Graveyard Slot by Michelle Schusterman (classic children's novels .TXT) 📕

mother . . . I don’t understand what she could mean by I want out.” He gazed over at the cave, frowning slightly. “If she followed you all this way, she must feel truly unsettled to leave her mother behind.”

“Well . . .” I’d given this a lot of thought last night, but I couldn’t decide if it sounded stupid or not. “When we went to the graveyard, there were lots of flowers at Flavia’s and Ana’s graves. Fresh ones. Ever since people found out about Ana, they’ve been visiting. Maybe . . . maybe Ana doesn’t like the attention. I mean, she hated dealing with reporters because of her mom being a celebrity, and Flavia’s death has made her famous all over again. So I want out could mean Ana just wants to get away from all that.”

Sam blinked a few times, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Kat Sinclair,” he said. “You’re really getting the hang of this. Perhaps you have a future as a medium.”

“Er . . . thanks, I think.” I glanced at Roland, whose face was scrunched up all weird. “What?”

Sam turned to Roland, too. “You have to admit her theory is plausible.”

“Mmmf.” Roland shook his head, lips pressed together even tighter. I sighed.

“You think I’m nuts?”

Exhaling loudly, Roland screwed the lid back on his thermos. “No. It is a good theory. But it’s not the most likely one.”

I waited. “Well?”

“You’re not gonna like it . . .” When I just glared at him in response, he shrugged. “All right. First of all, there are no words written on the cave walls. You saw them briefly, then they vanished. That’s your brain at work, not a ghost.”

“I saw them on my camera,” I said loudly. “I had proof before I dropped it. Maybe . . . maybe Ana messed with my camera, like Levi did.”

“Levi didn’t alter photos, he sent you messages.” Roland opened the cooler and pulled out a tangerine. “But for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right, and Ana somehow added those words just in the photos. I want out, because she wants to get away from the media attention. But based on the story you told, Ana wasn’t the one who hated the media. Flavia was.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it.

“Flavia was the one who got angry with reporters harassing her daughter. Flavia was the one who became a recluse. Flavia was the one who kept Ana’s illness a secret.” Roland eyed me as he peeled his tangerine. “I don’t recall you or Oscar ever mentioning how Ana felt about it. And I think it’s very telling that you interpreted I want out to mean Ana’s desire to get away from unwanted attention, all things considered.”

My face grew warm. “What do you mean?”

“Because that’s what you want.” He popped a slice into his mouth. “It’s pretty obvious you hate the cameras, Kat.”

“So . . . wait.” I sat up straighter, my palms suddenly sweaty. “You think I’m making this up?”

Roland shook his head. “No. I think your mind is tricking you into seeing things that aren’t really there.”

“So you do think I’m nuts,” I said, stung. “Look, I wasn’t faking that Ouija message. And I had pictures of the words in the cave and of that ghost.”

“Right—that ghost you convinced yourself was a girl,” Roland said. “Just like you convinced yourself Ana hated media attention, despite never having actually read that about her. When I say you only thought you saw Ana, I don’t mean you’re making this up on purpose. I think your brain is occupied with your own situation, and it projected your issues onto the idea of Ana. It tricked you into imagining her.”

“Like you imagined Ellie?” Sam said with a smirk.

Roland dropped his tangerine. I tried to hand it back to him, but he was gazing at Sam, mouth slightly open. I’d never seen Roland actually, genuinely speechless before. It was pretty funny, but also kind of unnerving.

“Who’s Ellie?” I asked. Roland didn’t respond. He and Sam just stared at each other, and I had the weird sense that some sort of silent conversation was going on that I couldn’t hear. “Hel-lo?” I said, louder. “Who’s Ellie?”

“Kat, check it out!”

I tore my eyes off Roland’s still-shocked expression to see Mi Jin hurrying toward us, waving my Elapse. All thoughts of the mysterious Ellie momentarily flew from my mind.

“Is it working?” I asked eagerly, hopping off the rock.

Mi Jin beamed. “Yes! I mean, it turns on, at least.” She handed it to me, and I flipped the power button on immediately. A message began blinking on the screen:

No memory card in slot.

“It’s right here,” Mi Jin said, showing me the card. “But it’s useless. I had to take it out to get the camera to work. Sorry you lost those photos.”

“That’s okay,” I said, even though it wasn’t. Now I had no way to prove to Roland that I wasn’t imagining any of that stuff last night. I glanced over at him, expecting a smug comment. But he was staring blankly at the waterfall, completely oblivious to the rest of us.

CHAPTER SIX DON’T SIT TOO CLOSE TO THE SCREEN

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Hi, KitKat,

Stage fright, hmm? Don’t worry, it’s completely normal to feel a little awkward on camera. Did I ever tell you about my first day shooting The Monster in Her Closet? I didn’t think I was nervous at all when I got to the set. Sat down at the kitchen table with my movie parents. Director yelled, “Action.” Opened my mouth, and . . . puked Cheerios all over the tablecloth. I still live in fear that they’ll release those outtakes one day.

My advice: Practice! Don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. That snazzy camera I got you takes video, right? Lock yourself in a room, turn it on, and record yourself. Dance, recite a poem, sing “All the Single Ladies”—whatever you want. No one’s going to see it; this is just for you to get used to being YOU on camera.

Have you and your dad found out any