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

said. “Why do you care?”
    “It’s freaking them out.”
    “Well, they deserve it. They’re jerks.”
    “Yeah, but…” Dead Dirk didn’t have an argument for that, so he scowled at me, called me Spookygirl, and disappeared. That was rich—being called spooky by a freakin’ ghost. Pot, meet kettle.
    Tim poked me in the arm with his charcoal, leaving a black smudge near my elbow. “You
were
talking to someone. And it got a little cold. Was that a ghost? Was it Dirk Reynolds?”
    “Yeah.” I went back to drawing my pitcher and apple—which, unlike Head Jock’s, actually looked like a pitcher and an apple. “He wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, was he?”
    “He didn’t need to be.” Tim had traded his striped arm warmers for a set of leather wrist cuffs, and he wore what looked like a cheap black dog collar around his neck. The sunglasses he’d forgotten the first day of school were perched on top of his head—he’d tried a few times to keep them on during class, but Mr. Connelly insisted otherwise. Tim squinted (when he remembered to) as the early afternoon sunlight poured through the windows. “Dirkwas a star athlete,” he went on. “He set, like, a million records when he played for Palmetto.”
    “Even though he was only a junior when he died?”
    “Yeah. The senior players hated him for it.”
    “And how’d he die? A car wreck?”
    “Yeah. He was drinking at a party, and he tried to drive home. Why?”
    “That sucks.”
    I’d thought maybe he was secretly murdered by a football rival. It would explain why he was still hanging around. But no, he was just another tragic high school movie-of-the-week cliché. “Then why is he still hanging around with these clowns?”
    Tim shrugged. “These guys were freshmen then. They idolized Dirk. Maybe he still wants adoring fans.”
    That was just shallow enough to make sense.
    “Six minutes until the bell,” Mr. Connelly said. “Let’s wrap it up, people.”
    After finishing my drawing, I glanced up to where Head Jock continued to struggle with his still life. The lopsided pitcher now looked like an abstract dead fish, and the kidney-apple had exploded. It hit me that Head Jock was probably having about as much fun getting his art requirement out of the way as I was having with my gym requirement.
    Well, it was only fair.
    At home that afternoon, Tim watched as I dumped my gym clothes out of my bag and smoothed them out so they’d look okay in the morning.
    “Why don’t you just leave those in your locker?” he asked.
    I’d never told him about any of the locker-room stuff, but he’d helped me out with a little of Dirk’s history, so maybe he’d know some elements of Palmetto High history as well. “This is gonna sound weird, but are there any school legends or rumors about something terrible happening in the girls’ locker room?”
    “You mean besides those awful gym clothes?” He poked at the yellow-and-green monstrosities on my bed.
    “I’m serious.” I told him about what I’d experienced, and why I couldn’t go back.
    “I’ve never heard about anything. What do you think it is? I mean, if a bunch of girls got stabbed to death in there or something, you’d think people would know.”
    “It feels like something like that,” I sighed. “Or something worse.”
    We spent the next hour searching online for old news articles about Palmetto High and murders, but we didn’t find anything.
    “Maybe it was covered up,” Tim suggested. “Maybe nobody knows it ever happened.”
    I shuddered.
    “This thing really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
    I wanted to get defensive and say no, but I guessed my habit of changing clothes in the bathroom made the truth pretty obvious.
    “Yeah. That’s not usually the case, but this is so different from anything I’ve ever felt. I can’t believe nobody else notices it.”
    “Well, maybe you’re more sensitive than most people. And you’ve told me ghosts get more active when you’re