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

I shrugged. “Dad and Lidia said we’d be bored sitting in a cell all night—like this hotel is so much more exciting than a haunted prison. Really, it’s because this episode is a big deal and they don’t want us screwing it up.”

Hailey sighed. “That’s—”

“Jamie? Hailey?”

“Gotta go,” Jamie said quickly, glancing over his shoulder. “E-mail us, okay?”

“Okay!” I got the briefest glimpse of his smile before the call ended. Feeling deflated, I turned to Oscar. “What do you think? Should we tell someone about Roland?”

He shook his head slowly. “You’re right about the proof. Maybe . . .” He stopped, mouth open, gazing at the chat window still open on the screen. I turned to look, too, and my breath caught in my throat.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXX

They filled the window, as if an invisible hand was tapping the X key thirteen times, space, again, space, again . . . I jabbed at the keyboard and the typing stopped.

I turned to Oscar, who held his hands up. “Not me,” he said. “I swear, I . . . I have no idea what that was.”

It’s the boy ghost, I wanted to say, but it sounded too melodramatic. Still, I couldn’t help glancing around the otherwise empty hotel room.

“We’re heading out in about fifteen minutes.” Startled, we turned to see Lidia in the doorway, looking more haggard than ever. “Kat, your dad wants to see you before we leave—I think he’s in your room.”

“Okay. Be right back,” I told Oscar, then slipped past Lidia and headed to the elevators.

I tried to tell myself it was just a glitch, but the reappearance of the thirteen Xs was too weird. I wondered if I would have time to tell Sam about it before they left.

I found Dad in our room zipping up his backpack, and decided a little last-minute begging couldn’t hurt. “Please, please, please let us come. I swear I won’t wander off.”

“Kat, we already discussed this.”

I crossed my arms. “Have you considered the fact that this means I’ll be staying in a hotel all night with a boy, unsupervised?”

Eyebrows raised, Dad shouldered his bag. “Is that something I should be worried about?”

Instantly, I wished I’d never brought it up. “Ew, no.”

“Glad to hear it.” Dad started searching the desk, moving his laptop and shuffling stacks of paper. “Of course, I’ve already set up a curfew for both you and Oscar with Margot—she’s the receptionist tonight. She’s going to make sure you’re both in your rooms by ten. Your own rooms.”

“What?” I cried. “Dad, what am I supposed to do all night?”

“There’s this thing some people do,” Dad replied, grabbing his key card from under his binder. “They lie down and close their eyes and lose consciousness for a while. I hear it’s called sleep.”

“Hilarious,” I muttered. “Come on, can’t I at least—”

“Kat, stop.” Dad turned to face me in the doorway. For the first time, I noticed how exhausted he looked. “I’m not making you stay here because I’m worried you’ll interfere with the show. It’s because I’m worried about you. It’d be one thing if you could stick with the crew, but—”

“Let us!” I interrupted. “We won’t get in the way, I swear—”

“It won’t work.” Dad paused, closing his eyes. “In fact, I’m starting to think maybe this job won’t work at all.”

My stomach plummeted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . .” Dad shook his head. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Wait.” I stepped forward, heart pounding in my ears. “Did someone threaten you?”

“Did . . . what?”

“Is someone trying to make you leave the show?” I said urgently. “You know all the fans are wondering if this will be your last episode—that stupid host curse. Are you getting death threats?”

Dad set his backpack on the floor, eyebrows knit with worry. “Kat, why would you think that?”

And everything came pouring out. I told him about Roland, the messages on the forums, the deleted death threat. “He’s bringing Emily back,” I finished. “He told Sam so, I heard him. Roland was behind the host curse the whole time, and now he’s trying to make you leave, too.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dad took a deep breath. “Kat . . .”

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I . . . I believe you think you’re right,” he said, and I snorted. Perfect. “Listen, tomorrow you and I are going to have a talk. Because while I appreciate you’re trying to help, I do not appreciate you eavesdropping on people.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “But—”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Dad said firmly, picking up his bag. I could see his cheek muscle starting to twitch, but I didn’t care.

“And Roland?” I yelled. “Maybe it was wrong of me to eavesdrop, but isn’t it kind of worse to send death threats to people?”

Dad grimaced, glancing down the hall. “Roland’s not sending anyone death threats,” he said quietly. “He found some recently in Sam’s fan mail, and he’s trying to figure out how to handle it. No, stop.” He held his hand out when I started to protest. “Kat, you’re just going to have to trust me here—I’ve talked to Roland and Jess about this, and I know more about it than you do. Get some sleep tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out in the morning.”

He kissed the top of my head, and then he was gone. Fuming, I marched over to the window and yanked open the curtains. I glared down at the parking lot, waiting. Soon the crew appeared, loaded down with bags and equipment. I watched as they packed up the van and drove off.

Checking to make sure I had my key card, I stormed out of my room and headed for the elevators. So Roland had a story worked out, just like I’d figured he would. I remembered him talking about Sam’s obsessive fans when we first met, too. He probably wasn’t even lying about the creepy mail. But what about Bernice’s death threats? And Carlos’s forged exposé? That was all Roland. And I had no doubt he was going to try to make this Dad’s last episode, too.

I was so caught up in my