I So Don't Do Spooky by Barrie Summy

by the trunk, Grandpa sandwiched in the middle, then Mom at the end.
    â€œYay, Grandpa! You’re here.”
    He flashes me a beaky smile.
    The shaking of my branch slows down but doesn’t completely stop. Which means Mom is in her fave position, one leg crossed over the other, jiggling a foot.
    â€œAre you okay, Mom?” I ask. “Did the ghost-hunting equipment hurt or anything?”
    â€œNo, it didn’t hurt,” she says.
    â€œYou couldn’t just lift up the tent flap and leave?” I jam the bag of beans in my pocket.
    â€œI can cross thresholds, but I can’t manipulate barriers to get to them,” Mom says. “Yet.”
    â€œDid you tell Grandpa about the ghost hunter?” I ask.
    Grandpa nods, and a feather comes loose and flutters to the ground.
    â€œDid you learn anything of interest at the psychic fair?” Mom asks.
    â€œUh, yeah. Where’s my brain at?” I shift position so the branch isn’t digging into my thigh. “The psychic, who’s my age, by the way, predicted something bad with The Ruler and a knife. Right after that, The Ruler called because—get this!—someone slashed her tires! All four of them. Flat as pancakes.”
    â€œWhere’s the car?” Mom asks.
    â€œAt Tires Tires Tires,” I say.
    â€œI’d like to examine the damage,” Mom says. “Wilhelm, we’ll stop there on the way home.” The branch goes still. She must be thinking, twirling her hair around her index finger. “That escalated fast.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” I ask.
    â€œA stalker’s behavior generally escalates or gets worse over time. I’m assuming her stalker is responsible for the tire business,” Mom says. “Slashing tires is fairly violent. And risky to undertake during the day. He’s not starting off with small actions.”
    Yikes. I do not want to hear we’re dealing with a crazier-than-usual stalker. “The police came, and they’re doing a report.”
    â€œGood. Although they won’t devote much effort to one-time vandalism.
We’ll
have to step up our efforts for guarding Paula,” Mom says.
    Grandpa nods his balding bird head.
    â€œWe have to keep her safe,” Mom says quietly to him, but I still hear her. “She’s what’s holding my family together.”
    Grandpa mutters something about surveillance schedules and the weekend.
    â€œThat’s right. I’m tied up all this weekend too. Sherry, you’ll have to handle surveillance Saturday and Sunday.”
    â€œI can,” I say. “What’s up with you guys?”
    Grandpa jabbers. Something so not intelligible to the human ear.
    â€œUh, Academy business,” Mom says.
    â€œMom, just tell me.”
    â€œIt’s the Annual Worldwide Academy Ghostlympics, where we pit our skills against Academies from various countries, including Germany, France, Spain, Korea. I’m entered in the animal mind-control event.” Her voice swells with pride. “It’s unusual for a newer student like myself to represent the Academy. But, as you know, I’m good with animals.”
    She certainly was when she was alive and worked Canine with her springer spaniel, Nero Wolfe. “What do you get as prizes, invisible ribbons?” I crack myself up.
    There’s silence.
    â€œWhat? I was joking. There aren’t really prizes, are there? I mean, you’re adults. And, well, ghosts.”
    Grandpa jabbers some more in, once again, impossible-to-understand birdspeak.
    â€œThere
are
prizes.” Mom stops.
    Something is going on here. Why won’t Mom and Grandpa just spill. “Like what?”
    â€œSherry, it’s a long shot. Grandpa doesn’t think we should even aim for it because it’s
extremely
difficult to win. So we can’t pin our hopes on it,” she says, her voice going all bubbly and enthusiastic. “But if I come in first in