The Ghost in Me (3 page)

Well. These girls were either severely deprived in the pet department, or felt inclined to adopt everything with legs (but not necessarily heads). They kept asking if they could take my bugs home.

That's right,
home
.

They begged, all the while trying to show what nice cockroach parents they'd be by petting them.

I should have known that wasn't a great idea. But I figured,
Hey, if these girls want to pet headless bugs, I'll let them pet headless bugs
. But then, one of the bugs that the twins was holding died in her hand.
And even though 80-plus carcasses were pinned to a poster, showing what had happened many times before
, those girls got way over-excited and acted like they'd never seen anything like it.

Their arms started flailing, their mouths started yelling, their feet started stamping, and before I knew what was happening, that bug got tossed in the air.

It landed in Brittley Weatherfield's hair.

When Brittley saw that bug hanging by its leg, swinging back and forth in front of her face--bumping her nose, her lip, her cheek, because it was all tangled up, and getting even more tangled with all her jumping around--not only did she scream, she convulsed. And spun. And wiggled her tongue in and out of her mouth.

I would have thought that after a few good moments of this, she would have calmed down. Reclaimed her dignity. But she didn't. She went on screaming until she fell on the table holding Eddie Lightning's volcano.

As luck would have it, that fall tipped the table up and launched Eddie's volcano into the air, where it exploded all over Vice Principal Haydens. And me, who tried to save him.

Yes, I did.

Much to the surprise of everyone, including myself, I moved in to save the vice principal of Wolford Academy. Tackled him like a defensive-end for the New York Giants.

But, as Wren would say, it was all for naught.

Despite my heroic attempt at diverting disaster, Haydens took it upon himself to deliver a note from Slayer later that day.

Please meet me in my office tomorrow at 8 am-sharp
.

And here I am.

Since school starts at nine, and Slayer is allowing a full hour for the meeting, I figure I'm in deep doo-doo, and like my roaches, will soon be flailing--struggling to survive without a head.

Chapter 4

"He's a chairful of man, ain't he?"

"Shhhh--!"

--Now that was dumb. It's not like Slayer can see Wren's face poking through the painting of George Washington on the far wall.

I whip my attention back to him and press back against the cold, gray metal of my chair. Slayer tips his polished head from side to side, cracking the vertebrae in his neck.

"Something wrong, Miss Monaco?" His eyes flicker with quiet restraint, making my stomach quiver. He leans forward into the edge of his enormous mahogany desk, waiting for an answer.

"No, just a sneeze. Sorry." I rub my nose with my finger, pointing at the window, hoping Wren will take the hint and go.

Instead, she moves from the painting to hover under the light in the center of the room. The glare from Slayer's head weakens in her shadow, and he glances distractedly at the window to his right before opening the manila file laying in front of him.

Giving a tsk, Wren dips down and spins through it, nearly sending me out of my chair to grab her. Not that I could.

"Remember, Myr, there's nothing so bad, that it couldn't be worse!" This is what she tells me before pinching herself out.

That's what I call it when she disappears.
Pinching
.

I give a quick check under my chair, behind the door, to make sure she's gone.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong, Miss Monaco?" Slayer sets the larger of his steely gray eyes on me. The other, being prone to wander, gazes unnervingly at something past my shoulder.

"Uh, no, nothing." I make my fingers ease their grip on my seat, wishing I could take a quick look through the halls to make sure Wren isn't out there.

"Good. Let's get on with it, shall we?" He pats the papers in front of him.

I wince, swallow. "Look--Mr. Slayer, about the project, I'm sorry it got a little crazy, but you see, it really wasn't my own idea. There are all sorts of universities--"

Mr. Slayer waves me off. "Yes, yes, the project. Rather creative, Myri." He pauses, takes in a breath, lets it out. "A bit unlike anything Wolford has ever seen. Yet, despite all the good things that teacher of yours,
Diggs
, had to say,
if you ask me
--"

"Wait. Diggs liked it?"

"
Mister
Diggs," he says, correcting me. "According to the records in the computer, he gave you an A."

"
An A?
"

Crap! My whole plan was a flop then. I'd wanted a good grade, but not
that good
. My mom will be so happy. With me. With him.

"Yes, an A," he says, obviously not pleased.

And neither am I.

I wasn't aiming to be a star student. Far from it. Basically, I wanted Diggs to believe I was down-right demented, but in a B or B-minus sort of way. I could've lived with that.

Slayer clears his throat. "As I was saying, I found the basic idea of the project rather lacking in regards to real science--science that actually gets us somewhere... somewhere, shall we say, spinning atop new horizons, burning with questions, both meaningful and profound...." Slayer waves his hand up, focusing on nothing in particular (thank God) on the ceiling.

Finally, he brings his hand down, rubs the dark armrest of his chair. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I shake my head.

He tips his. "Well, maybe it doesn't really matter. When put in a broader context, what does matter, is the creativity of the project; because that is the
very crux
of our meeting today. Specifically, taking opportunities to use that creativity of yours in a productive outlet."

He leans forward, curling the corner of a blue sheet of paper between his thumb and forefinger. "After review of your file, Myri, I don't see that you're involved in any ECSAs."

"ECSAs?"

"Yes."

It takes a moment for those letters to sink in.

Oh
.

I give him a questioning look, as if I don't know what he's talking about.

"Extra-curricular school activities," he says flatly. "You've missed out on them for nearly the first half the trimester, which is a tremendous oversight on the administration's part."

I squirm in my chair. "This isn't about the science fair?" I ask, suddenly wishing it was.

"No, although, I have to say, if it wasn't for the science fair, I might never have looked at your file."

Great. Now would be a good time
for me
to disappear.

Slayer taps his pencil on its eraser once, twice, swivels in his chair. "But not to worry, Miss Monaco. I've forgiven the situation. And I've taken steps to correct it."

"You have?"

"Yes, with what I think will turn out to be the
perfect solution
."

Chapter 5

Roz, Queen-of-Subtle, is waiting by the office door, with Elise Fowler and Cass Barnes when I walk out. Between the three of them, I know that everyone in eighth grade has heard where I spent the morning.

"Did you get detention?"

Pushing Roz's shoulder with mine, I steer her down the hall. "Funny question coming from a girl who told me everything would be all right to begin with."

Elise jogs to catch up. "But that was before you doused Haydens with sticky lava."

"And before you cut up one hundred roaches," Cass adds, peering at me over Roz's shoulder.

"Eighty-nine, actually. I only cut up 89. Didn't you read my summary card?" I'm joking, but still. A girl has to defend herself. "Ten bugs were left alone to show how they would've lived, if they'd never been touched."

"Uh, that only adds up to ninety-nine," Cass says, doing the math in her head. "Didn't you order one hundred?"

"Well, yeah, but one got away.
Don't
tell my mother."

Cass and Elise snicker and say they're telling, as I check Roz's watch. We only have a few minutes before class, and as usual, the eighth-grade hall is crammed with kids. There's no clear path to my locker.

"So, did you?" Roz tries again, hoisting her backpack on her shoulder, swiveling with me through the crowd to keep up.

"Did I what?" A few girls glance in my direction and laugh.

"
Did you get detention
?" Roz pulls me into her, as I'm about to skirt away.

"Ye-ahhh," I gush, after regaining my balance. "I mean, no. I'll tell you what happened in a sec." Wriggling from her grip, I dodge through the oncoming traffic.

With a quick spin of the combination, my locker door opens. Grabbing my books and binder, I shove my coat inside. I'm about to make my way back, when I see I don't need to. Roz is beside me, standing with her arms crossed, along with Cass and Elise.

"Okay, okay, I didn't get detention. I got drama."

Roz pulls a face, takes a step back. "Drama? What do you mean, you got
drama
?

Sick at the thought of it, I hesitate, scuff my heel on the floor.

Roz fans her hands. "
Drama means what
, exactly?"

Cass starts hopping, like we're playing a game. Even though she's bouncing like a bunny, her short, high-lighted hair, slick with gel and spray, doesn't move. "Oh! I know!" she says. "Do you mean drama, as in, wailing, crying, oh-how-could-you-do-this-sort-of-thing-drama?"

I take a quick breath. "Close. But no."

"Drama, as in you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself-sort-of-drama?" Elise says, wagging her finger, squinting one eye through her gold-rimmed glasses.

"No. Worse. Drama, as in drama club, sort-of-drama."

Roz's face pushes up in confusion. She lets her hands go to her hips.

I let out a huff. "I didn't get detention, Roz. I got
drama club
. Slayer took away my study hall. Now I'm in drama club, for first period, for the rest of the trimester."

"Are you kidding me? What kind of punishment is that?"

"It's not a punishment. But for me, it may as well be. I don't want to do drama. Getting up in front of an audience isn't my thing."

"Why not?" Cass asks, with a giggle. "I mean, you tend to be very dramatic, like yesterday. Plus, I'm in drama. It's fun."

Elise throws her head back and laughs. "If I'd known being a delinquent was so easy, Myri, I'd have started walking on your side of the tracks a long time ago, joined forces with roaches, done all kinds of things."

"Yeah, right," I scoff. Elise loves causing trouble. Or at least, thinking up ways to make it. With her, it's the doing-part that never seems to get done.

"Besides," I continue, feeling a need to defend myself. "I wasn't being a delinquent. I was conducting a science experiment."

"Oh, yeah," Elise's eyes wrinkle up. "And you got sentenced for it?"

"No, I got drama, because I never signed up for ECSAs."

I get blank stares in reply.

"Extra-curricular student activities. I never signed up for an academic club at the beginning of the year."

"Oh, those!" Elise's voice fills with understanding and surprise. "You never did that? I thought everyone was supposed to sign up for a club. It's like a requirement, or something. They're kind of like classes."

"I know, but I thought I could get out of doing one if I signed up for study hall."

I don't tell them I knew Duey had signed up for study hall, too.

"So, what was the problem, then?" Roz asks.

"I needed parent-permission."

"Ahhh," Cass says. Elise joins her with a nod. "You didn't get it?"

I shake my head. "As of this morning, the consensus between my mother and the fine people who teach here is I can work on my grades--average as they are--at home."

Roz gives me a nudge. "Why didn't you tell Slayer to put you in art? I'm in art."

"I did, but it's full, which is the reason I didn't sign up to begin with. All the good clubs were taken by the time I got to them. All except debate and drama. Which are still the only choices I have now. So, Slayer chose for me."

I shake my head, let out a breath. "Some choice. I can't even
think
the word drama, let alone say it without getting itchy all over. Look at this." I hold out my arm. "
Welts
. Big red welts. And they're spreading. And I'm not even near a stage."

I try to give myself a hug, settle for grabbing my elbows. "It's crazy. The whole idea of it. I can't act. Can't dance. Can't sing. Can't even get up in front of a class and talk. Ask anyone who wanted to know about the cockroaches yesterday. Or, anyone who's going through the speech segment with me in English right now."