps, turns a horrified look on Wren. "Was Roz okay?"

  At least she agrees that's wrong.

  Wren pushes her mouth into a frown. "It wasn't that long a time."

  "Well." Mom rubs her hand along the edge of the counter, takes in a deep breath, then takes her time blowing it out. "Wren," she finally says, "I don't want you doing that again. It's not right. It could be dangerous."

  "Going to school is too, obviously."

  "And you," she says, pointing her finger at me, "you really ought to have told me as soon as you knew what had happened."

  "But I did!"

  Mom shakes her head. "Not entirely. Not at first. You started out talking about this not going to school business."

  I let out an exasperated huff. "Yuh, okay, whatever, but this means she can't go anymore, right? It should, shouldn't it?"

  "No, I didn't say that--" Mom curses under her breath, checks her watch, looks at the water bubbling on the stove. "Girls, you're going to have to finish dinner yourselves."

  "I'm going to have to finish, you mean. Wren doesn't eat."

  "You know what I mean." She unties her apron in a fluster. "I forgot the Andersons are coming to go over the arrangements for Luella's wake tomorrow. They'll be here any minute. And I'm not dressed. Luella's not dressed." She pushes her hands through her hair, swearing three more times under her breath. "Why did I stop to buy corn?"

  "I don't know, maybe you were possessed?"

  Mom doesn't reply.

  Instead, she marches to the foot of the stairs. "And you're in charge of Wren tonight," she says, stopping in the doorway.

  "What? Wait! Why? Gram can watch her!"

  "Gram..." She waves her arm at the living room, "Gram is busy at the moment, as I'm sure you noticed."

  "But I have a drama meeting! At the theater! Don't tell me she's allowed to go there!"

  "Oh, that's right." Mom tsks, pats the door frame, as my internal alarms start blaring.

  "You know about the meeting?"

  "Yes," she says, keeping her eyes on the frame, pretending to give it an inspection. "Charles told me about it earlier."

  Charles!?!

  "He wants me to organize costumes."

  "Wait--what?"

  Her eyes flicker, as they briefly meet mine.

  I grab my head to keep it from spinning. This can't be happening. Not because of some stupid project I did with bugs.

  "You--you're not going to do the costumes, are you?"

  "Why do you say that? Of course, I am. Why wouldn't I? You're involved, so I want to be involved. It'll be a way for us to spend more time together."

  More time with him, you mean.

  Reading my look of disgust, Mom raises a stiff hand. "I don't have time for this, Myr. But as far as tonight goes, you're taking Wren with you."

  "I don't want to take her with me."

  "You don't have a choice. She can't be here."

  "What?"

  "Look, I don't care what you do, just work it out somehow."

  And with that warm bit of news and advice, she runs up the stairs, leaving me with Wren in the kitchen.

  It takes all of a second to realize I'm only a few yards from the lab.

  Maybe I'll trade places with Luella.

  Chapter 12

  Working it out was getting Roz to watch her, then strapping a headlamp to my handlebars (safety counts!), so I could bike to Ardenport Community Theater. It's about three miles from my house, which has given me three miles to grumble about Roz. Because even though she's helping me out, she's making me pay her.

  That's right. Pay her.

  For babysitting a ghost.

  Like she isn't going to have a good time.

  They're probably possessing each other right now.

  To practice taking more tests in history. Or, maybe to help Roz skip school altogether.

  Well. At least I know where to draw the line.

  I'd decided that almost as soon as Roz made her suggestion.

  I still can't believe Roz let Wren do that. Couldn't she have just whispered the answers? Or, would that have been too simple? I'll have to point that out for next time.

  Listen to me. Next time.

  I park my bike in the rack at the front of the theater and assure myself once again, that yes, I can do this. I can walk inside, find a seat, and read my lines. I've got six. I think I handle reading six.

  Or not.

  Because as soon as I walk through the double glass doors, the breath I'm holding for luck and protection rushes out of me when I step inside. The lobby is enormous. The dark maroon carpet that covers the floor stretches for an eternity toward four sets of gold-rimmed, white-paneled doors, one of which stands open like an ominous maw. Without any real lifelines within reach--like the arm of a friend--I feel like a guppy floundering a blood-red sea.

  Cass has picked a bad night to be late. She was supposed to be waiting at the entrance, but she isn't. Nor is she standing among any of the groups huddled in the lobby.

  Wonderful.

  Somehow, I make my way in, following the last of the late-comers. Their path leads me to a seat at the end of the third row. It's not until I'm planted that I realize I've sat directly behind Blow-it-out-of-proportion-Brittley.

  "The color red is so out for me this year," she says, ranting to Londyn, who, of course, is intently listening. "An article in Glam said red makes you eat more. Can you believe that? So, I went to my closet and threw away everything that was red--well, I didn't exactly throw everything away. I put the clothes in a bag for the poor, because you know, poor people are hungry all the time, so they don't mind eating more."

  Say what?

  "But not me. No, for me, it's all about blue. Blue is the color that makes you eat less."

  "Oh, I love blue," Londyn replies. "I've always loved blue."

  "Me, too," Brittley says. "But now, I have to. If I gain even one pound, my agent will kill me."

  "Plus, blue looks good on you. You should wear it, even if it didn't make you diet."

  Brittley tips her head, lets out a knowing sigh. "You're so right, Londyn. Even if it didn't come with benefits, I'd still wear it. That and pink. Pink's never been my favorite, but according to Glam, it makes food taste sweeter."

  On hearing this--despite my anxiety of what's in store for the evening, or perhaps, because of it--I snort, which unfortunately, for want-to-go-unnoticed-me, comes out louder than I intended. In less than the snap of two manicured fingertips, Brittley spins in her seat to give me a glare. She nudges Londyn for attention.

  Not caring what she might say, or think, I cup my hand dramatically behind my ear.

  "First of all," Brittley says, with a roll of her eyes. "I can't believe you actually have the guts to sit here, after that whole cockroach-volcano thing. If I'd known what Mr. Slayer was thinking, I would have had made a point to talk to him. Get him to put you in another club. Spare us the pain and suffering that your presence seems to bring, because there's no way that you, of all people, will do anything good for the play. In fact, I'm sure, if given a chance, you'll find a way to ruin it. So, let's be clear, shall we? I'm all in agreement for you working behind the scenes."

  "Great. So am I."

  "Great. But just because we have one thing we agree on, doesn't mean we're friends. So, from now on, find another perch." She wiggles her fingertips. "Take your bad luck--or, charm--or, whatever it is--somewhere else. Don't sit behind me."

  Diggs claps once, twice, three times from the other side of the stage. "It looks like nearly everyone is here. Shall we begin?" He holds his arms out, walks a small circle. "Pretty impressive, don't you think?" He points down at the stage around him.

  Actually, despite the company I can't seem to avoid, it is. At least as far as theaters go. Not that I would know, since I'
ve never really been in this one, or any other for that matter, other than the one at school, which doesn't count.

  The stage in the school gym is nothing compared to this one with its plush, maroon-velvet seats that wrap around the stage in curved, rising rows.

  And the ceiling, painted with a mural of angels and other heavenly-looking people wearing crowns, flowers, and togas, along with towering white pillars give the feeling of sitting in an ancient Roman cathedral.

  Diggs brings his arms in, smiles at everyone. "I can't tell you how excited I am to announce--or re-announce, as it is--the support that Ardenport Community Theater is giving our production by allowing us to put on our play here."

  Diggs pauses to lead everyone in a polite applause, while gesturing toward a silver-haired woman in the front row who stands and takes a bow.

  "Given the size and scope of what we are about to undertake, this stage will offer everything we need and more.

  "And because this is a professional theater, I'm asking each of you to be on your best behavior while using these facilities."

  Best behavior? You got it. Let me be part of the audience. I'll be the best-behaved theater-goer Wolford has ever seen. In fact, being a member of the audience should be an option for club participation. I could help fill a seat. Make it a full house. Isn't that what theaters are always striving for, anyway? A full house? And I could do one thing better. I could lead the audience--clap, gasp, laugh, cry--always on cue. And always with the utmost affection.

  Diggs rubs his hands in front of his chest. "Now, what I'd like you all to do is move out of your seats--slowly, please, carefully--and join me up here on the stage." He raises his hands by his sides, gesturing us to stand.

  I wait to get up, giving Brittley and Londyn lots of time to move ahead.

  "That's it. Upt! Hold it!" Diggs walks briskly to the opposite side of the stage. "Let me point out that there are two sets of stairs that can be used, so if some of you would travel to stage-left, that would help us move smoothly and without harm. We're not looking to have anyone fall and break a leg. Not tonight!"

  Like an obedient, if not sluggish cow, I join half the herd, and head toward the stairs at what must be stage-left.

  "Good. Thank you to those who helped alleviate the congestion. Please, gather at the center of the stage.... Center stage. Right here, around me."

  Despite my efforts to separate myself from Brittley and company, I find myself standing behind her again, but unable to move since now I'm trapped in the middle of the crowd. How did I get in the middle? I should be on the side. No, the sidelines. Way, way, way, over there. Behind that curtain.

  Fanning the lapels of his brown tweed jacket, Diggs starts talking again. "I hope you've all taken time to look over the scenes I selected for auditions. We'll begin reading through them tonight."

  Some kids gasp, as if this is new information, others chatter with delight.

  Diggs pats his hands in the air. "We talked about this in class, so you should be aware of what's happening. Furthermore, let me point out that this is an excellent opportunity to get a feel for the stage and allow you to envision your place on it. Our time at this facility will be limited, so I want you to make the most of it, while we are here. Look around. Come to know how the stage is laid out, how it feels to be up here, facing an audience." He swoops his arms out toward the empty seats--three floors of them.

  "Visualization of the mind is a powerful thing," he adds. "Use it to your advantage."

  Uh, we need to rethink that, because the thought of being up here in front of an audience, even a small one, is making me ill.

  "But, to do that, I suppose we need to get to work." Diggs spins back around, holds up sheets of paper. "Anyone forget to bring these? Our script?" A few hands go up, including mine, but I don't step forward to get one. Brittley and Londyn are blocking my path, engaged in a loud, squealish conversation.

  "You're dating him? He asked you?"

  Brittley rolls her eyes to the ceiling, rests her weight back on one foot.

  "No-ooo. He didn't ask. Why would I wait for him to do that? I just told him. I said, 'Hey, we should go out.' It's not like I expected him to say no. After all, it makes perfect sense. He's in drama, I'm in drama. I'll get the lead, he'll get the lead...."

  I have no idea who Brittley is talking about, nor do I care; but when she lets out a happy gasp, I can't stop myself from turning to see who has come.

  Chapter 13

  "Myri!" Diggs calls.

  I don't move. Of all the people Brittley could have been talking about, why did it have to be him?

  "Myri!" Diggs flutters a script in his hands, strides across the stage. "Didn't you have a hand up for one of these?"

  "Uh... yeah."

  "Then, here. Take it. I'm sure you've got some reviewing to do." Turning on his toes, he pauses, holding his now empty hand in the air. "Oh, and I know you were hinting in class that you wanted to be assigned to the set crew, but those positions are rather limited. When we bought the rights to the play from Theaters Unlimited, we rented props and a set to go with it. So, nothing needs to be built. And the technical staff of Ardenport Theater will be assisting."

  He holds a hand to his mouth, as if sharing a secret. "They really don't want kids messing with their equipment. Lighting, sound, etcetera." He rubs his hand at the back of his neck, then pats his face, as if thinking. "So," he says, setting his eyes back on me, "I'd really like you to focus your efforts on auditions. Nearly everyone will be given roles in the play."

  "But--!"

  Diggs holds up a hand. "I look forward to seeing how you do, Myri. After all, you may surprise yourself. I, for one, believe we all have hidden talents." He takes a step back, pulls his chin into his chest, tips up a bushy sideburn. "Never walk away from doors presented to you."

  I open my mouth to speak, but Diggs raises finger. "Upt! No excuses. Especially now that your partner is here."

  "Partner?"

  He points.

  I turn to find Duey, Brittley's new boyfriend, standing behind me. He leans forward. "To think we almost got out of this."

  "Uh, yeah," I manage, not knowing quite what he means. Shouldn't he be standing with Brittley?

  Skirting his chocolate-brown eyes from mine, he directs a quick nod across the stage. Brittley returns it with a smile that tries to say, "It's okay, you can talk to anyone you like." But all actors have their limits, and it seems this situation has exposed hers.

  Duey pivots to give me a nudge, sending a volt of electricity straight from my gut to the back of my heart. "Slayer told me one day we'd appreciate the fact that he cared."

  I begin to make sense of what he's saying. "You got kicked out of study hall, too?" My voice barely manages a whisper.

  He shakes his head proudly. "Yep."

  I don't know why, but this makes me feel better. Like we're linked by the cosmos in some way. "Well, I'd have appreciated it more, if I could have been put in art class."

  Duey shrugs, looks around. "Drama's not so bad."

  "Maybe not for you. You did this last year, didn't you?"

  Diggs clears his throat, pulls a script from under his arm. "Sorry to interrupt, Myri, Duey, but as I said, our time is short. Since you're paired together, you may want to practice. Duey, do you need one of these?"

  I study his face, as he takes the script, expecting it to fill with horror as the idea of who his partner is settles in. But it doesn't. Instead, his face shows something more like pleasant surprise.

  Misreading my confusion, Diggs blurts, "Did I not mention partners?" He spins around, raises his arms in the air. "People! People! Eyes, ears over here! This is very important! I can see that some of you are looking over the script with friends, which is fine. But, please, take note that I've assigned partners for the actual auditions, which we'll start in fifteen minutes. Therefore, it may be to your benefit to take some time to prepare with her, or him."

  Diggs makes a point to look back at me, before scurry
ing to a table at the back of the stage.

  "But, Mr. Diggs!" Brittley cries, running to him. He continues to shuffle through a stack of papers. "Every audition I've ever done has been alone for the first reading."

  "Yes, yes, that may be true," he says, continuing to shuffle and sort. "But let me share what makes this experience different." He looks up at her. "One, this is a drama class. And two, our time is limited--we've got a few weeks before opening night. Therefore, I've structured the auditions to be a learning opportunity to meet the first point, while making them run as efficiently as possible to meet the second. It's my hope that when we are done, we'll be able to say that although not everyone will have been cast in big roles in the play, at least everyone will have had the chance to read from a scene as if they were in one."

  "But--!"

  "Ah, here they are." He waves a blue paper over his head, dismissing her protest. "Your partner assignments. Pass this around, so everyone can see."

  Stepping from the swarm, Diggs makes his way back to the thick, velvet folds of the closing curtain where I've escaped.

  "So, Myri," he says, polishing his fingernails on his shirt pocket. "To be clear, if you haven't already figured it out, you'll be reading with Mr. Williams. But I'll have you do it tomorrow morning, during class, since you've both had such short notice. We'll be using the stage in the gym for that." He juts his chin to where Duey is standing with Cam. "I think it's for the best. Like you, he's another student who was just added to the club."

  Club... class... what does it matter?

  Either way, I'm doomed.

  Chapter 14

  Duey.

  Save him? Or, don't save him?

  Those are the questions I've been asking.

  Because he does need to be saved. And not just from Brittley, but from my complete stupidity.

  Let me explain.

  Obviously, Brittley thinks she has her plans all worked out with thinking she and Duey will be spending time together in the play, which theoretically, wouldn't be a problem. I could easily ruin that with my audition-- I.E., if I look bad, Duey will look bad, which means Diggs will have to give another guy the leading role.