Spookygirl - Paranormal Investigator by Jill Baguchinsky Read Free Book Online Page A

sulking.
    “She wanted to talk to us!” He pouted. “Don’t you realize how rare it is for a junior like Isobel to even acknowledge me?”
    “And now she’ll want to talk to us again,” I said. “Always leave ’em wanting more.” Not that I was at all interested in another goth encounter, but Tim obviously had a thing for Isobel, and I felt kind of oddly protective. In some ways, he seemed as weird as me, and that made me want to help him out. Kind of.
    “So what’s with the dress code?” I asked, choosing a lab table and stowing my bag under my stool. “Isobel sure wasn’t following it.”
    “Her, in a white polo? She’d have to be dead first.”
    “She kind of looked that way already.”
    Tim grinned a little. “The dress code’s not really in effect the first week of school. She’ll look like that all year, though. She’ll get a week of suspension, but she doesn’t care.”
    “What about the jocks in drawing?”
    He snorted dismissively. “Them? Like they have to follow any of the rules.”
    “They don’t have to wear these stupid uniforms?”
    “Not as long as they’re wearing something related to Palmetto sports.”
    That sucked. “So just because they can catch a ball or knock people down or do backflips—”
    “What, you thought high school was for learning?”
    We both snickered at that. Nothing cements a friendship as quickly as shared disdain.

CHAPTER FOUR
no respect for half vampires
     
    After the last bell, Tim followed me to the bus loop like a lost puppy and asked if he could please, please visit Addison Funeral Services. At first I wished he’d go away; I really didn’t feel like being shadowed anymore and I had a lot on my mind with the whole locker-room thing. Then a couple of jocks in Palmetto jerseys walked by on their way to the student parking lot. One of them—I recognized him from drawing class—saw Tim and paused like he’d just spotted easy prey. I realized Tim was probably in for more harassment if I left him on his own, so I agreed to his request and quickly led him away from the jocks and toward my bus. He could be annoying, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to get his butt kicked. I gave the jock the stink eye over my shoulder as we retreated.
    Dad was still working on Ralph Wilson’s mother when we got to the mortuary. Luckily, she didn’t seem tobe around to cause any trouble. I introduced Tim, so he at least got a peek at the embalming room. Then I showed him around the rest of the downstairs and explained the ins and outs of death spackle. He was fascinated; I wondered if that was genuine, or if he was just trying to be a good goth.
    When we went upstairs, I tried to open the door to the apartment, but it wouldn’t budge. It wasn’t locked; the knob turned easily. I gave it a short shove and managed to open it a few inches, but then it slammed in my face like someone was blocking it from the other side.
    “You know, I should probably tell you about Buster before we go in,” I said, pushing against the door with my shoulder but not really expecting it to give. I’d silently debated whether to introduce Tim to Buster. I suppose I could have gone up by myself and put Buster in his crate before letting Tim into the apartment, but Tim was so enthusiastic I couldn’t resist letting him have the full abnormal-poltergeist experience. Plus, I kind of wanted to mess with him. “Buster’s sort of—
OOF!
” The door opened easily this time, and I went sprawling into the living room, which was freezing. My breath came out in visible puffs.
    Behind me, Tim stepped into the room and stared. The door slammed shut behind him, and what little color there’d been in his face drained away. The living room was upside down. All the furniture—the corduroy couchand two chairs, the coffee table, the TV cabinet, even the filled bookcases—hung down from the ceiling as if they’d been anchored in place. The room echoed with happy, mischievous screams.
    I stood up.