I So Don't Do Spooky (10 page)

Sam moves closer to me. “I'd probably have left it outside too. If I'd been on cleanup.”

Which is totally not true because Sam is Mr. Neat and Tidy.

The Ruler claps. “Kids, I know exactly what'll perk us up. Some of my homemade lentil soup and
rosemary bread. First thing tomorrow morning, we'll all make a trip to the Nut 'n' Nut for the ingredients.”

Oh yeah, that's definitely what leaps to mind when I'm feeling down. A trip to the health food store followed by The Ruler's gas-producing lentil soup and her two-ton rosemary bread. Not.

But there is one good thing about going to the Nut 'n' Nut. I look all hopeful at The Ruler.

“Absolutely, Sherry,” she says, reading my mind. “We'll make sure you get to browse the clothes at the Rack.”

Back in the kitchen, Grandma's rinsing out her bowl. “You're safe now. The house was very receptive.” She beams at all of us. “I'm going home to set out sunflower seeds for one of my wrens.”

“Thanks for all your help,” The Ruler says.

“My pleasure. Nothing I like better than sharing my spiritual talents.” Grandma drops a kiss on Sam's forehead, then mine. She gives The Ruler an iron-strong hug. “You've got nothing to worry about.” And she clomps out the door.

I wish I believed all my problems in life could be solved with a bowl of burnt cloves + salt.

But I don't. No, I believe my future is crammed with problems. Problems way too serious to be solved with any combo of herbs and seasonings.

I
t's Sunday morning. The Ruler pokes her head into the pantry. With everything labeled, she can tell at a glance what ingredients she's missing. She calls out a list for me to jot down. I've never even heard of half the stuff, which is making me nervous. I mean, how healthy can it be to eat things you can't spell?

The Ruler unhooks the reusable, dye-free cotton shopping bags and the key to Dad's car. And through the door we go, Sam patting his pocket to check for his video game, me tipping the end of a box of Nerds into my mouth and The Ruler sticking the grocery list into the front compartment of her ugly goes-with-everything black canvas purse.

Headed to the health food store, The Ruler's her
regular cautious-granny-driving self. One mile faster and she'd be at the speed limit. But, after the tire slashing, I'm glad to have some safety in my day.

We crawl into a parking space. “Why don't you catch up with us inside the Nut 'n' Nut, Sherry?” The Ruler says.

She doesn't have to ask twice. I'm unbuckled and on the sidewalk faster than you can say “new clothes.” Because next door to the health food store is the Rack, one of the best, most reasonable, most fashionable clothing stores in Phoenix.

I beeline to the sale rack, located right inside the front door. It's tops week. I paw through the hangers. And, yay, there's a decent selection in extra-small. I choose a turquoise + sea green baby-doll that goes perfectly with my skin tone, my dark eyes, my dark hair, the walls of my bedroom and the gravel in my aquarium. I love a well-coordinated life. And what luck that I haven't blown all my allowance yet this month and can actually buy the top.

I flip over the tag. Two for one. Oh, happy days! I pick out a lilac blouse. After paying, I bolt next door to fulfill my bodyguard duties.

It's only when I'm inside the Nut 'n' Nut that I remember how my stomach goes all churny at this store's smell. Vitamins and onions and fish and skin cream should not be such close neighbors.

I catch up to The Ruler and Sam in the frozen food
section. The Ruler admires my purchases, which convinces me that I am slowly having a positive influence on her lack of fashion sense. Sam ignores me, frenziedly pressing buttons on his game. No matter. I am his sister and will be there for him when he needs my expert clothing advice.

“Can we get some soysicles?” Sam asks.

“Of course.” The Ruler beams at him. She's determined to change the eating habits of the world, one by one.

She divides up the shopping list and sends me off for tomatoes, scallions and fresh rosemary.

Pushing a mini kid's cart with a green Customer-in-Training flag, I detour down the natural-candy aisle. I'm contemplating fake-o licorice, an item so not on my list, but quite tasty.

Suddenly, the cinnamony + sugary smell of a Cinna bon floats past me. I stand perfectly still.

It's Mrs. Howard.

The Cinnabon smell gets stronger and stronger, until the air is practically sticky.

I wait for her to say, “Hi, Sherry. How's the mystery going?” Or, “Cute outfit, love how you put your clothes together.” Or, “The Academy really thinks you're marvelous and brilliant.”

But no, silence.

And it hits me that she doesn't even know I know
she's there. She doesn't realize I can smell her. I can't see her blurry outline; she must have control over that. Mrs. Howard's spying on me.

Okeydokey, Mrs. Thinks-She's-So-Tricky-Invisible-Guidance-Counselor-Ghost Howard. I can get into this game. I hum a bland nothing tune. “Dum dee dee dum. Better hurry to the produce aisle for some deliciously fresh and healthy tomatoes and scallions and rosemary.

“Dum dee dee dum. I can't wait till the lentil soup is merrily bubbling away on our stove at home, filling our cozy kitchen with warmth and goodness.

“Dum dee dee dum. And I so hope I get to knead the bread. Because I'm a very helpful girl.”

I'm all the while skipping along, zigzagging the cart so the Customer-in-Training flag flaps jauntily away.

At the vegetables, I tear off a plastic bag and drop in a couple of plump tomatoes. I'm tossing scallions and rosemary up into the air when,
poof
, the Cinnabon smell is gone. I smile. I gold-starred that Academy of Spirits test.

It's a manic roll over to the bulk bins where The Ruler and Sam are scoring lentils.

Sam's scooping up the beans. The Ruler's picking out the bad ones, prodding them back into the bin with these bamboo tweezer thingies. They're joking around, laughing. The Ruler's beige blouse has come
untucked and she's letting it hang there. I'm kind of not surprised they're having fun; Sam can make anything into a game.

So I bodyguard the rest of Sunday morning, which drifts into the afternoon. By which time, I seriously need a nap. The woman never slows down. We clean. We cook. We bake. We garden. We shop at a specialty store for canning supplies.

It's all worth it because I'm sure my mother is taking advantage of her nonbodyguarding time and practicing up a storm for the Ghostlympics.

Finally, finally, with heavy eyelids, I head to my room for some downtime. One step in and I'm getting a happy feeling. Thanks to Grandma's clove mixture, my room smells fun and holidayish, like the Christmas store at the mall. I wander over to my aquarium 'cause I want a palsy-walsy chat with my adorable bala sharks before taking a nap.

Yikes. There's fish food floating in the water. Which there should not be because I fed them yesterday. And they so don't need food again today. They'll get sick.

Shoulders back and a glare on my face, I storm into Sam's room. “How many times do I have to tell you to leave my fish alone? Don't feed them. You'll kill them and I'll never forgive you.”

He's in a beanbag chair, thumbs flapping furiously over his controller. He doesn't even look up. “I didn't feed your stupid fish.”

“I can tell you've been in my room. You left behind your gross dirty-sock smell. So don't even bother lying.” I slam his door on the way out. Back in my room, I scoop out as much of the flakes as I can with a little aquarium net.

I flop down on my bed. I shut my eyes. I haven't craved a nap this bad since last weekend.

Ding-dong
.

I drag my weary self to the front door.

It's Junie.

She's surprise-visiting to help me with the Donner Dynamos' website stuff. Ixnay on the nap.

In the kitchen, we nuke ham-and-cheese Hot Pockets. I'm bringing Junie up to speed on the mystery since she wasn't at the meeting with Mom and Grandpa. I tell her about the Ghostlympics.

“Where would you spend five minutes of Real Time with your mom?” Junie asks.

“I can't decide.” I set down my Hot Pocket. “Not anywhere public, not even Tio Roberto's, because I don't want it to be noisy. I haven't seen her for over a year and a half, and I want to hear every word she says.” I actually tear up.

“Sherry, I really hope she wins Real Time,” Junie says.

Then we both sit in sadness and silence for a minute.

I pick up my Hot Pocket and nibble. “We better eat
lunch near Kyle and his friends tomorrow. Maybe we'll overhear something.”

“Oh great.” Junie sighs. “Lunch by the cool eighth graders. Who don't want us around.”

We're walking down the hall to the office, totally side by side, shoulders touching. Junie says, “What about the Donner robotics team? Are any of those students crazy enough to slash The Ruler's tires?”

“Oh yeah,” I say. “They're way, way out there. And we have no idea what their secret plans are. Maybe plan A was to slash the front tires, and plan B was to slash the rear tires.”

Then I pause, trying to make sure I say the next thing right. Because Junie can be overly sensitive. “Are most students in robotics clubs wacked-out weirdos?”

Junie hmpfs and speeds up so she's a step ahead and showing me her back. “Sherry, don't be such a moron.”

In the office, I switch on the computer. “Anyway, someone from the Donner Dynamos could definitely be doubling as a tire slasher, like Claire. Or maybe it was Kyle the Flunking Basketball Player. Or maybe Kyle's dad. Or maybe it's someone we don't even know about.”

I log on to my e-mail. “I sent a short, friendly questionnaire to the Donner team members. Most of them have e-mailed me back with their answers. And a photo. If you could just paste everything onto the Web pages.”

“Uh, why?” Junie asks, her face puzzled. “Why are you trying to help Donner win?”

“I
'm not trying to help Donner win, Junie. But we haven't ruled them out as suspects yet,” I explain slowly, like I'm talking to a preschooler. “I want to go to more of their meetings to keep track of them. Which means I've gotta walk the walk and talk the talk, like I'm truly a Donner Dynamo.”

Junie rolls her eyes.

I open an e-mail from Sarah.

Junie scans it. “Uh, Sherry, this isn't the kind of stuff you normally put on a robotics club website. Normally, on the members page, it's information about where they plan to go to high school and college, how long they've been involved with robotics, their position on the team.” She looks back at the
e-mail. “Not, uh, personal stuff, like favorite childhood toy, favorite vacation, most embarrassing moment.”

“Well, they put me in charge of the questionnaire, and that's the way I'm doing it.”

Junie harrumphs like an old lady, but starts copying and pasting and uploading anyway. She knows that once I make my mind up, there's pretty much no changing it. Anyway, it's not her team.

I push my chair back to go get a Mountain Dew.

Junie lifts her hands off the keyboard. “Don't you think I should be showing you how to do this?”

“Uh, no. I'm not actually on the Donner robotics team,” I explain überpatiently.

“Uh, Sherry, I'm not either.”

“Fine.” I scoot back up to the computer. “Show me.”

When she's done with Mohawk Guy's page, I say, “Let me try the next one. You get the sodas.”

“Works for me.” Junie heads for the kitchen.

I click on Austin's e-mail. And start reading. And stop.

Junie comes back and sits down next to me and pops open both our cans. “What's going on? You hit a snag?”

“Not a snag. It's this e-mail from Austin, one of the Donner guys.”

She squints at the screen. “‘Mary we're so thrilled to have you as our most recent Donner Dynamo team
member. Please call me if there's anything I can help you with.'”

Junie and I stare at each other, then say at the exact same sec, “Plan A and plan B!”

I pull my cell out of my pocket and punch in Austin's number.

“Hi, Austin. It's, uh, Mary. I just opened your e-mail.”

“Hi, Mary. Did you love your first Donner Dynamos meeting? Isn't robotics amazing? Thanks for joining the Dynamos. How're the Web pages going? Do you need any help?”

“Nope. They're fine. Really fine.”

“You're a great addition to our team. I have a good feeling about you.”

Guilt! Since I'm only doing a good job so the Donner Dynamos will accept me and let me snoop at their meetings. “Uh, thanks.”

Junie pokes me in the side. “Ask him about the plans.”

“Hey, Austin, I'm feeling kind of left out and in the dark about plan A,” I say, setting the phone on the desk so Junie can hear too.

And he starts babbling like a little kid after too much birthday cake. “Plan A is we're going to seriously spy on Saguaro's bot. We'll start at the practice competition at Emerson Middle School on Monday evening. With our phone cameras and video cameras
and notebooks. And we'll post someone at Emerson every afternoon and weekend when the practice fields are open for just regular old practice time. We'll figure out their bot's weaknesses. And we'll watch to see their drivers' strategies. Like are they going for points by racing around the field, or are they knocking the other team's ball out, or are they concentrating on moving the ball around? Once we know their strategies, we'll tweak ours to beat them.” He's talking very speedy. The flash drive must be pretty much break-dancing around his neck.

Junie mouths, “So?”