The Ghost Sonata (27 page)

35

The Finalists

 

Gilda and Julian drew resentful stares as they walked into the Dennis Arnold Hall, several minutes late for the announcement of the competition finalists. It didn't help that their hair was wet from the rain and that Gilda's knees were stained with mud.

Mrs. Mendelovich shot Gilda a withering glance but quickly turned around in her seat, too excited to hear the list of finalists to bother reprimanding a tardy page-turner. Julian's teacher beckoned to him with a stone-faced
“you'd-better-get-over-here-right-now!”
look, pointing at the empty chair next to him.

“See how his ears turn red when he's angry?” Julian whispered. “I'd better go sit next to him.”

Gilda slipped into a chair at the back of the room as Professor Heslop stepped up to the microphone.

“First, I would like to commend every musician here,” said Professor Heslop. “Most of you gave your very best performance in the first two rounds, and it was a difficult decision, indeed. The judges tell me their criterion was simply picking the ten individuals they would like to hear from again—students whose artistry
intrigued
them the most. The ten names I will announce will compete in the final round of the competition at the Sheldonian Theater. If I call your name, please walk to the front of the room and draw a performance number. I will now begin announcing the finalists.”

The room fell silent with anticipation.

“Ming Fong Chen!”

Ming Fong let out a squeal of delight and bounced to the front of the room as if she were a participant in a televised game show. After she turned around to face the stony stares and false smiles of her rivals, however, she walked more slowly as she returned to her seat.

Professor Heslop called out a series of names Gilda didn't recognize. Each announcement triggered flurries of hugs and whispered congratulations along with the silent stomach-tightening of those whose names had not yet been called. Across the room, Julian chewed his thumbnail and tapped his foot on the ground.

Professor Heslop frowned and hesitated before calling out the name. “Jenny Pickles!”

Jenny smiled brightly and sashayed to the front of the room with a kind of fashion-runway smoothness. Ms. Pickles sat up very straight, her eyes glued to her daughter as she applauded and smiled fiercely.

“Julian Graham!”

Weary relief relaxed Julian's face at the sound of his name.

He tries to act like he doesn't care about this competition
, Gilda thought,
but he obviously would have been devastated if he didn't make it.

Only one more finalist remained.

“And last but not least,” said Professor Heslop, “we have Wendy Choy.”

“YES!” Gilda didn't care that her outburst caused half the room to turn and stare. Wendy looked stunned, as if she hadn't quite recognized the sound of her own name. Mrs. Mendelovich had to nudge her to hurry up and claim the last number in the hat.

Gilda grinned broadly at Wendy from across the room, but Wendy didn't smile back. Why did Wendy's face have that familiar tormented look as she walked back to her seat?

Wendy received Mrs. Mendelovich's forgiving bear hug and muttered perfunctory congratulations to Ming Fong, who eyed her warily. Gary stuffed his hands in his pockets and did his best to regard Wendy and Ming Fong with calm benevolence; he had not made it into the finals.

Wendy knew she should feel euphoric. Instead, she simply couldn't believe that she had actually been selected for the finals. She thought how very strange it was that she had beaten the odds—but not necessarily in a way that felt the least bit
lucky
.

Once again, she had drawn the number nine.

36

Substitute Ghosts

 

I have a very strong feeling about this Charles Drummond, Wendy. I think he might be the key to this mystery.”

“And you actually think the competition judges might have
killed
him?” Wendy sat on her bed, twirling her hair and clutching a pillow as if it were a teddy bear.

“I'm not sure what happened—but I definitely smell foul play.”

“It's just so hard to imagine. I mean, Waldgrave is mean and everything, but I wouldn't think of him as a
murderer
.”

Gilda noticed Wendy's pallor. “You're doing the hair-twirling thing again, Wendy.”

“I know.”

“Are you okay?”

“I guess.” Wendy nibbled on a lock of her hair.

“Wendy—”

“I know, I know. ‘Watch out for giant hair balls.'”

“Believe me, you really don't want them.”

“I'm glad we both agree that hair balls are my biggest problem right now.”

Gilda was crouching down on her knees to peer under Wendy's bed.

“Gilda—what are you
doing
?”

“Just checking. We don't want to miss any new clues—like another tarot card or something.”

“I don't even want to know what's under there.”

“It's pretty gross under here, actually. I don't think this place has ever been cleaned.”

Wendy examined the tips of her hair for split ends. “Anyway, I was just remembering a weird story my mom told me once.”

“What story?”

“She said that in China, there were ghosts who would find someone to take their place.”

Gilda stood up abruptly. “What do you mean?” She brushed the lint from her knees and sat on Wendy's bed.

“Like, a person who died an ‘unclean' death because he or she was murdered or committed suicide or something like that would automatically become a ghost. But this person wouldn't
want
to be a ghost; she'd be looking for some living human being to take her place in the ghost world—a
substitute
.”

“Like a substitute teacher?”

“Yes, Gilda. Exactly like a substitute teacher.”

“Sorr y.”

“I thought you were serious about this.”

“I'm totally serious.”

“You don't seem serious. In fact, you seem a little abnormal—kind of giddy.”

“I'm
listening
. Tell me the story.”

“As I was saying, the ghost might pick anyone at all to take his or her place—
any
random person who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And here's the spookiest part: after finding someone to influence, the ghost leads that person into a situation where he or she will die in
exactly the same way
the ghost died.”

The dim, yellow lamplight in the room flickered, and Gilda couldn't help sharing Wendy's unease. “Your mom tells the creepiest stories,” Gilda whispered, meaning this as a high compliment. At the moment, the idea seemed to have a very unpleasant plausibility. “So, you think you might be haunted by a ‘substitute ghost'?”

“Well, if this Charles Drummond got killed . . . and if he's the one who's haunting this competition—I don't know. What if the same thing could happen to me?”

“No way. You aren't going to die, Wendy.”

“But ever since we arrived here, I've had this feeling that something has been
following
me.”

“Wendy, if it makes you feel any better, I've never read about ‘substitute ghosts' in my
Psychic's Handbook
. Maybe they exist only in China.”

“Yeah, probably just another one of those crazy
Chinese
things.” With sudden impatient energy, Wendy jumped up from the bed, picked up her toothbrush, and turned on the water in her tiny sink.

“Just don't freak yourself out, okay? There's no way I'm going to let any ghost use you as a substitute.”

“I've never felt safer.” Wendy brushed her teeth vigorously, as if attempting to channel her anxiety into good dental hygiene. She spat into the sink. “Anyway, if anything like that
did
happen to me, I guess you'd be next in line.”

“What?! You'd kill me if you turned into a ‘substitute ghost'?”

“Well, I'd be looking for someone to take my place, and there you'd be, pestering me with your Ouija board—a perfect target.”

“Why not Jenny Pickles or Ming Fong?”

“You'd be more convenient.”

Gilda knew the timing wasn't right, but she couldn't help it: she had been itching to tell Wendy
all
the details of her experience with Julian, and she simply couldn't wait any longer. “So, Wendy . . . this is a little off the subject, but do you notice anything
different
about me?”

“Well, aside from your sudden attention deficit disorder and the mud stains on your knees, that shade of lipstick is pretty dark.” Flossing her teeth, Wendy viewed Gilda's reflection in the mirror.

“You haven't noticed anything
else
?”

Gilda looked bedraggled from walking in the wind and rain, but she also bore the flushed, happy appearance of someone who'd been outdoors having a stimulating adventure. Wendy again felt a twinge of annoyance; she knew Gilda had been out doing
something
with Julian. In contrast, her own reflection looked anemic and housebound.

Gilda pointed at her mouth. “It's not the
lipstick
that's different. Can't you tell that these lips have finally been
kissed
by a cute boy? My first kiss—on English soil!”

Wendy turned to face Gilda. “You
kissed
him?”

“Well, he kissed
me
.”

“And you kissed him back?”

“No, I slapped his face and ran away giggling.”

“Why?”

“I'm
kidding
, Wendy. Of course I kissed him back!”

“But you always told me that your
first
kiss was with Felix in the school play.”

“That was acting. This was the
real
thing.”

Wendy dropped her used dental floss into the wastebasket with a gesture of disdain. “Well, was he a good kisser?”

“The best. His mouth was like a tiny plunger over my lips.”

Wendy folded her arms and frowned at Gilda.

“That's how it's supposed to feel, right?”

“That sounds kind of unpleasant, to be honest.”

“You don't seem very excited.”

“I'm excited, okay? The main thing is; I'm glad
someone
is having fun here in England. Other people are dealing with the pressure of an international competition and a psychopathic ghost, but that doesn't mean that my best friend shouldn't be out snobbing with English boys.”

“Whatever.”

“Wendy, I wasn't just rolling around in a graveyard with Julian. The whole reason I was there in the first place was because I was working on this investigation to help you.”