Crossing Over (9 page)

“She just needed somebody to talk to,” my mother said.

I gave her a curious look. If the subject had been medium-related my mother would not have mentioned it at all. I actually
suspected
that Shoshanna Longbarrow herself had contacted my mother last year when her grandmother died. But Mom refused to
talk about it, even to simply confirm that some kind of communication with the grandmother had taken place.

That was the main reason I thought it had. Well, that plus the fact that Shoshanna had been much… well, I’m not sure I’d use
the word
nicer
. But she’d sort of seen to it ever since that the Satellite Girls not torment me.

“Let me have a word with Jac’s mom, okay? Why don’t you and Ben go back to the lobby? It’s just about time for the
rendez-vous
now.”

“Okay,” I mumbled. I felt embarrassed and uncomfortable and couldn’t get off the bus fast enough.

My mother walked up the aisle to where Mrs. Gray was standing.

“I think I understand what they were looking for,” my mother said quietly. “And I also understand why Kat feels uncomfortable
about sharing the details. I can only say they weren’t breaking any school rules—other than simply being on the bus in the
first place.”

Mrs. Gray glanced in my direction.

“I appreciate what you… our talk. I do. And I don’t want to make a mountain out of a molehill. I just don’t want to give anyone
special treatment,” Mrs. Gray said. She sounded hesitant—I think she was already off the warpath.

“You’re quite right,” my mother told her warmly. “But in this instance, it’s more that you know the student in question. I
think Kat’s earned your trust. And I’m sure both these kids can honestly promise you this won’t happen again.”

“We promise,” I said quickly.

“We promise,” Ben added, staring at his sneakers.

Mrs. Gray still looked uncertain.

“Thank you so much,” I said. Because sometimes it helps to thank somebody for something they haven’t done yet. It worked like
a charm here.

“Well… you’re welcome,” she said. “But please let us not find ourselves in this situation again.”

“We won’t,” I assured her. “We’ll get back to the group now.”

“Come on,” I said to Ben, ignoring Beige Girl and Britches.

I glanced at my mother, who gave me a smile and a nod. What was going on between her and Jac’s mom?

We brushed past my mom, past Mrs. Gray, and then past Tim, who was watching
all of us like we were an episode of his favorite
television show, and got off the bus. Mrs. Gray followed us off the bus and stood with her hands on her hips, all Captain
Authority. I realized she intended to stand there and personally watch Ben and me walk back to the Biodome, so we couldn’t
make a mad dash for, oh, I don’t know, Quebec City maybe.

“Are they friends—your mom and Jac’s mom?” Ben asked.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said. “Jac and I are best friends, which sort of makes them friends-in-law whether they like it or
not. And I don’t think they like it.” Or hadn’t until today, when they suddenly became coffee chums. What was up with that?

But there was no time to think about that now. As we approached the front entrance to the Biodome, I realized we had an audience
of one. Brooklyn was standing under the
awning, her cell phone flipped open, staring at us.

Great. She had obviously seen everything that went down—the parent chaperones getting on the bus, me and Ben being frog-marched
off the bus, and Mrs. Gray standing there like the Enforcer, making sure we committed no additional crimes on her watch.

Brooklyn looked utterly enraged.

I kept my mouth shut as the two of us walked past her to the door. There is an old saying about the fury of a woman scorned,
and Brooklyn Bigelow was definitely feeling scorned by Ben Greenblott. There was nothing that needed to be said—the girl looked
like she was already going nuclear.

Jac was standing right inside the door and practically pounced on me.

“Perfect timing!” she whispered. “Sid just
called out his first ‘Okay, guys,’ and he hasn’t even done a head count yet!”

“Not so perfect,” I whispered back. I drew her to one side and Ben wandered over to the water fountain to give us some space.
“Our mothers happened to get onto the bus while we were there.”

Jac’s mouth dropped open.

“Did my mother go postal?” she whispered.

“She started to,” I said. “My mom talked to her—kind of explained without explaining that we weren’t breaking any of the rules
she thought we might be breaking. Mom could see it was a ghost stuff we were dealing with, not boy-girl stuff.”

Jac’s face fell.

“You told me it wasn’t ghost stuff.”

“I didn’t exactly say—”

“I asked you if it involved ghosts, and you said no. You lied to me, Kat!”

Had I?

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean… There was no time to argue, Jac, and I know how excited you get about ghosts and I didn’t want you
to… I mean, Ben and I needed to… I needed to see if he—”

“No, forget it,” Jac said, glowering. She leaned close to me and whispered. “I’m the one who’s been trying to get the two
of you together. I’m the one who made you talk to him in the first place. And now you’re just trying to get rid of me so the
two of you can go ghost hunting alone.”

“That’s not true at all, Jac,” I said. Where was this coming from?

“It is true,” Jac said. “You’d rather hang out with him than me now. I should have known this would happen. Things never stay
where you want them to. People never stay where you want them to.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Jac said nothing.

“Jac, what—”

Brooklyn swept through
the lobby door and shot me a triumphant smile. I knew exactly what was going inside her lima bean of
a brain. She had the one thing that might both get back at me and win her readmittance to the inner sanctum of Satellite Girls—a
bit of juicy gossip.

I turned back to where Jac had been standing, only to find her gone. She had taken herself over near where Sid was standing,
and was rooting around in her bag. She pulled out a pack of gum, glanced up and saw me watching her, and turned in the other
direction. I didn’t know what to think. Was all this just because Ben and I had gone to the bus without her?

The lobby door opened again, and my mother and Mrs. Gray walked in. My mother caught my eye and gave me a little nod. I couldn’t
get used to the sight of them together, like they were… friends or something.

And I was starting to feel self-conscious standing all by myself. Ben was still over by the water fountain, fiddling with
his phone. Jac was reading the back of her pack of gum, apparently enthralled with the information. How long was she going
to stay mad at me? And why didn’t Ben come over? Maybe he had never liked me in the first place, not
like
-liked. Or if he had, our brush with amateur law enforcement had scared him off.

My phone beeped, and I pulled it out. The screen informed me that I had a text message.

The sun exploded back into my world. Jac must have given Ben my number! I’d have to
thank her—when she was speaking to me
again.

Avoiding J’s mom. See u back at hotel? By soda machines
?

OK, c u then
, I texted back, trying not to grin at Ben like SpongeBob.

Ben snapped his phone shut and smiled at me for a moment, before walking over to the Story of Biodome display.

It is difficult to momentarily find yourself the happiest person on the planet at the same time that your best friend is mad
at you. I couldn’t stand it. I made a beeline for Jac.

“Please don’t still be mad at me,” I said to her.

She looked like she was trying to ignore me, but she gave up quickly.

“Give me one good reason,” she said, pressing her lips together.

I gave it some thought. I could go for serious or glib. I decided on glib.

“Your feet are cuter than mine,” I said.

Jac was very vain about her feet. They
were
cuter than mine, and she liked to be reminded of it.

“True,” she said, “though I’m not sure it’s a good reason not to be mad at you.”

“You won’t take pity on a poor girl with ugly feet?” I asked.

“They’re not ugly,” Jac said. “Just a little bony.”

“My pinky toes are crooked.”

Jac gave me a sympathetic look.

“Only a little,” she said. “Not so much that anyone else would notice.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Anytime. What’s new?”

“Brooklyn saw me with Ben and gave me the Super Death Ray look. And Ben texted
me to meet him by the soda machines when we
get back.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have added the part about Ben. But Jac looked pleased. Whatever had caused her mood swing, she was over
it.

“Serves Brooklyn right,” she said. “Bad karma. What are you going to wear to the soda machines?”

“I don’t know. What do people normally wear to the soda machines?”

“Let me think about it,” Jac said. Then she looked off into the distance, and I could tell she really was mulling over what
clothing we had back in our room.

She was the most outstanding friend in the universe. Even if her mother had briefly considered having me suspended.

“I bet you anything she’s back there talking about me,” I whispered to Jac, who was bouncing Osbert the penguin toy on her
lap like he was a baby.

“Brooklyn?” Jac asked.

I nodded.

“She was practically drooling to get the story of me and Ben on the bus out to the world.”

“Let her tell it,” Jac said. She poked me in the arm and I looked at her. Her small,
delicate features were arranged in a
serious expression. “Do you care?”

“I don’t know. Nobody likes to be talked about. She’s probably spinning the bus thing into some ridiculous drama.”

“So let her,” Jac declared.

“I just wish I could see what was going on.”

Jac fumbled around in her purse, pulled out a Mars Bar, a tube of something called Smarties, and a white and blue rectangle
that said
CADBURY
on the side, then found what she was looking for.

“Here. Open this, angle it back, and spy away.”

I took the little mirror and held it slightly over the aisle. With a few adjustments, I could see the back row perfectly.
Brooklyn was indeed standing over Shoshanna talking
rapidly and waving her hands around in the air. Once or twice she pointed
toward where I was sitting. Then she laughed so hard I thought she might rupture something and capped off the performance
by putting her hands on her hips and shaking her head.

Then my view was suddenly blocked completely. It was as if a person had materialized right behind me out of thin air.

Which they had.

“I do hope you are not applying cosmetics.”

I turned gingerly toward the voice.

Standing at my elbow was a tiny, bird-thin woman with white hair pulled back neatly but far too tightly into a bun. She wore
a navy blue suit and sensible shoes. On her right lapel was a pin that said
TOUR GUIDE
, and below that a name:
VELMA
.

“Cosmetics violate the rules, and are
inappropriate for someone of your youth. When you become a lady and the time arrives
when it is acceptable to wear a touch of rouge and a little lipstick, you will do well to remember that less is more.”

I was pretty much speechless. Though it occurred to me that if she were going to make personal statements about others, Velma
might do well to consult with a hair care professional.

“Very well then. I will resume the tour. Do you have any questions about the site of the future Biodome?”

She waited with her lips pursed. Looking at her bun made my head hurt. Something told me I’d better produce a response.

“The future Bio…” My voice trailed off into a mumble. “What?”

Velma sighed.

“The site of the future Biodome, my dear,
which we have just visited. I do wish young people were better listeners. Do you
have any questions about it?”

I shook my head.

“It is impolite to shake your head. Yes, ma’am or no, ma’am is the proper response.”

“No, ma’am. Actually, yes, ma’am,” I whispered.

Velma looked a little pleased.

“What is your question?”

“How long until the Biodome is finished?” I whispered.

“That will not be determined until after our Olympic Games are over, dear,” Velma said.

“Thank you,” I whispered back.

“Now put your compact away. It is not ladylike to check your reflection in public.”

I snapped the mirror shut and handed it to Jac.

“Done already?”

I held a finger up in the just-a-second symbol. I counted to three, then took a quick peek behind me.

Lady Velma was taking a seat.

Next to Ben Greenblott.

“I can’t believe this,” I said.

“What did she do?”

“There’s
another
one.”

Jac waited, leaning slightly toward me. When I didn’t continue right away she made a “get on with it” circular motion with
her hand.

“There are now three ghosts on this bus,” I whispered.

Jac’s eyes shone.

“Who? Where?” she whispered. She was clutching the tube of Smarties in one hand. As she waited for me to answer, she removed
the top of the tube, and shook a few of the M&M-like candies into her mouth.

“She’s a tour guide. She’s obsessed with manners. Jac, when were the Olympic Games in Montreal?”

“That’s easy—1976,” Jac said.

So Lady Velma was from the seventies. My mother called it the Misunderstood Decade. Lady Velma was quite possibly the Miss
Understood in question.

“She kept telling me I had to be more ladylike.”

“Well, it wouldn’t kill you,” Jac said.

I gasped and she bent over double laughing.

“Joke. Joking!” she wheezed. She had really cracked herself up. She only reined it in when a few of her Smarties tumbled out
of the tube and onto the ground.

“Rats,” she said. “I knew I should have bought more of these when I had the chance.”