Rules for Ghosting (25 page)

Then he settled back to fully enjoy the chaos.

“I still would have liked to say good-bye,” Dahlia said from her perch high up in the oak tree. It had taken hours for the household to settle down the night before, but things were finally getting back to normal. Or at least as normal as the Day family would ever get.

Poised on the branch next to her, Mrs. Tibbs harrumphed. “Tut-tut, my gregarious griddlecake, I'm certain that you do! From everything you've told me, you've been leaning on the Ghouncil's rules like an overworked bookend. What they don't know won't hurt them, I suppose—but one can never be too careful.” Mrs. Tibbs lowered her voice and leaned in closer to Dahlia. “You do
not
want to get on the bad side of the Ghouncil, my dear. If they should find out about your crimes—”

“My
crimes
!” Dahlia exploded. “I saved the lives of a bunch of living kids, and—well, together with Oliver—helped rescue
you
, Mrs. Tibbs.”

“And don't think I'm not grateful,” the Liberator said quickly, reaching out to grasp her hand. “Being in that dark place …” She shuddered. “Truly, I am in your debt—quite to the limit! But you know the Ghouncil will not see it that way. They will, in their own fashion, completely overlook any great accomplishments in favor of a few insignificant broken rules.”

Dahlia pursed her lips into a pout.

“Nevertheless, it's icing off the cake at this point, since they clearly have no idea of your transgressions. But don't tempt them. Keep away from the Day family, that's my advice.”

“At least they will be able to stay in the house,” said Dahlia, brightening. She wasn't sure exactly what had happened with the auction, but after the ghostly hullabaloo, all the bidders had angrily withdrawn their bids on the house. All except for the very first recorded bidder—Mr. Arthur Day. Mr. Day had at first protested his involvement, but Dahlia thought she saw Oliver kick his father under the table, hard, and Mr. Day had nodded abruptly and said that it was a rather good deal for this old place and he was definitely on board. Rutabartle had bluffed and blustered, but every guest in attendance was ready to swear that he had promised a no-floor auction. With every other sum withdrawn, the Day family had bought Silverton Manor for a whopping $394.

A series of chimes went off, and Mrs. Tibbs's hat began to vibrate. “Good gracious!” she exclaimed, feeling around the crown of her head until she pulled out her Pin, popping it open with a jaunty crack. “Ah, duty calls: it appears I have been given
a new assignment. Greater Mongolia! Good heavens, that's quite a trek.”

“I think Liberating must be a glorious life,” said Dahlia, a little wistfully. She hadn't told Mrs. Tibbs everything that had happened with the Ghouncil, and how she had missed her chance to cross over. It had been worth the trade, she told herself firmly, looking at the happy faces of the little twins as they bounded out of the front door, beach shovels in hand, and started to tunnel into the flowerbeds.

“That it is! Oh, that it is. I don't wonder if you might find yourself considering such a profession yourself, once you've gone through your training.”

“Perhaps,” said Dahlia, with forced brightness. What
was
she going to do now? She couldn't cross over, she couldn't interact with the Day family … what was left for her?

“Shall we move on together then?” Mrs. Tibbs asked, rising off the branch and dusting off her coat. Dahlia could tell she was eager to get on to her next adventure. “You must be excited to cross over.”

“Oh, you go on ahead,” said Dahlia quickly. “I have a few things to finish up here.”

Mrs. Tibbs cocked her head like she suspected there was something Dahlia wasn't telling her. Then she reached out to squeeze her hand. “You do what you must, my glowing ghostlette. For my part, if there is ever anything I can do for you …” She reached a hand into her bag and fished around for a few moments, then pulled out the ornate pocket watch.
She stroked it lovingly for a moment, then stretched out the long gold chain and hung the watch around Dahlia's neck.

“Mrs. Tibbs!” Dahlia exclaimed. “That belonged to your husband.”

“That it did, my girl, and my Charley is just as important to me as ever. But I've got other ways to remember him. He's safe and sound right
here
, and
here
.” She motioned to her head and her heart in turn. “If there's one thing I've seen throughout this adventure, it's that holding too tightly to the past can hook a body right out of the present.”

Dahlia looked down at the watch. “Thank you,” she said.

“That way,” said Mrs. Tibbs, “you can tell what time it is no matter where you are. And this little token will keep us connected even though we're far apart.” She shuddered. “Mongolia! What is the world coming to? But my dear—if ever you need me, you give me a holler, and I'll be back in a flash. All right?”

Dahlia nodded and felt her eyes grow suddenly misty. Impulsively, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Mrs. Tibbs. “Thank you,” she said. “I'll miss you.”

“As will I,” Mrs. Tibbs said gravely. She rose in the air, hovered for a second, then took off like a shot.

A gentle breeze blew through the yard.

Dahlia drifted down through the branch and sank slowly to the ground.

The twins were still busy in the flowerbeds; only their feet and ankles could be seen protruding from the dark soil.
Various uprooted plants were scattered all around them. Junie's foot shot out and connected with a tall sunflower, slicing it neatly off at the stem. As Dahlia watched, the perfect expired flower pulled away from the dying plant and rose slowly into the air. It made her smile, remembering another sunflower all those days ago—and how much her life had changed since then! This would make a lovely addition to a ghost garden, she thought to herself. But she didn't move to grab it, just watched as it drifted up into the sky until it was out of sight.

Then she slipped through the outer wall into Silverton Manor, feeling empty and more than a little bit lost.

Inside, Mrs. Day was moving around a kitchen overflowing with half-filled bowls, cookbooks, and open cartons and containers. A roaring oven pumped waves of healthy, orange-red heat into the cheery room. Poppy sat on a high stool, a notebook in hand, half-scribbling and half-singing to herself.

One floor up, Mr. Day crouched behind a freshly painted desert scene, holding up two Arabian-looking puppets, who were wrestling over a large fish. Dahlia smiled and kept moving. She arrived at the attic room and wisped through the door. Oliver lay on his bed, with his legs crossed. He looked like he had been waiting for something, but at this moment he was fast asleep.

Then she saw two things. On the bed next to Oliver sat the Seesaw. And next to the Seesaw, a note:

Dahlia:

Are you still around? I've got an idea for how to get the Seesaw working again. But I need your help. Maybe we could have another adventure?

Oliver

Dahlia smiled to herself. She flitted over to the desk, as a feeling started to grow inside her chest, a feeling as cozy as a down coverlet, as warm as a cup of tea, as just-right as a blazing fire in a room stuffed with friends.

With friends … yes.

Concentrating hard, Dahlia hooked a small pair of scissors off Oliver's desk. She zipped back and with a few quick snips, finished what she needed to do. Then she tucked her legs under her and curled up on Oliver's bed, waiting for him to wake up.

Next to his hands were two neatly snipped-out clippings from his note:

still around

adventure

Far over her head, the barrier was gone. Dahlia could go anywhere she pleased. But for right now, this minute, she was very happy to stay right where she was.

Before anything else, this story was Dahlia's. I got to know her word by word, line by line, in my then-basement office room all the way back in 2003. Her story started out very differently and, over the years, received considerable enthusiasm from readers, yet there was always the sense of not being quite
there
yet. It wasn't until more recently, when I dove back into Dahlia's world, that I realized that Oliver had his own story to tell. And bringing his tale to life was the spark that lit the whole book on fire.

Still, Dahlia's road to publication was a circuitous one, and I'm sure that more people have had a hand in shaping this book than I can accurately give remembrance to. To each of you here listed, and to those whose names I've unwittingly left off: my love, thanks, and a plate of endlessly replicating virtual brownies.

First and foremost, Erin Murphy, who was intrigued by
Dahlia's almost-story way back when she first signed me on as a fledgling author. Next, Stacy Cantor Abrams, who first fell in love with Dahlia and her crew, and then Mary Kate Castellani, who took over so capably in the manuscript's care and feeding. Of course and always, Kim and Lauren and Zack, who have been part of the process since the beginning.

And to the many others who have had a hand in critiquing, guiding, shaping, idea-brainstorming, and otherwise helping make this story what it is, I couldn't have done it without you: Kristin Kladstrup, Kate Messner, Debbie Kovacs, Kip Wilson, Julie Phillipps, Natalie Lorenzi, and the fabulous Newton Group critiquers.

Lastly, but far from leastly: to Marietta Zacker I dedicate all the periods in this book, and to Princess Elena Mechlin, all the semicolons. Use them wisely. And on the title, ladies—you totally called it.

Nowhere Girl

Copyright © 2013 by A. J. Paquette

All rights reserved.
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

First published in the United States of America in July 2013
by Walker Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.
E-book edition published in 2013
www.bloomsbury.com

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker BFYR, 1385 Broadway, New York, New York 10018. Bloomsbury books may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Paquette, Ammi-Joan.
Rules for ghosting / A.J. Paquette.
p.     cm.
Summary: Joined by a living boy whose family has recently moved into the house she haunts, Dahlia, a twelve-year-old ghost, tries to solve the mystery of her own death while fending off an unscrupulous ghosthunter.
[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Haunted houses—Fiction. 3. Friendship—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.P2119Ru 2013    [Fic]—dc23    2012027332

ISBN: 978-0-8027-3455-6 (e-book)