Synopsis | Reviews | Excerpt
Freshman Heather Tildy is finally starting to fit in at Pecan Hills High—sort of. What she wants more than anything is to turn her Homecoming date with hunky Drew Blanton into a permanent relationship. But how can a girl have the date of her dreams when rumors say that he’d rather be taking another girl to the dance?
The last thing Heather’s big night needs is an interfering ghost, especially one who is way into grunge and likes to share unwanted advice about Heather’s love life. If Heather can find a way to quickly solve her new haint’s problem, she might have the romantic date with Drew she’s always dreamed of.
Too bad nothing involving ghosts is ever that simple.
Although Georgia author Maureen Hardegree concedes to having all the usual baggage of a middle child, she is NOT a ghost handler. She does, however, believe in connecting with her inner teenager and in feeding her active imagination—it likes Italian food and chocolate.
Coming soon!
Chapter One
COOL, CALM, go-with-the-flow—that was the
mask I wanted to show the world. Or at least the exterior I wished the majority
of Pecan Hills High geeks, wannabes, and in-crowd movers and shakers would
believe was the real me. Especially on this, the Monday after my life had
forever changed. But how could I hide behind my disguise when the words spewing
from my lunch buddy’s mouth were so heinous?
"The shorter girl says, ‘It’s only a
matter of time before he asks Alicia out.’”
The hewas Drew. My Drew, the guy I’d been crushing on since May. The guy who’d asked
me out Saturday. I am not Alicia.
Suzanne smiled into the mirror in the main
hall bathroom I rarely braved due to the haint who frequented its tile floors
and metal stalls. The ghost who wore plaid flannel and had most likely
body-slammed to Nirvana hadn’t materialized yet, but I could sense her nearby.
She was eavesdropping on our conversation.
Once Suzanne
appeared satisfied there was no food between her teeth, she went on in
excruciating detail about what she’d overheard in her Financial Literacy class
this morning. "And then they started talking about him probably feeling sorry
for someone. That’s the only possible reason Drew would ask herto Homecoming. They’re so stupid, like I couldn’t figure out they were talking
about you.”
Yeah, Drew
Blanton, hottest junior this side of the Mississippi, had asked me—lowly,
freak-flag-flying freshman Heather Tildy—to go with him to Homecoming. I’d
thought it meant he liked me.
Blinking away
the beginning of tears I wasn’t about to let gush in front of Suzanne or anyone
else, I focused on something positive. Shopping. I like shopping, especially
at Old Navy and the Second Time Around store. Audrey and I were going shopping
tomorrow... for my Homecoming dress.
Here’s the
thing—the problem with positive thinking is that when there’s something bad
going on, your mind connects the negative to the positive, and that colors
everything with a big, fat charcoal crayon.
Second try.
Class. Biology. Study guide. Big test on Thursday. The small putty-eraser-sized
lump in my throat expanded to a block of cheese. I turned on water, leaned over
the sink, and splashed my hot face.
"What are you
doing?” Suzanne asked, her normally even tones tinged with horror. "Are you
even wearing waterproof mascara?”
Was I? I glanced
up into the mirror which revealed that I, in fact, had been wearing regular
hypoallergenic mascara, as evidenced by the rivulets of gray running down my
cheeks. Great. Now it looked like I’d been crying.
Flushing sounded
in the stall closest to me. The painted metal door opened, and the girl who’d
been in there and who had apparently been listening to us, took one look at my
face and bolted without washing her hands. I was sure by the time I entered my
sixth period Biology class, Drew would have heard I was crying in the bathroom
about him and Alicia.
"Sorry, I
thought we were alone,” Suzanne said, then waved her hand in front of the
sensor for paper to wipe my dripping hands and face.
The gears
ground, but no rough brown toweling spewed. Her close-set eyes widened. "No.”
"Tissue?” I
asked.
She dug around
her purse and lifted a five-inch receipt from some fast food restaurant. "How
’bout this?”
I wiped but only
smeared the runny makeup worse.
"And I thought I
was a mess,” someone not Suzanne said. The throaty voice sounded like whoever
it belonged to might have been a good singer. I peeked under the stall doors
and didn’t see any feet. Maybe it was the ghost. She’d approached me before.
I turned the
water on again and splashed and rubbed to get the rest of the mascara trails
off my face. I added soap that ended up stinging my eyes. I splashed more water
on my face that was finally cooling off, and then, because I had nothing else
available, I wiped my face on the front of my shirt. Probably not the smartest
of moves.
"If you’d have
asked me, I would’ve suggested doing that on the back inside,” the disembodied
voice remarked. She popped her spectral gum. It was the ghost who patrolled the
bathroom.
Carefully, I
looked in the mirror, a safe way to view a ghost if you’re a handler who isn’t
ready to take a spirit on, and the hairs on my right arm lifted like a cold
breeze was blowing. Chill bumps rose. And there she was. Owner of the voice.
Plaid-wearing, Doc Martens sporting, gum-chewing grunge girl ghost.
I didn’t want,
much less need, a glomming right now.
Having moved
quite a few haints along since the beginning of summer, when I’d suddenly been
gifted with this ability, I was tempted to acknowledge this flannel-sporting
chick. However, adding her to my To Do list this particular week, given that I
had to buy a dress and go on my first date with Drew, wouldn’t be prudent.
Especially if I ever wanted to have a second date with him.
"Um, excuse me,”
a voice that wasn’t Suzanne’s or grunge girl ghost’s said. I looked over by the
door, but no one had come in. On my left side, a small waft of cold air
expanded so that now both sides of my body were covered in goose bumps. I
wanted the jacket I’d shoved in my locker this morning.
Heart pounding,
I quickly figured out twice the chill meant two ghosts trying to attach
themselves to me at the same time. Okay, that was something I hadn’t
anticipated I’d be dealing with today. Careful not to make eye contact with
either one, I watched through the safety of the mirror above the center sink
reflecting a preppy, headband-wearing, sweater-tied-over-her-shoulders haint.
"What are you
doing here?” the no-longer-mellow voice of grunge-l oving ghost challenged.
"I need to speak
with Heather. Forget about this guy and focus on—”
"Shut up,”
Grunge Ghost said and triple-popped her gum for emphasis.
Crappola with a
capital C. My supersensitive skin tingled, the usual precursor to hives.
A ghostly rumble was not penciled in my agenda notebook for this afternoon. And
this new haint I hadn’t mapped on my handy-dandy chart knew my name. Not good.
The seam under the armpit of my cotton long-sleeved tee, now dampening, made
itself known to me. The itch was only seconds away.
Suzanne was
totally oblivious to my extrasensory pickle, and I needed to keep it that way.
"Do you at least have a sweater in your locker?” she asked.
I looked down at
the smears covering my shirt. "How about a puffy jacket?”
"That’ll look
weird, like you’re trying to hide something.”
"I am.”
Sometimes Miss In-the-Running-for-Salutatorian wasn’t so smart.
Grunge Ghost
flipped her waist-length, center-parted hair and faced the new haint. "I called
dibs on this bathroom years ago, and I saw Heather first.”
"Maybe you saw
her before I did,” Preppy Ghost said, hooking her thumb at me for emphasis,
"but if she’d wanted to help you, she would have by now. Besides, I’ve taken a
poll of the others, and we feel it’s time for a little redistricting.”
Now queasy and
itchy, I questioned what would erupt first, the contents of my stomach or
hives. I’d mapped out where all the ghosts along my usual class routes were,
and I’d been able to avoid them sticking to me until I was ready, somewhat
willing, and able. If this preppy haint had her way, I wouldn’t know who was
haunting where.
I didn’t like
this new ghost, and I didn’t like how she was already trying to boss me
around. Been there, done that with Lunch Lady Ms. King, and I wasn’t ever doing
it again.
Grunge Ghost
moved around me to float nose to nose with her preppy rival. "So, what you’re
really saying is that you’re not happy with your haunting
parameters, and you’re trying to bully the others into agreeing with
you.”
"Wouldn’t you
like a little more freedom?” Preppy Ghost asked, her girlish tone smug, like
she’d already won the battle.
"I’m saying,
don’t stir the pot.” Grunge Ghost waved her plaid flannel-covered arms around,
creating cold air currents. "Let sleeping dogs lie. If it ain’t broke, don’t
fix it.”
I’d heard
similar flawed advice from my older sister Audrey only yesterday, when she
caught me checking Drew’s Facebook status. Similar exasperated tone of voice,
too.
I couldn’t shake
the feeling, though, that Preppy Ghost was not one to sit back and wait her
turn. Ever.
"Did you hear
me, Heather?” Suzanne said, bent over at the waist and brushing her hair from
the underside to create volume.
"Not exactly,” I
admitted.
"I said I hope
the dress you bought is killer. That would show everyone who doubts your
ability to be anything more than a pity date.”
Problem fifty
million and one, killer meant ka-ching. I had no job, and my family lived on a
pretty strict budget. Problem fifty million and two reared its ugly head. I had
less than five days to find a Homecoming dress. "I don’t have one yet.”
She
straightened, then dropped her brush on the tile floor as three girls I didn’t
know walked in. After giving my damp, dirty long-sleeved tee the once over,
they entered the empty stalls.
"What are you
going to do?” Suzanne asked, close-set eyes wide in amazement. "Everything’s
picked over.”
"It’s a dress,
not the Holy Grail,” I heard myself say, like I wasn’t worried in the least. I
couldn’t let those girls in the stalls overhear that I cared. Not that they
even knew what we were talking about. I couldn’t let Suzanne see I was having a
qualm or two. And it’s not like I’d have bought a dress without being asked.
Some girls might, but that wasn’t me.
Cool. Calm.
Go-with-the-flow. "Besides, Audrey’s taking me tomorrow, and she’s really
good at shopping.”
"I guess.”
Suzanne focused once more on her reflection in the mirror. "I really need my
eyebrows done. I hope I can get in for a threading this week.”
Why was I
friends with her? Um, yeah. No one else to eat lunch with at the beginning of
the year, and once I got into a habit of any sort, it was hard to break. Take
ghost handling, for instance. Now that I saw them everywhere, I’d gotten into
this groove of helping them.
Grunge Girl had
a point in her favor when I made my decision later. She’d been trying to get me
to notice her since school started. I just hadn’t acknowledged her, which gets
the whole moving-on thing rolling. Other ghosts had been a little more
insistent or, in Xavier’s brother Stevie’s case, needy.
Xavier. My
thoughts derailed as I recalled his all-too-interesting kiss on Halloween
night, the same night Drew had asked me to Homecoming. My stomach did a half
gainer. Drew and I were going to Homecoming. Drew, the hot junior for whom I’d
spent months on end boxing my way out of the funny friend category and into the
girl-he’d-like-to-date corner. I might be getting an ulcer. Seriously.
Exhausting her
eyebrow contemplation, Suzanne took her phone out of her purse. I had the
distinct feeling whatever was going to happen next would make my day worse. She
clicked on her Facebook icon. "Last thing before we head out of here, we need
to check Drew’s page. What’s your password?”
"Excuse me?”
"I’m not friends
with him. We need to know if there’s anything suspicious going on.”
I wasn’t too
sure where this we had come from. I was the one who needed to know, and
I’d deal with it after school.
"Better now than
later,” Suzanne said.
Okay, she had a
point. I didn’t want to be further blindsided. With more than a few qualms, I
gave her my current password. "Roquefort, one, five. The one is spelled out.
The five is a number.”
I’d change it
before sixth period started. "I swear if you post anything as me, I’ll...”
I couldn’t think of anything really bad to threaten her with.
She thumbed away
and then raised her three-by-two-inch screen. "Look at this.”
I glanced down
at Drew’s page. Not only was his status still set at single, this Alicia Allen
had posted something on his wall. "Looking forward to seeing you at Homecoming
Court rehearsal this afternoon.”
She was pretty.
You know, the kind of girl with a luminescent beauty, whose makeup doesn’t
sweat off during PE like mine does. The kind of girl who never has a bad hair
day. The kind of girl who didn’t wipe her face on the front of her shirt
without thinking. She could have any guy she wanted—including mine.
That lump that
had been growing in my throat swelled to the size of Gibraltar. I tried to
think of something happy to dissolve it, but I couldn’t. I was seriously in
danger of crying, and once I started I didn’t know if I’d be able to stop.
This girl was
after him, like I didn’t even exist, like he wasn’t in a relationship with me...
because he wasn’t. It was one date.
Not wanting any
of the tears filling my eyes to fall, I focused on the blurry fluorescent bulbs
in the ceiling as Suzanne clicked on Alicia’s name, so we could gather more
intel from her profile.
"O-kayyy,”
Suzanne said. "She’s not in a relationship, and she doesn’t believe in setting
privacy controls.”
I wasn’t sure if
her not caring that anyone could see her stuff held any significance. "Is that
everything?”
Suzanne pursed
her lips. "Not exactly. The first girl in my class, I think her name is
Danielle, she also said he asked you so last minute because Homecoming Court
people have to have a date, and Alicia had already been asked by someone else.”
My heart bled
with that little jab. Suzanne was getting too much enjoyment out of relaying
these painful nuggets.
"Hey, Heather,”
Grunge Ghost said, gnawing on her gum and materializing next to Suzanne, who
rubbed her arms at the sudden temperature decrease. "I can help you.”
Doubtful. It was
rarely about them helping me.
Even if I was
willing to give Grunge kudos for persistence, I wasn’t willing to take her on
now. I had enough to deal with, thank you very much. One, Drew liked some other
girl but asked me to Homecoming. Two, I still wanted him to want to be
in a relationship with me. Three, Xavier wanted to be in a relationship with
me. I’d heard of a romantic triangle before, but what I was dealing with had
more sides. A quadrangle? I really didn’t need a ghost in the mix. Maybe
later. Maybe next week.
"I scratch your
back, you scratch mine,” Grunge offered.
I didn’t look
her in her filmy eyes. I focused on her scuffed Doc Martens.
"I pretty much
know how to deal with guys,” Grunge Ghost added, her voice once again mellow,
kind even.
I glanced over
at Suzanne, who was blathering on with her recipe for a successful date. "Laugh
at everything he says. For some unknown reason, they like ditsy. Case in point,
Tina. And show some cleavage.”
"I’m pretty sure
that’s not my best feature.”
Assessing my
potential, she glanced at my less-flat-than-it-used-to- be chest. "There are
bras that can help you fake it.”
"You really want
her advice?” Grunge Ghost snorted.
No offense to
anyone alive or otherwise, but I found it hard to believe Grunge, who was more
tomboy than guy magnet, was ever all that clued in when it came to dating.
Sure, her ghostly image wasn’t ugly, but she looked nothing like my living
friend Tina, who had males lining up to date her.
A chill wind
blew by me, and Grunge went flying. I turned to look in the mirror at the area
where the ghost had been floating. The preppy haint who wanted me to focus was
hovering in Grunge’s place.
Grunge was
nowhere close to happy. "Hey! No cuts.”
Preppy Ghost
smoothed her straight, blunt hair. "I don’t have time to wait for her to decide
to help you.”
Grunge put her
hands on her hips. "So your problem is more important than mine?”
"Uh, yeah.”
For what it’s
worth, I knew Grunge Ghost was being rhetorical, and I kind of liked her
sass. Not that I was planning on helping either of them this week. If I feltinclined to help one of them, it wouldn’t be the cutter—and by cutter, I
mean the ghost who didn’t want to wait her turn.
Suzanne
screamed, "Heather!”
"What?”
Sometimes, no, make that most of the time, my lunch friend was extremely annoying.
"I’m talking to
you about, hello, the biggest problem you’ve ever had to face to date. No pun
intended.”
Biggest? Hardly.
Most emotionally devastating—possibly.
"I’m thinking
about it,” I told her, which was true. A wrong move could ruin everything. Drew
had asked me out, and I had to make the most of it. Be fun and cute and turn
this one date into a relationship. None of that would happen if this Alicia
girl got her hooks into him, which, if word in the hall could be trusted, she’d
already accomplished.
"What do you
think I should do? I mean, it’s just one date, so I can’t demand he stay away
from her.”
"You’re right
about that,” Suzanne said with a smirk. She shrugged. "I guess things will work
out with you and Drew if it’s meant to be.” Meaning it wouldn’t, because
everyone who was even barely acquainted with me knew I had horrible luck.
Grunge Ghost
sighed heavily. I looked at her in the mirror. "Not the way to go. If I were
you, I’d crash that rehearsal this afternoon.”
"No, she needs
to forget him entirely,” Preppy Ghost said. "You tell him you’re not going to
Homecoming. Focus on school.”
I couldn’t do
either one of their suggestions. Or could I? I wasn’t cancelling, and if I
crashed the Homecoming Court practice, then this Alicia girl would know that I knewthat she was after Drew. Being cool and seemingly non-caring was the way to
approach it, right? Unless that made him think I really didn’t give a flip.
Why wasn’t life
any easier once you got the boy?
