Dead Air, Michelle Schusterman [mobile ebook reader .TXT] 📗

I was a therapist, I could diagnose new patients before they finished introducing themselves,” he replied. “And everything I just said about her? Oscar’s exactly the same.”

Mi Jin’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Whoa.”

“Wait, just . . . hang on,” I sputtered, my face hot. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Sure it does,” Roland replied. “It’s obvious you both have trust issues. You’re classic cases.”

“Not the trust thing. You said Oscar and I don’t like each other because we’re alike,” I said loudly. “And let’s just—let’s just pretend you got it all right, everything you said. Why wouldn’t I like someone who was just like me?”

Roland flashed his purple-toothed grin. “Aha. Now you’re thinking like a psychologist.”

“All right, guys, we’re moving!” Jess called. Roland winked at me before heading over to the rest of the crew, and once again I had no idea if he was mocking me.

Mi Jin thumped me on the back, laughing. “Look at you, all shell-shocked. Was that stuff really true?” I shoved my hands in my jacket pockets without responding, and her eyebrow ring shot up. “Well, I guess that answers that.”

I hung back as the crew gathered around the guy I now realized was wearing a Crimptown tour guide T-shirt. Jess had her camera on as the guide chatted with Dad, but I barely heard a word.

The truth was, Roland nailed it. It was weird—beyond weird—to hear someone just sum me up like that. Especially when I hadn’t even thought about most of it. I mean, yeah, when teachers split the class into groups, I usually took charge of mine. But I wasn’t pushy or anything. Actually, the way Roland said it made me sound kind of lazy. Student achieves below apparent ability. I got that comment on report cards a lot. But whatever—my grades were good enough. What difference would a few points higher really make?

And as much as I hated to admit it, Roland was dead-on about the trust thing. I’d always had lots of friends, but there were only a handful of people I really, truly trusted. Right now it was down to Dad, Grandma, Trish, and Mark.

If someone betrays that trust, you’re done. No second chances.

That part was 110 percent accurate, too. I mean, if someone you trust betrays you, why would they deserve another chance? You can forgive them, but you can’t force yourself to trust them again.

“Hi, Kat!” Hailey said in a stage whisper. I looked up, startled to find her at my side.

“Hi,” I whispered back, struggling not to try flattening my hair again when I noticed Jamie right next to her. Oscar had followed them over, and while his gaze was fixed on the crew, I could tell he was listening. “So, you guys have done this before?” I asked. “Spent the night in a haunted place while they film?”

Hailey nodded enthusiastically. “Four times! The haunted hotel in London was my favorite.”

“What about your dad?” I asked, glancing around. Hailey rolled her eyes.

“He’s back in our room, of course,” she muttered. “We always ask him to come, but . . .” She shrugged.

“We usually find a place to camp out,” Jamie added softly. “Jess doesn’t like us too close to the cameras.”

“Mi Jin brought the Ouija board,” I said, nudging his elbow. “After all the big talk earlier, you’d better introduce me to some ghosts.”

“Just you wait.”

And there was that smile again. Jamie didn’t just smile with his mouth—he smiled with his whole face. His nose crinkled, his eyes brightened like he was about to laugh, even his ears seemed to stick out a little more. (And they already stuck out quite a bit. Which was fairly adorable.)

The guide started moving toward the theater’s bar, and the crew followed, Jess’s camera still rolling. Dad stood next to her, listening intently to the guide. I caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up, and he grinned. Well, he looked confident. Maybe the meeting with Thomas Cooper had been okay after all.

Of course, Dad was a pro at pretending nothing was wrong, even when everything was falling apart.

Crimptown was a labyrinth of tunnels made of crumbling gray brick and moldy wooden planks. Rusting pipes hung low overhead, occasionally dripping what I chose to pretend was water, despite its yellowish color, on the hard-packed dirt floor. Each tunnel had a few small storage rooms with rusty barred doors, which Red Leer had used as cells to lock up the men he kidnapped until he could smuggle them to his ship.

According to the guide, Crimptown only spanned about a dozen city blocks, but the complex system of winding narrow tunnels was several kilometers long, connecting all the theaters, hotels, restaurants, and anyplace else with a bar on the waterfront. Dim bulbs hung from the ceiling, and long, wooden slides marked the spots directly below the bars. The crew all shined their flashlights up the first one we’d seen, illuminating the trapdoor overhead. It was pretty horrifying to imagine all those poor guys getting thrown down the slides, waking up a prisoner in one of these dark, depressing cells.

Two hours, five rat sightings, and countless stubbed toes later, Jess lowered the camera and stretched her arms.

“Time to set up camp,” she announced. “Mi Jin, Sam, Roland, we need more footage of the trapdoors—seems like the best place for Sam to start trying to make contact. Jack, Lidia, we’ll take the EMFs and start checking out the cells.”

Dad glanced at me. “And the kids . . . stay in a cell?”

“Jamie and Hailey know the drill,” Lidia assured him. “No splitting up, no exploring unless it’s with an adult, and everyone gets one of these.” Rummaging through her backpack, Lidia pulled out a few walkie-talkies. “No goofing around with them,” she added, giving Oscar a pointed look.

“Goofing around how?” Oscar asked innocently.

Lidia smiled as she handed me a walkie-talkie. “Oh, I don’t know . . . adding your own sound effects while we’re filming, maybe?”

Oscar stuffed his walkie-talkie in his pocket. “Amateur stuff. I can do better than that,” he told her.

I rolled my eyes as