Dan and the Dead Read Online Free Page A

with me.’
    â€˜Okay,’ I say, before Ems can throw in any more insults. ‘Coolio. I’m thinking the memory stick’s still the way forward. It’s got everything we need on it. It must’ve fallen out when I was, er…’
    â€˜Running like a chicken in Kentucky?’ suggests Ems helpfully.
    â€˜A chicken who’ll live to cluck another day,’ I reply. ‘Which is more than I can say for you two. Anyway, I don’t think Bagport even knew there
was
a memory stick. We’ll go back tonight and look for it.’
    â€˜He’ll catch you,’ Ems says. ‘I know him. He won’t let this go. If you go back there, he’ll catch you.’
    â€˜Nah,’ I say. ‘It’s all good. We’ll find the stick and send it to the police with a note. The job’s as good as jobbed.’
    So it’s agreed. Well, Ems doesn’t have much choice does she, because who else is there? Psychic kids and gentleman ghosts don’t exactly advertise in the Yellow Pages.
    The meeting breaks up and I’m going back to class super slow (algebra’ll do that to your feet) when I turn a corner and come face to face with the Harris. I try and moonwalk back round, but it’s no good, he’s seen me. That’s more than you can say for Mrs Chalmsworth, though. I bump into her coming the other way.
    â€˜Be careful!’ hoots Mrs C. ‘But… oh yes, Daniel Dyer – I’ve been meaning to talk to you.’
    The Harris stops to listen. I’ve got corduroy to the left of me and drama teacher swirls to the right, and suddenly being shouted at by Ems doesn’t seem so bad.
    â€˜Is the boy bothering you?’ says the Harris, fixing his beady eye on me. But he’s out of luck, because probably the only person in the school who isn’t bothered by me is Mrs C. Mrs C actually likes me. I wonder if it’s the purple glasses.
    â€˜Not at all, he’s just the person I wanted to see,’ she honks in a voice that could bring down light aircraft. ‘Now, Daniel, have you had time to consider the school show?’
    I have had time to consider it, and I consider that not even a basket of rap star gold and a slice of unicorn pie could get me on stage at the school show. I’m just rounding my lips to say ‘No freakin’ way,’ when the voice sweeps over me again.
    â€˜Oh, I’m so glad! I knew I could count on you!’
    â€˜But – ’
    â€˜It’s the freestyle slot I’m having the most trouble with. No one wants to go on and improvise, though I can’t think why. But a short act with you and your imaginary friends, and perhaps a little trick or two, would be just perfect.’
    â€˜Him? On stage?’ The Harris is aghast, but a look from Mrs C wipes him out.
    â€˜I’ll put you down for ten minutes, then. And don’t forget, it’s this Saturday night, so get your thinking cap on.’ And she’s off before I can even pick my bottom jaw off the floor.
    Do you ever get the feeling that you’re not in control of your own life? It’s like Fate’s got me by the danglies and won’t let go. I mean, if Lugubrian’sghost appeared now and slapped me on the back I wouldn’t be surprised. But I’m not going to be appearing on stage on Saturday and chopping off my own head in front of the whole school, so Fate and old Gubie can just bog off.
    * * *
    That evening, after school, I’m back in the alleyways near Bagport’s club, retracing my steps and wondering if it’s safe to have a bit of a shufty near the bins. I’m pretty sure that’s where the stick fell. Si’s with me, drifting close to the ground and round behind things where I can’t go. I’ve got a very small torch with a narrow beam, but there’s no joy, just loads of bins standing around in the dark and nothing else. The pavement almost feels cleaner than it