“Seven thousand six hundred ninety-four?” I guessed. I wasn’t even sure what pathogens were.

  “Don’t be a wise guy,” she said. “Just go get cleaned up.”

  She was waiting in the hall when I came out of the bathroom. “Here,” she said, handing me a spirometer. That tests lung power. I took it, breathed into it, sent the little ball inside all the way to the top with a satisfying CLACK, then handed it back to her. “See? I’m fine,” I said. “Really. I’ve got lungs like a lumberjack.”

  “We can’t be too careful,” she said. But she headed out for her office, after making me promise not to ever get muddy again.

  That wasn’t a problem the next day. The sun was shining hot and bright, and the puddles were gone from the playground. So was Gloomy Girl. But something else was there—a lingering memory of yesterday’s disaster and a little bit of worry that history would repeat itself. That’s not a good recipe for home runs. When I came up for my turn at the plate, I kept thinking about those sneezes. Every time I backed up my five steps, I waited for my nose to start itching.

  My nose didn’t itch. Not even once. I didn’t sneeze. But all the worrying threw my timing off, and I didn’t kick a home run, either.

  Instead, someone else made a mighty kick. On his last turn, Herbert smacked a solid shot that arced high over the field toward the fence. Where I use skill and technique to strike the ball, Herbert is all about brute strength. He doesn’t have much control (except when he’s aiming at my head, I guess), and his kicks usually go all over the place. But when they go straight, they also go far.

  “I got it!” Stuart shouted as the ball sailed above the infield. There was no way he’d get there in time. At least, that’s what I thought as I watched the ball and Stuart move toward each other. But he put on a burst of speed, made a jaw-dropping leap, and snagged the ball with one hand right before it went over the fence.

  “Thanks,” I said as we headed in for lunch. “That was an amazing catch.”

  “I’ve got your back,” he said.

  “No sneezies?” Sarah asked when I walked past her table in the cafeteria.

  “Achoo!” I said, aiming a fake sneeze at her.

  “Very funny.” She turned her attention to her food.

  When we got back to class, I turned my attention to Mrs. Fulmer, because she had written something awesome on the board: FIELD DAY.

  “I’ll be passing out sign-up sheets,” she told the class as soon as we took our seats. “Each of you has to pick three events.”

  I hadn’t been allowed to compete in field day last year, because of all my allergies. That was rotten. But this year, I was allergy-free! I definitely wanted to be part of field day. It was where the whole school competed in all sorts of athletic events. You got points for how well you did in each of the ones you entered. The kids who got the most total points would get trophies. And trophies were awesome.

  When I got my sheet, I looked at my choices. It was easy enough to pick three. I chose kickball, of course, where you could earn points for both kicking and fielding. I also chose the hundred-yard dash and the football distance throw. I was pretty fast at short distances. And, just like a good kick depends on using your body in a coordinated way, so does a good throw. I probably wouldn’t throw the farthest, or run the fastest, but I figured the dash and the throw were my best chances to score a lot of points, to add to the points I’d get in kickball. I could already picture the trophy I’d win on my dresser at home.

  “Ahem!”

  I looked up. Mrs. Fulmer was standing there, waiting for me to hand in my slip. I gave it to her, then looked over at Stuart. I kicked my foot, pumped my arms like a runner, and then made a football-throwing motion, letting him know my choices.

  Stuart kicked, shot a basket, and then jerked his body sideways.

  “So you’re doing kickball, basketball, and touching an electric eel?” I asked as we headed out at the end of the day. I mimicked his jerky actions.

  “High jump,” he said. He made the motion again, and I realized it was his impression of someone sailing over the crossbar on his back, like they do in the Olympics.

  “Are you signed up?” Sarah asked when I met her outside.

  “Yup,” I said. “Are you?”

  “Foul shots, soccer dribbling–obstacle course, and hundred-yard dash,” she said.

  “I’m doing the dash, too,” I said.

  “You’ll lose,” she said.

  “No I won’t.”

  “I’m faster,” she said.

  “I’m more determined,” I said.

  “That has yet to be determined,” she said. She grinned, to let me know she was sort of kidding about beating me. But she was right about being faster. Not that I’d admit it to her.

  “Make way for speedy!” Herbert shouted as he raced past us down the walkway.

  “I don’t care who wins,” I said, “as long as it’s not him.”

  “Agreed,” Sarah said.

  We headed for our homes.

  “I love this weather,” Sarah said. “Too bad it won’t last.”

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “I checked the forecast,” Sarah said. “Tomorrow will be cloudy, again.”

  “Rain?” I asked.

  “No, just clouds,” Sarah said.

  It turned out she was right. It was cloudy the next day when I woke up. I headed off for school, hoping that I’d be able to score at least one home run during recess. This was starting to remind me of when I had a whole week to write a paper, or a whole month to make a Halloween costume. And then, the next thing I knew, I had only a day left to do it and no idea where all the time went. I didn’t want my chances to break the record to melt away like that.

  At recess, I saw that Gloomy Girl was back beneath the tree behind the ball field. When I walked up to the plate, I gritted my teeth, clamping down as if I could cut off any sneezes that tried to escape from my lungs. On the first pitch, as soon as I backed up a step, my nose itched. By the second step, I sneezed, even though I tried my hardest not to. That was followed by two more quick sneezes. I tried to stop. I tried to catch my breath. But I couldn’t stop sneezing. With each sneeze, my lungs got emptier. I couldn’t get any air back into them.

  I felt like I was going to pass out.

  I staggered forward, still sneezing. When the ball reached me, I flailed my foot at it and made the weakest kick in the history of Thomas Jefferson Elementary School playground kickball. The ball dribbled down the first-base line, right into the hands of Jennie Oklum, who scooped it up and bounced it off my leg. I was out. I went to the pitcher’s mound to take up my field position as the pitcher moved to first and Jennie moved to second. I’d stopped sneezing, but my nose and lungs felt like I’d inhaled a gallon of ocean water. Or maybe vinegar.

  As other kickers came up to the plate and I made my way around the infield positions, I watched Gloomy Girl. She might as well have been a statue. Except for her hair moving slightly whenever the breeze picked up, she was totally still.

  I was at third base when Stuart kicked a pop fly right in my direction. Instinct made me hold out my arms and back up so I’d be in the perfect spot to make the catch. Then I hesitated. If I caught the ball, I’d be up at the plate again. And if I was up, I’d start sneezing and make another terrible kick. Maybe I should let the ball bounce. I could still have time to field it and make the play at first. And I wouldn’t have to go to the plate. I’d just move to the outfield.

  No!

  I hated the idea that I was even thinking about not playing my best. I turned my attention back to the game and caught the ball. “Sorry,” I said to Stuart as I jogged past him to exchange positions.

  “Don’t be sorry. It was a good catch,” he said.

  “Thanks.”

  I walked up to the plate from in front. I knew I’d sneeze if I got closer to Gloomy Girl—I definitely seemed to be allergic to her. Even without backing up toward her, my nose itched a little. Just as I’d feared, I seemed to be getting more and more sensitive to her. I hoped that if I kept my distance, I could at least make a decent kick. I might even be able to score a home run, if I put all my strength into the effort.

  The pitcher rolled the ball.

  I stepped back.

  Yeah. I know. I didn’t want to step back. I told myself not to step back. I had a very good reason not to step back. It was a very bad idea to step back. Nobody in my position would ever dream of stepping back. I had to be a complete fool to step back. And yet, I stepped back. It was a habit—it was what I did every time. Including this time.

  I sneezed. Kids around the field laughed. A couple of them stopped laughing long enough to mock me with fake sneezes. I rushed forward and kicked the ball. It went foul. So did my next kick. The third kick didn’t go foul—because I totally missed the ball. I struck out.

  I.

  Struck.

  Out.

  Of all the horrors I’d faced in my life, and all the horrors I might face down the road, nothing would ever come close to being as horrifying as this. Nobody ever strikes out in kickball. Nobody. It’s a huge red ball. I could kick it with my eyes closed. At least, I could do that if I wasn’t struggling to break the habit of stepping back at the same time I was fighting to keep from sneezing.

  “Strikeout king!” Herbert shouted as I walked off the field. “Alex has the record for the most strikeouts ever!” He collapsed on the ground laughing.

  I was supposed to go take up my position as pitcher, but I just said, “Substitute,” and left the field. The dark clouds overhead were nowhere near as dark as the clouds that filled my mind and colored my mood.

  I crossed the playground and went over to the basketball courts. Sarah was driving toward the basket. She fired a pass to one of her teammates, cut across the lane, got the ball back, and made a perfect lay-up.

  I caught her eye. I guess she could tell I seriously needed her help, because she came right off the court. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know.” I pointed at Gloomy Girl. “Just go take a look at her. I can’t get close without having a sneezing fit. See if there’s anything strange about her.”

  “Sure. I know all about strange. That’s one of the benefits of being related to you.” She trotted off toward the backstop. Sarah might kid me, and she might play the meanest possible jokes on me once in a while, but when it came to really important stuff, I could always count on her. And she could count on me.

  I watched as she walked right up to Gloomy Girl and said something. Gloomy Girl didn’t seem to notice her. Sarah spoke again. Gloomy Girl turned her head toward Sarah. I could tell she still hadn’t said anything. A moment later, after what seemed like a very one-sided conversation, Sarah ran back toward me.

  When she reached me, she was panting. But something else was going on. Sarah wasn’t just winded. She was trembling. And her face was almost as pale as Gloomy Girl’s.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  Sarah opened her mouth to speak, then closed it and shook her head, as if the words she wanted to tell me were too horrible to allow out of her throat.

  “Take your time,” I said.

  Sarah nodded. I saw her body jerk, like someone had slapped her hard on the back. She shook her head again, as if trying to fling images free from her mind.

  “I tried to talk to her,” she said.

  “I saw that,” I said.

  “She ignored me. I tried again. She looked at me and said, ‘Go away.’ There was something in her voice that made me shiver. I didn’t even see her mouth move. It was like she sent the words right into my mind.”

  “That’s creepy,” I said.

  “But that wasn’t the worst part,” Sarah said.

  I looked across the playground. I couldn’t see anything to explain why Sarah was so upset.

  “Something rustled in the tall grass behind her,” Sarah said.

  “What?”

  “Rats … ” Sarah said.

  “Rats?” I asked.

  “A whole lot of them,” Sarah said.

  She paused again. I waited for the rest, even though I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear it.

  The silence grew. Sarah stared toward Gloomy Girl, then turned away.

  “Rats?” I asked after the silence, and my curiosity became unbearable.

  In answer, Sarah’s body jerked again. She was still trembling, but not as much. “Dozens of them. In the grass. Lined up and looking at me like they were waiting for a command. I heard more words. They will chase you off. And then a picture burst into my mind. I could see the rats leaping toward me. They were—”

  She stopped, again, gasping as if the words she was trying to say had actually choked her. I put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me any more. I’ve heard enough—she’s not human.”

  “That’s for sure,” Sarah said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I need to stay away from her,” I said. “She can’t be here forever. Monitors come and go all the time.”

  “Right. I hope she leaves really soon,” Sarah said. She shuddered again.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked. I felt terrible that I’d sent her over there.

  Sarah nodded. Then, to my surprise, she allowed a thin smile to cross her lips. “Monitor monster,” she said. “That would be sort of funny if it weren’t so … ”

  “Real?” I asked.

  “Real,” she agreed.

  I thought about the ghost, who would have haunted my grandparents’ place forever if Sarah and I hadn’t helped it find peace. “What if Gloomy Girl doesn’t go away?” I asked.

  “Then we’ll have to make her go away,” Sarah said. “So, first of all, we need to figure out what kind of monster she is. Then we’ll have some idea what to do.”

  “I’m pretty sure she’s not a ghost,” I said.

  “Yeah—ghosts can’t talk,” Sarah said. “And they sure can’t summon up an army of rats.”

  Sarah and I were the only people who could see the ghost we’d encountered at our grandparents’ place, and that was only after we’d gotten magical powder in our eyes. “Do we know other kids can see her?” I asked. I sort of remembered Stuart had mentioned her. Or maybe I’d mentioned her to him. I wasn’t sure.

  “That’s easy enough to find out,” Sarah said.

  Just then the bell rang, so we headed in for lunch. After we got in line at the cafeteria, Sarah looked at Stuart and said, “That new monitor is creepy.”

  “What new monitor?” Stuart asked. “I didn’t see any new ones.”

  Sarah and I stared at each other. Our mouths dropped open.

  “You don’t see her?” I asked. “By the tree behind the backstop.”

  “Oh, you mean the playground monitor,” Stuart said. “I thought we’d gotten a new video monitor in the computer lab or something like that. So I was sort of confused trying to understand how that could be creepy. I mean, you could have a creepy image on a monitor, from a horror movie or a zombie survival game, but that wouldn’t make the monitor itself creepy. But that new playground monitor—yeah, she is kind of creepy.”

  So Gloomy Girl wasn’t a ghost that only Sarah and I could see. I was pretty sure she wasn’t any other kind of ghost, either.

  After school, Sarah said, “Grandpa sent me a book of monsters. Come over and we’ll look through it.”

  I hesitated. I really didn’t like scary movies or scary books.

  “Relax,” Sarah said. “It just has drawings. And they’re sort of cartoony. No photos or realistic drawings.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it.”

  We went to her house, where her Mom, who works at home as a researcher for a law firm, greeted us. We grabbed a snack and then started leafing through The Big Book of Monsters, which had the sort of drawings you see on cereal boxes.

  “I had no idea there were so many types of monsters,” I said. Between mythology, folklore, and literature, there was a dizzying assortment of creatures. I pointed to a page with a drawing of a person turning into a dog. “Shapeshifter? Could that be her?”

  “Maybe,” Sarah said. She flipped the page. We both shuddered at the next picture. “Definitely not a harpy.”

  We looked at pictures of werewolves, cyclops, mummies, wyverns, anthropophagi (I think I have a new favorite word), and mutant insects. Based on the descriptions written beneath the pictures, none of the monsters seemed like a close match to Gloomy Girl, though a lot of them were equally creepy.

  “Imagine if you have a different allergy to each monster,” Sarah said. “You could have werewolf wheezes and swamp-creature coughs. That would be awesome.”

  “You mean awful,” I said.

  “Maybe both,” she said. She laughed and shouted, “Mummy mumps!”

  “Mumps isn’t an allergy,” I said.

  “It’s still funny. Hey, zombie zits! Hydra hiccups! Boogieman burps!”

  I waited while she spat out a dozen more monster maladies. “Finished yet?” I asked after her laughter had faded.

  “Yeah.”

  I tapped the open page, which showed a basilisk. “Can we get back to work?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Hey,” I said, pointing to the next page. “Ghosts.” We both read the description.

  “Some of that isn’t true,” Sarah said.

  “But a lot of it is,” I said. The book said a ghost had to stay in an area connected with it, which was true, but it also said a ghost who haunted one building couldn’t go to a different building. And I knew that was wrong. “This is going to make things harder.”

  “It might be a good idea to list what we know about Gloomy Girl so far,” Sarah said. “We’ll look for the closest match, first, and then worry about how much of the description in the book is true.”

  I mentioned everything that came to mind. “She can stay very still. She doesn’t seem to care what we do. She likes shade.”

  “She disappeared when we were chasing her,” Sarah said.

  “Or maybe she just ran very fast,” I said. “We can’t assume anything, since we didn’t see what she did.”

 

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