The Matchmaker's Medium

“Amber—is there something you want to tell me?” letting go of my hand, crossing her arms in front of her.

“About what?” I asked.

“About Isabella.”

“She was just here. Maybe she left?”

“To go where, exactly?” Miss Melody sure wasn’t very happy, now.

“Well, I don’t know,” I said, starting to get a little mad, myself.

She stood there squinting her eyes at me, started tapping her foot, looking around and thinking.

“Okay, Amber, time to go back to class.”

She grabbed my hand, yanked open the door, and dragged me back down the hall to the office.

“Hey, Lisa, could you tell Mr. Davis I need to see him real quick?”

The secretary was a mean fat lady, who always wore clothes that were way too tight.

“He’s on the phone. Maybe you should come back later, Melody.”

“I appreciate that he’s a busy man, but this is a bit of a situation.”

“Oh, all right,” she said. Getting out of her chair ended up being a lot harder than even I thought it would be. She squished and swiveled, turned and pushed, then finally grunted really loud as she popped out like the dough in one of those twisty-biscuit cans in the grocery fridge section.

“You just tell Mr. Davis the truth, now, Amber,” Miss Melody said really quiet, just as he walked out of his office.

“Miss Anderson, what can I do for you and…Amber, isn’t it?” he looked right at me, smiling big. I nodded my head and looked away, feeling guilty but not sure why.

“Yes, well, Principal Davis, we have a problem. Amber, here, told me she saw Isabella in the bathroom.”

His smile disappeared in a flash, replaced by a super-serious, grownup look.

“You did?” he looked into my eyes, surprised but—hoping.

I nodded my headed really fast, so he would know it was true.

“And was she there?”

Miss Melody shook her head.

“Hmm,” he said, rubbing his chin with his hand and looking kind of sad. “You didn’t see her at all?”

“No, Mr. Davis,” Miss Melody said, shifting her eyes to me for a second, then back to him.

“Well, that’s a problem. A real problem,” he said. “Are you sure you saw her, Amber?”

“Yes!” I said, way too loud. All the grownups were staring at me now, even the mean secretary who was about to shove a piece of chocolate in her mouth. Gross.

“I see,” he said, “Lisa, would you get the police department on the phone, please? Chief Bennett should do.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, dropping the chocolate back into the box on her desk.

* * *

“So, you were the only one who saw her?”

Chief Bennett looked at me with his nice grandpa eyes while I crunched on my lollipop.

“Yep.” Swinging my legs, wondering why everyone was just standing around instead of looking for Isabella.

He closed the little notebook in his hand, put his pen back in the pocket of his police shirt, and stood up. “Thanks for your help, Amber. It’s always important to tell grownups the truth.”

I watched as he went over to Principal Davis. They whisper-talked in the corner for a few minutes, pointing this way and that way, looking at me a couple of times. Miss Melody was talking to another police officer, who was writing stuff in his own little notebook.

“Amber Lynn Green, how many times have I told you to stop that lying!”

Crud, I thought, mama.

My mother came busting into the office with her perfect hair shining, her dress the brightest blue I’d ever seen, high heels click-clacking on the floor.

“Mrs. Green, thank you for coming,” Principal Davis said, holding his hand out to shake. Mama ignored it; she said principals and secretaries were ‘the help’ and wouldn’t touch them.

“Mama, I saw the girl—“

“Hush!” she yelled, rushing over to put her white-gloved hand over my mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Davis, this girl just doesn’t know when to be quiet,” she said, trying to pull me up off the chair and push me out the door at the same time.

“Not to worry, ma’am, we have the police looking into things, but we thought it might be better for everyone if she just went home for the rest of the day,” he said, trying to smile a little.

“I totally agree,” mama said.

Great, I’m in big trouble, now, I thought, watching her as she glared at me in her meanest look ever. She snatched the lollipop out of my hand and dropped it into the metal trash can on the way out the door with a loud clang!

“You are in so much hot water when we get home, young lady!” she whisper- yelled at me, crunching my hand in hers as she waved and said nice-sounding things on the way out of the school.

When we got out to the car, she wouldn’t even look at me, slamming the door and throwing her pocket book into the back seat, shoving the keys in and starting the engine with a loud vroom!

She turned and looked at me, her face red and kind of sweaty, “Lying is bad enough, but lying about this is just pure evil, Amber Lynn.”

I couldn’t move. She never talked to me like that. Sure, she got mad at me for making a mess or lying about how many cookies I ate, but never this kind of mad.

She pulled the stick shift, stomped her foot on the gas, and the tires made a squealing sound on the way out of the parking lot. I watched the trees and houses passing by my window, forehead pressed against the glass.

Grownups are stupid, I thought for the millionth time.

After a while, I started feeling sleepy. I turned to settle onto the cool leather of the long back seat, when I saw her. Isabella was sitting across from me in the back seat, by the opposite window, watching stuff just like I was.

That’s when I knew. Isabella didn’t leave the bathroom, she disappeared from the bathroom.

“Are you—”

She turned, lifted her pointer finger to her lips, and told me one of the oldest kid secrets of all time: Shhhhhhh.

I looked at her shushing me with no sound, then looked at mama sitting in the driver’s seat with her mad face, and made up my mind.

I’m never telling anyone I can talk to ghosts, ever again.

If only I had kept my own promise.

Chapter Two

“Wow, that’s one funky story, white girl,” Jamal said, in his best pimp voice.

“Shut up, Jamal. At least I finally told you about my first time.” I drained the last few drops from my coffee cup and glanced at the digital clock on my desk: 8:59 p.m. Quitting time.

For a spirit guide, Jamal was pretty annoying. Sure, he was funny and smart, and even helpful most of the time. But when he got in this super-pimp mode, it was all I could do to keep from strangling him. Not that it would’ve mattered much; he was already dead.