Read Spookygirl - Paranormal Investigator for Free Online

because she threw a volleyball at me.”
    “I’ll write you a note and say you were meeting with me.” Mrs. Ortiz scribbled on a pad and tore off the top sheet. “Give her that tomorrow. She’ll excuse you for today.”
    Out of arguments, I took the note and left. MaybeDad would be okay with me serving daily detentions for the rest of the semester. That was exactly what I’d be doing, since I intended to skip first period every day until the spring.
    Returning to Algebra II meant crossing from one building to another. There was a puddle in the walkway, probably from one of Florida’s regular afternoon showers the day before. I splashed through it without a thought, went inside, and squelched down the hallway toward my classroom.
    “Do you mind?” someone said behind me. The voice was gruff and familiar. “I just mopped that!”
    I yelped a little in surprise and spun around. “Henry?”
    Sure enough, the ghostly janitor stood a few feet away, busily mopping. “Yeah, who else? Told you I worked for the school system, didn’t I?”
    “Sorry, I was just—”
    “Look at that mess.” He jabbed his mop at my wet footprints. “And this darn thing ain’t good for nothing anymore.” Apparently the giddiness he’d felt at the thought of going back to his job instead of finding his wife had worn off.
    “I didn’t mean to—”
    “Darn kids today don’t have any respect. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to wipe your feet?”
    And that was when my patience—what was left of it—gave out. “Oh, shut up, newbie,” I said, forgetting to keep my voice low. “Either cross over or quit your bitching!”
    “Violet?”
    I glanced over to where Mrs. Brown, my Algebra II teacher, stared curiously at me from the classroom doorway. Oh crap.
    “Everything okay?” she asked uncertainly.
    “Um, yeah.” I shrugged.
    “Why don’t you come back in, then?” She spoke in the sort of soothing tone one might use on a seriously unstable person, and since she’d just seen me apparently talking to myself, she probably thought that was the case.
    I nodded and returned to my seat, ignoring the stares I got along the way. Everyone in the class had apparently heard my little outburst; I hadn’t done my reputation any favors with that one.

CHAPTER THREE
Ghost Jock and Gabriel Saint Rochester Rochester Saint Gabriel
     
    The state of Florida has this funny habit of building or renovating schools so that they’re just big enough for the current population of the district, which means they start running out of room as soon as more families move nearby. Palmetto High is more than sixty years old; it’s the oldest school in the area, and its last renovation was more than five years ago, which explained the bank of portables out back. Connected by a crooked, hastily poured concrete walkway, the trailers sat in a marshy field, the kind of not-quite-swampland that floods and attracts snakes during the rainy season, and wasps all year long.
    Palmetto’s overcrowding also explained the chronic lack of seating in the cafeteria. After fourth period I walked into the packed room, surveyed the clique-segregated tables—populars, jocks, emos, goths, punks, and every other kid who was happy to fit into a pre-establishedmold—and walked back out. Definitely not my kind of thing. Since I couldn’t wander the school without a hall pass, I ducked into a stairwell and waited for the bell.
    After my bizarre morning, it was with great relief that I finally headed to the art wing for Intro to Drawing. On the way, a loud crash in the hall made me glance over my shoulder. A couple of bigger guys in Palmetto football jerseys had shoved this short, skinny kid into the locker bank as they went by. Jerks. It’s not so bad being ignored when that’s the alternative.
    Palmetto’s drawing room was big and airy; it was a corner room, with huge windows on two walls letting in lots of natural light. The industrial tile floor was splattered with years