Page 37 of School Spirits
We left the toy store, making our way down the mall toward the entrance. Some ’80s soft rock ballad was playing, and a harried-looking mom walked past us, a little kid tugging on her hand. A few feet away, there was a big fountain splashing turquoise-colored water, a couple of girls sitting on the edge, giggling together.
“Are you an alien?”
“What?” I asked, turning to Romy. She was smiling, but there was genuine curiosity in her dark eyes.
“You’re looking around the mall like you’ve never been in one before. And sometimes you look around the school that way, too.”
“Oh,” I said, heat rising to my face. So much for “blending in.”
“Where did you live before this?” Romy asked, maneuvering around a couple of old ladies power walking.
“Tennessee.” Immediately, I wondered if I should add more, so I hurried on. “I went to a really small all-girls school, so, yeah, this is all a little new to me.”
That apparently satisfied Romy. “Okay. So why did your mom pull you out of that place and move you to freaking Ideal, Mississippi, a.k.a. The Most Boring Town on Earth?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, swinging my bag. “My last school didn’t haveghosts. Or ghost hunters for that matter.” I thought aboutIvy Springs, the way Leslie and her identical cousin, Lila, would sometimes laugh together and link arms and bump hips and stuff. I wondered if I should attempt a hip bump now.
But Romy was a lot taller than me, so my hip would just hit her thigh, and…yeah, we could skip that bit.
Suddenly her entire face brightened and she grabbed my arm. “Oh! Speaking of ghost hunters…”
She reached into her purse, fishing around for something. “Remember when you asked if there was some connection between Beth and Mr. Snyder? You know, something that wasn’t gross and illegal?”
“Right,” I said as I dodged a couple of kids with balloons tied around their wrists.
“Well, I did a little Internet sleuthing and found this.” She pulled a folded-up piece of paper out and handed it to me. It was a mention on the Mary Evans High Web site. The title read,MEHS CELEBRATES AN ‘IDEAL’ HISTORY.
“So last year, the school did this big thing about the history of the town and how many students and faculty had had family here when Ideal was founded. And check it.” She pointed at the picture. “There’s Beth, there’s Snyder.”
I recognized Beth easily enough, also noting that Adam and Anderson were in the picture. Mr. Snyder, a dark-haired guy who looked to be around thirty, was the only adult.
“I mean, it’s not much, but it’s something, right?” Romy was watching me with big dark eyes.
“Yeah,” I agreed, studying the photo.
They have to pay, Mary had said. Thought. Felt. Whatever all of that shrieking in my head had been. But Mary had frozen to death, according to the legend. A crappy way to go, but not exactly something you could blame other people for. But what if Mary did hold someone responsible and was seeking revenge through that person’s descendants? Stranger things had happened.
“I still wonder why now, though. A hundred years she’s been dead, and she just now decides to go crazy?” I glanced over at Romy.
She shrugged. “Who knows why ghosts do things?” Then she grinned. “Ooh, or maybe our town is, like, built over the underworld! And psychic evil energy is just now leaking into Ideal.” She mulled that over like a little kid making a Christmas list. “Man, think of all the ghosts we’d have then,” she said wistfully, and I nearly laughed.
I wasn’t sure how anyone could be excited about their town potentially being a portal to Hell, but I clapped a hand on Romy’s shoulder and said, “We can only hope.”
CHAPTER 18
Afew days later, I sat at the dinner table with Mom, twirling spaghetti around my fork. “So Mrs. Steele was telling us that Macbeth was a real person who really killed a king, but that the witches and the ghosts were all made up. Which, I mean, obviously they weren’t.”
I took a bite of pasta, chewing and swallowing before saying, “It’s lame. I think everyone would be a lot more interested in the play if they knew how real it all was. Maybe I’ll write something about that in my essay.”
Mom gave me a weird look, so I quickly amended. “Not that I’d mentioned the witches and ghosts being real, but something about the way supernatural—”
“It’s the last night of the month, Izzy,” Mom said, shaking her head. “You won’t need to write that essay.”
I lowered my fork. “Right.”
Pushing her plate away, Mom rested her elbows on the table. “You hadn’t forgotten, had you?”
Of course I hadn’t. I just…maybe hadn’t thought of leaving Ideal so soon after the banishing was done. Which was stupid. If Mary’s ghost was put to bed, what reason did we have to stay?
