Graveyard Slot Michelle Schusterman (e ink ebook reader TXT) 📖

Mom said in a fake-perky voice I knew all too well. “My daughter, on TV. Looks like you’re having fun!”

“Yup, Dad and I are having a great time.” Pizza. Devil. Thumbs-up.

Mom was quiet for a few seconds. “So the next episode is in a haunted . . . church?”

“Yeah.” Church. Ghost. Skull. Ghost. Skull. “There are catacombs under it. Lots of bones, and the ghost of a nun, supposedly.”

“Wow. When do you start filming?”

Palm tree. Popsicle. Spider. “In a few days, I guess,” I said. “This investigation is a little different. There’s a psychology professor from a university in Buenos Aires that’s been holding séances down there as part of a big research project with his students. They say they’ve actually contacted this nun, like, a bunch of times. So I think Dad’s going to spend some time interviewing him, plus he’s got to research the history of the catacombs and all that.”

“Ah.”

I felt a little stab of vindictive pleasure. Mom couldn’t have cared less about the show or dead nuns or any of this, and I definitely didn’t need to talk about Dad so much. But sometimes the only way I could get through these conversations was by playing a game. I called it: How long can I keep Mom from talking about herself?

“So . . . I finally decided on the bridesmaid dresses!”

I almost laughed out loud. That didn’t last long. “Yeah?” Bathing suit. Ice cream. Bloody footsteps.

“I’m e-mailing you a link right now, okay?”

“Sure.” I sighed, scanning my ridiculous response to Jamie. I needed one more emoji.

Heart.

I blushed and tapped Delete. Too soon.

Heart eyes.

After clicking Send, I went back to my inbox and found Mom’s e-mail. I groaned inwardly when I saw the link—not to a dress shop, but to one of her Facebook albums. Haunted prisons and catacombs were no big deal, but I rarely ventured into the fearsome place that was my mother’s Facebook page. It never used to be that bad—mostly just photos she’d taken, which were always great, considering she’s a professional. But ever since she left me and Dad, it was like she turned into a teenager again. Not that there’s anything wrong with adults saying things like “squee!” and taking tons of selfies, but it’s just weird when it’s your parent. One time she commented “YOLO” on her own status update, and I wanted to set my computer on fire.

This album was called “Wedding Prep!” and the first photo was of Mom’s maid of honor, Kathleen. The dress was pale purple with spaghetti straps and a flouncy skirt that ended at the knee.

“Nice.”

“You like it?” Mom asked eagerly.

“I guess.” I paused, taking a deep breath. If I was going to do it, now was the time. Mom . . . I don’t want to be a bridesmaid in your wedding.

“We’ll have to set up a fitting as soon as you know when you’ll be back,” Mom went on in a rush. “I’ve got one scheduled next week for me and Elena. You should see her, Kat,” she added, and the fondness in her voice made my stomach drop. “She refuses to take her flower-girl dress off; it’s the sweetest thing. She even tries to sleep in it!”

I forced a laugh. “That’s cute. Anyway, um . . . I’m not sure when Dad and I will be back next. Thomas Cooper from Fright TV is coming in tomorrow, and they’re supposed to go over scheduling through this summer. And . . .”

“Don’t worry, your father and I will work it out,” Mom cut in. “Honey, I’ve got to run. Talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Love you.”

“Bye,” I mumbled. It wasn’t until after I hung up that something dawned on me.

Mom had just watched me on television, and she hadn’t done her usual compliment-that’s-really-criticism-in-disguise thing. Nothing about how cute my hair would look if I curled it. No saying, “Have you tried this lotion? It has sunscreen and it evens out your skin tone!” No recommending mascara, eye shadow, or anything that “doesn’t even look like you’re wearing makeup at all!” (Then what’s the point of wearing it in the first place, Mom?)

For a few seconds, I actually thought maybe this was improvement. Maybe Grandma had talked to her or something. Then, just as I was about to close her Facebook album, my eyes fell on a photo. Mom was standing next to her car with a few giant shopping bags hanging on one arm. Elena clung to her other arm, holding out the skirt of what I assumed was her flower-girl dress—the same pale purple as Kathleen’s dress, but with ten times the poofiness. She and Mom were both beaming. The caption under the photo said, Look at my little princess!

I closed the tab quickly, feeling stupid. Of course Mom hadn’t stopped criticizing me because she thought I was okay the way I was. She didn’t care if I liked that stuff anymore because now she had a daughter who did.

CHAPTER SEVEN STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES . . .

Rumorz

All the celebrity gossip you need (and then some)!

Interview with New P2P Cast Member Oscar Bettencourt by Shelly Mathers

Happy Friday, Rumorz readers! It’s another frigid December day here in New York, and I don’t know about you, but I could really use a little sun, sand, and . . . ghosts?

Many of you Fright TV fanatics already tune in to Passport to Paranormal—and if you didn’t before last month’s exciting episode in Brussels that culminated in the arrest of Emily Rosinski, I bet you do now! Wednesday’s episode, filmed in the wild jungles of Brazil, may not have had a crazy former-host-turned-stalker, but it did feature two new cast members . . . and they’re only thirteen years old! I caught up with Oscar Bettencourt on the phone while he and the rest of the P2P crew waited out a thunderstorm in the São Paulo airport. We had just enough time for a quick Q&A before he took off for sunny Argentina.

S: Thanks for taking the time to chat with me, Oscar! Most kids your age are stuck