Dead Air by Michelle Schusterman (best books under 200 pages txt) 📕

her, just barely visible against the crumbling gray brick wall.

I glanced at Oscar. His mouth was open, but he closed it when he realized I was looking. “Okay,” he said slowly. “That’s . . . weird. What is it?”

“It’s a ghost,” Jamie said matter-of-factly. “Not Sonja, and not Red Leer—too small. The third ghost we contacted with the Ouija board, remember?”

“Mi Jin said something about cameras picking up ghosts even when we can’t see them,” I added, tracing the outline with my finger. “Something about a broader spectrum of energy.”

Jamie beamed at me. “So you really do believe now?”

Flushed, I pulled my hand away from the screen. “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I mean, I don’t know how else to explain this picture. And . . . she was Sonja. Lidia was Sonja. She grabbed my arm, and it felt like . . . like electricity.”

“So you think Sonja possessed her?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know what I think.” I turned to Oscar. “Have you ever seen Lidia have a seizure?”

He shook his head, glancing back at the image of his aunt, glassy-eyed and wild. “No. But I never spent a whole lot of time with her before now—she was always traveling. And she and my dad aren’t really close.”

As soon as Oscar finished speaking, his face tightened. I stared at him, Sonja and Roland and the curse momentarily forgotten. This was the first time Oscar had even mentioned his father. Why wasn’t he living with him?

Something about his expression told me not to ask.

Jamie cleared his throat. “It doesn’t look like a seizure,” he said, pointing to the screen. “I mean, don’t people fall over when they have seizures? But you said she was walking down the tunnel, right, Kat?”

“Yeah.”

“She did fall,” Oscar said. “She was lying on the ground when we got there.”

“Only after I took her picture,” I pointed out. “But she was walking before that. And she . . .” Sighing, I turned to face Oscar. “Look, her face was Sonja’s face. I know you think I’m crazy, and I know it doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I saw.”

Oscar gazed at the picture. “I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Kat?”

Startled, the three of us whirled around. Dad stood in the doorway, yawning.

“Hi,” I said, suddenly nervous even though I wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Everything okay?”

“Yup,” Dad replied lightly. “Just need to talk to you about something for a few minutes.”

He headed back into the hall without waiting for a response. Sighing, I stood up. “Time to get chewed out for running off last night.”

Jamie made a face. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” I glanced at Oscar, but his eyes were back on the picture of Lidia.

Dad was waiting for me by the elevator, hands stuffed in his pockets. I watched him press the up button. Worry lines creased around his bloodshot eyes. My stomach clenched uncomfortably. I waited until we were on the elevator, then blurted out:

“I’m really sorry again about last night. I didn’t mean to—”

Blinking a few times, Dad waved his hand at me. “No, it’s . . . not that. I mean, we still need to have that talk. But that’s not why I came to get you.”

The elevator doors slid open. Dad ruffled his hair absentmindedly as he stepped into the hallway. I followed him to our room, the knot in my stomach cinching tighter and tighter with each step. Something was up. Something really not good. Outside our door, Dad turned to face me.

“Your mother’s on the phone.”

The knot snapped.

A sort of floating numbness spread through my chest. I stood there silently, waiting. After a few seconds, Dad sighed. “Look, sweetie . . . I’ve really been trying not to push you. But it’s been six months, and—”

“I don’t want to talk to her.”

“I know.” Dad sounded so weary, I felt another stab of guilt. “And like I said, I’ve been trying to respect that. But this is different. She has . . . news.”

News. A thousand possibilities jammed my brain all at once. She got into a major art gallery. She finally opened a studio in Cincinnati. She scored a cover shoot for a magazine. She’s moving to New York. She’s moving to Paris.

She wants to come back.

Not that I wanted her to. Not at all. But I wanted her to want to.

Dad swiped his key card and held the door open. I stepped inside, and he squeezed my shoulder.

“I’ll be down in the breakfast room,” he said before closing the door softly behind me. I listened to his footsteps fade as he walked down the hall, eyeing the phone on the desk. The light flashed red.

Steeling myself, I sat on the edge of my bed and picked up the receiver. “Hi.”

A pause. Then: “Kat? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” After half a year, I figured hearing my mother’s voice again would be . . . I don’t know. I thought it would make me feel something. But it didn’t.

I heard her take a deep breath. “H-how are you?” she said.

“Okay.”

“Good. That’s good.” Another pause. I stared at the wallpaper. Yellow with a swirly beige pattern. Fairly nauseating.

“Is it . . .” She paused, then there was the muffled sound of talking. I frowned. Did she have her hand over the mouthpiece? Who was she talking to? “Sorry, sorry,” she said quickly. “So, Kat, what’s it like in the Netherlands?”

“Fine.”

“I’m so jealous of the traveling you’re getting to do. Where are you headed next?”

“Belgium.”

“Wow. And your grandma said something about a haunted prison next—sounds creepy!”

“Yeah.” I twisted the phone cord around my finger and listened to her take a deep breath. That’s right, I’m not making this easy, huh? Poor you.

“Well, um . . .” Mom cleared her throat. “So, I have some news.”

News, news, news. I waited, tightening the cord until the tip of my finger went numb.

“I’m . . . engaged.”

I watched the clock change from 12:06 to 12:07.

“Kat?”

“What?”

“I said I’m engaged.”

My fingertip was starting to turn a sort of mottled dark purple. “What do you mean?”

“I . . .” She trailed off for a moment. “I mean, I’m getting married.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” I heard myself say. My voice sounded calm. Detached. “You can’t get married when you’re already married.”

Mom