School of Meanies Read Online Free

kite held high above his head.
    “A bit less around-and-around,” Agatha said to herself, “and a lot more up-and-up.”
    “We’ll turn the other way,” I said, and we did.
    But then we turned back.
    “There she blows!” Tabitha said. “Good old Aggie.”
    The three of us watched open-mouthed as the orange kite soared high into the bright blue sky.
    “Isn’t Agatha wisping a bit fast?” I said.
    “You’re right,” Wither said. “The poor still-alive is struggling to keep up.”
    Tabitha gasped as the boy’s sneakers lifted from the ground. Up and up he went, gripping the wooden reel with his fingers.
    “The kite is carrying him away,” I said. “Why doesn’t he let go?”
    “It’s too late for that,” Wither said. “If he hits the ground from that height, he’ll turn into one of us.”
    The other still-alives stopped scarfing sandwiches and pushing strollers and throwing sticks for dogs, and ran after the terrified, tiny boy. Perhaps they thought they’d be able to catch him if he let go of the reel.
    “Help!” the boy cried. “Help! Help!”
    “We have to get him down!” one of the still-alives yelled.
    “He’ll bump his head on an airplane!” yelled another.
    “And what if he’s pecked by birds!” yelled another.
    Whenever the boy bobbed beneath the clouds, the still-alives ran toward him, but then he’d disappear out of sight and reappear somewhere else, and the still-alives would have to run in a different direction.

    Then a gust of wind sent the boy sailing off to the east, and the still-alives ran out through the park gates, dogs yapping at their heels.
    We floated around for a bit, then Agatha said, “We might as well enjoy ourselves, while we’re here.” And she wisped off over the hill.
    “Where’s she gone?” I said, and Wither and Tabitha shrugged.
    When Agatha floated back a minute later, she held four ghostly raspberry-ripple I-screams.
    “Good old Aggie,” Tabitha said, and we gave our I-screams a joyful lick.
    As we floated home through the village later that afternoon, we came across a crowd of still-alives gathered on the sidewalk by the church.
    “Today must be Sunday,” Wither said.
    “It can’t be,” Tabitha said. “It was Saturday when we left the house.”
    We floated closer. The still-alives were gapingat a boy bound to the church spire, an orange kite dangling from his ankle.
    Several newspaper reporters were taking photographs and scrawling in their notepads. A policeman propped a ladder against the church wall, but it barely reached the roof.
    Two minutes later, the crowd parted as a fire engine roared down the street, sounding its siren.
    “What a brave little boy,” Agatha said, and we wisped toward home.

9
    Humphrey’s New Friend
    Whatever the grown-up ghosties did, nothing seemed to help.
    On Monday I floated to Still-Alive School alone. When I peered through the railings I saw two still-alive boys teasing a girl.
    “Fatty-Fatty Pigtails!” the boys yelled. “Fatty-Fatty Pigtails!”
    “I’m not fat,” the girl said, rubbing her roundtummy. “And these aren’t pigtails. They’re braids.”
    She started to blub, and the boys laughed.
    I felt a funny feeling in my tummy. Not the funny feeling I get when I’ve eaten cotton candy on toast. No, this was an angry feeling.
    I wisped over the railing and bumped the two boys to the ground.
    The girl screamed.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    The girl dried her eyes and peered at me through her glasses. “You rescued me.”
    “Yes,” I said.
    “I’m ever so grateful. But you’re—you’re see-through, and you float.”
    “I’m a ghost,” I said, “a real live ghost.” I pinched myself, then added, “Well, a real dead ghost.”
    “You’re not like the ghosts in movies. You have a friendly face.”
    “Oh, I’m frightfully friendly,” I said, and I wriggled my transparent parts.
    The girl tugged her braids. “I have to go now, or I’ll be in