Read Ghost Girl for Free Online Page B

records. You’re just sore ’cause
we
got the Victrola now instead of you. . . . Well, too bad, ghost girl, you better get used to it.”
    Then he started singing the words to the song in a loud, mocking voice. “Let me call you sweetheart, I’m in love with you. Let me . . .”
    I closed my eyes. “Stop, Dewey,” I said.
    But he kept singing, and I could hear my voice getting louder and turning shrill. I clamped my hands over my ears and the next thing I knew I was screaming, “Stop! Stop!
I said stop it!
”
    When I opened my eyes again, Dewey was staring at me like I had sprouted horns.
    He opened his mouth to say something, but I didn’t wait to hear. I started running for the schoolhouse, pushing past all the kids, who stood frozen, gawking at me.
    The girls on the porch barely scooted out of the way as I raced up the steps.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with
ghost girl
?” I heard one of them say behind me.
    When I burst into the classroom, Miss Vest was at her desk, looking over her lesson book.
    â€œWhat’s wrong, April?” she asked, springing up from her seat. She ran over and put her hand on my cheek. “You’re shaking!”
    â€œNo, it’s just—” I gulped for breath and swallowed down the quiver in my voice. “It’s just a little cold out there, that’s all. I just came in for a minute to get warm.”
    â€œPoor thing . . . Come stand by the stove. Maybe we should see about getting you a good winter coat and some warm shoes. Even though spring’s around the corner, we’ve still got plenty of chilly days left.” Miss Vest bustled about for a while, dragging a chair closer to the stove for me and putting more coal on the fire. She draped her sweater over my shoulders, and I hugged the sleeves around me, breathing in the smell of paste and chalk dust in the quiet classroom.
    â€œActually, I’m glad you came in early,” she said after a few minutes. “I was just getting ready to start a project in the kitchen. Want to help me?”
    I nodded and hung her sweater on the back of the chair, then followed her toward the door in the far corner of the classroom.
The door to the kitchen.
I had been itching to peek into Miss Vest’s apartment ever since school started, especially when I heard Dewey and Ida carrying on about what it was like inside. Supposedly, Miss Vest had invited their whole family to come over one evening and listen to the radio. The next day, Ida had spent half a recess telling everybody what a fine time they had had—about Chubby Parker singing on the radio show and the spotless linoleum in Miss Vest’s kitchen and the cookstove with four burners and the Frigidaire with the little ice chest inside.
    Now that I was finally seeing the kitchen for myself, I just had to stand there blinking. I had never laid eyes on such a stretch of gleaming white. The counters were smooth and shiny, and there were rows of creamy-painted cabinets with little cut-glass knobs and blue-and-white gingham curtains hanging in the windows.
    Miss Vest closed the door behind her. Then she turned to me and said, “Tell me, April, have you ever had hot cocoa?”
    I shook my head, trying to keep my mouth from hanging open.
    Miss Vest’s eyes were shining. “Well, we’re going to make some right now,” she said. “For the entire class.” She rushed over to one of the cabinets and pulled the door open. I stared at the shelves full of food, all lined up neat as a pin in colorful tins and boxes. I was used to seeing food come home in plain white flour sacks or brown paper bags—never with fancy pictures and writing across the sides.
    â€œNow . . . we’ll need cocoa and sugar,” Miss Vest said, choosing a few things from the shelves. “And lucky for us, Sergeant Jordan delivered some fresh milk this morning.”
    She hurried to the