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

“Oh God, your friend didn’t actually die, did he?” I said nervously. “I was just kidding, I didn’t—”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Quit freaking out. He’s not dead.”

“Oh.” I waited, because it looked like he was going to say something else. But he just stood there. I turned back to my screen just as the door swung open.

“Hey, guys!” Mi Jin stepped inside. “Meeting’s almost over—Jess is still going over some stuff with your dad, though.”

“Okay,” I said. “So you got stuck teaching us, huh?”

Mi Jin laughed. “I guess. It’ll be fun, though. Your dad and Lidia told me you guys both have pretty good grades.”

“I tried this out on Kat,” Oscar informed her, twirling the mask around his finger. “Your reaction was way better.”

“Yeah, I’ll be starring in a slasher movie one day, just you wait,” Mi Jin said with a grin. “My mom used to say my scream could shatter glass.” She nodded at the door. “We just ordered some lunch if you guys are hungry.”

My stomach rumbled again. “Starving,” I said, closing my window on the laptop. Then I remembered the page I’d printed. “Should I leave this on? I think someone was using it before I came in.”

Mi Jin shook her head. “Nah, we’ve all been downstairs all morning. You and Oscar are the only ones who’ve been up here.”

“But there was a . . .” I trailed off, glancing at Oscar. He stared back, his expression blank. “Never mind.”

I followed them out of the room, watching Oscar twirl that stupid mask around his finger and thinking of the message folded up in my pocket. KEEP HER AWAY FROM THE MEDIUM. Another prank, no doubt. He’d probably typed it up right before I got upstairs, then hid to watch my reaction. Apparently he was into playing jokes on people. Very unfunny ones, too.

And I was stuck with him as a classmate. Awesome.

After lunch (sandwiches with cold cuts and probably the best cheese I’d ever tasted), I slammed into a wall of exhaustion. Oscar had spent the whole meal having an intense debate with Mi Jin about some video game. Jess was going over the Crimptown story in detail with Dad and Lidia. It actually sounded really interesting, but my eyelids drooped like my lashes were weights. When my head slipped off my hand and I jerked awake, Oscar snickered.

“I need some air,” I announced in the most dignified voice I could muster, righting the jar of pickles I’d knocked over before heading for the door.

Roland was outside of the theater, sitting on a backpack with a sucker sticking out of his mouth. I sped up, hoping he wouldn’t want to talk.

“So, Kat,” Roland said. Groaning inwardly, I stopped and turned to face him. Time for some awkward conversation. Dislike. “Parents just split up, huh?”

I blinked, startled. “Uh . . . yeah. My dad told you?”

Roland lifted a shoulder. “He mentioned it. But it wouldn’t have been hard to guess.”

Before I could respond—and I had no idea what to say to that, anyway—Sam Sumners wandered around the corner of the theater. His eyes looked glazed over, like he was half-asleep. I could empathize.

“It was her brother,” he said to no one in particular. Roland pulled the sucker out of his mouth and shot Sam a purplish grin.

“Her brother? Really? You usually say it’s a boyfriend or husband. These things are always about jealousy.”

Sam nodded vaguely. “Usually, yes . . . but not this time.”

I cleared my throat. “What are you guys talking about?”

Turning, Sam squinted at me with a strange expression, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether I was real. I had the sudden crazy idea that he could see ghosts better than living people. “Sonja Hillebrandt,” Sam said. “Her presence is quieter than the pirate’s, but more rooted to this place. The pirate wants to roam.”

“Um . . .” I glanced at Roland for help.

“Sonja’s one of the Crimptown ghosts,” he explained, crunching down on the purple sucker with a sharp crack. “Sam’s trying to figure out why she’s still hanging around. Apparently, it has something to do with her brother.”

Sam frowned, his eyes glazing over once more. “Protective . . . she’s very protective . . .”

I stared as he wandered off around the corner of the theater without another word. “He looks like he needs some sleep.”

“He’s fine,” Roland replied. “That’s just how he acts when we’re on-site. It’s an occupational hazard when you’re a medium. Hard to communicate with the dead and not walk around looking like a zombie.”

Crossing my arms, I studied Roland. He sounded mocking, although I wasn’t sure if it was me or Sam he was making fun of. “You’re a parapsychologist, right? Like a paranormal psychologist?”

“Parapsychologist, like a scientist who looks for evidence of any sort of paranormal activity, such as clairvoyance, precognition, and telepathy.” Roland yawned widely. “Or, you know. A spook shrink, if you prefer.”

Was he making fun of himself now? This guy was so weird.

“Okay, I have to ask,” I said. “Do you really believe in all this?”

“All what?”

“You know, this.” I gestured to the theater. “Ghosts, haunted tunnels, a walking Ken doll who thinks he can talk to dead people.”

Roland let out a snort of laughter. “Walking Ken doll. Nice.”

I winced. “Sorry, it’s a joke I have with my grandmother. She’s got the hots for him pretty bad.”

What? Seriously, brain. Time to start controlling the words coming out of my mouth.

Roland was still chuckling. “Oh no, your grandma’s a Sumner Stalker?”

“A what?”

“That’s what Sam’s ‘fans’ call themselves.” He made little air quotation marks with his fingers on the word fans. “They get pretty intense.”

I made a face. “She’s not that bad, I promise.”

“Glad to hear it,” Roland said around his sucker. “You should see some of his fan mail—it gets pretty creepy. And he never realizes when they cross the line. He’s way more tuned in with the dead than with the living. Pretty sure that’s why he gets those kinds of fans, actually.”

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously. “He’s got fans because he’s . . . well,