Ghost Girl Read Online Free Page A

said. “I’m eleven.” I could feel them both looking me over.
    â€œWhat do you think about President Hoover building a school for all you children?” Mr. Swanky asked.
    Before I had a chance to think of an answer, he said, “Have you ever met the Hoovers before?”
    I shook my head.
    â€œWhat’d you have for breakfast this morning, honey?”
    I had never heard such a fool question, but I told them anyway. “Two ham biscuits with apple butter and milk.”
    They both looked sort of disappointed, but then Mr. Swanky’s eyes landed on my feet and he seemed to spark up again. “So Miss April, why don’t you smile real big now and let Hank here take your picture.” Then he poked Hank with his elbow and mumbled something out of the side of his mouth, thinking I couldn’t hear. But I did.
    â€œMake sure you get a good shot of those shoes,” he said.
    I looked down at my boots, feeling my face turn hot. What was he staring at? They were just an old pair of Mama’s. I had never thought much about them before. But now I could see they were just plain ugly, two sizes too big and full of cracks, like dried mud puddles. And my woolens had slipped down on one side, showing my frozen blue leg underneath.
    â€œLook up at me, sweetheart!” Hank was hollering. “Up here at the camera.”
    â€œ
Come on, April
,” Mr. Swanky said. “Don’t you want your picture in the paper?” His voice was turning mean, but I couldn’t seem to lift up my head. I kept my eyes fixed on my boots and the frost on the ground underneath.
    Then I heard another voice. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” a woman said. “I’d like to get all the children inside now so that we can begin.”
    Â 
    It was
her
, Miss Christine Vest, delivered to my side like a guardian angel. She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me into her soft gray coat with the fur collar.
    The man with the camera stepped forward. “Wait a minute, Miss Vest. We just wanted to get a quick shot of this young lady before she goes inside.”
    â€œSorry, gentlemen,” Miss Vest called over her shoulder. “Maybe we’ll have time for more photographs later.” Then she tightened her grip and started steering me toward the schoolhouse. “Now, don’t worry,” she said under her breath. “I’ll get you through these reporters. Just keep walking.”
    As soon as we got closer, the men—reporters, she called them—began shouting questions. In the crowd, I could see more cameras, and I flinched at the flashes of light and the popping sounds they made as we pushed our way through. A marine hurried over to clear a path for us.
    â€œExcuse us. . . . Pardon me,” Miss Vest said over and over again. She smiled and nodded when the reporters called her name but paid no mind to their questions. Before long, we were through the double doors, standing in a little hallway filled with rows of coat hooks.
    Miss Vest yanked the door shut behind us. “
Goodness
,” she said, sighing and pulling off her coat. “Now I know why the Hoovers decided to stay in Washington this week.”
    She helped me hang up my sweater, then stopped, giving me a sly look. “I’m just glad I caught up with you before those newspapermen had a chance to run you off down the mountain again.”
    I smiled back.
    â€œSo you
are
the one I saw hiding behind the lumber pile on my first visit here,” she said. She smoothed her hand along the side of my head. “I thought so. I’d remember that hair anywhere.”
    I blushed, suddenly wanting to fade into the row of coats hanging on the wall. She probably thought I was some sort of freakish thing with my hair and eyelashes, so pale and washed-out looking.
    â€œWhere are my manners?” Miss Vest said. “I haven’t even introduced myself properly. I’ll be your new teacher,