“You mean before Ana got sick?” I asked. Oscar hadn’t mentioned that part when he’d translated for me earlier.
He nodded. “Her manager was really annoyed about it,” he said. “But Flavia made it clear that Ana took priority over everything else in her life. Then when Ana got sick, her mom basically gave up everything for her.”
I nodded, studying the picture. “I wonder what that’s like.”
Oscar paused. “What?”
“You know, to have a mom who would . . .” I stopped as I realized what I was saying. To have a mom who would do that for me.
A long pause followed, and I could feel everyone staring at me. I gazed at the Ouija board, the letters and numbers suddenly fuzzy. Had that actually come out of my mouth? What was wrong with me? It was one thing to think it, but saying it out loud . . . and with the cameras rolling, too. My heart dropped as I wondered what my dad’s expression looked like right now. I didn’t dare look up to find out.
Finally, Jess cleared her throat. “All right, let’s try the Ouija board.” Her tone was uncharacteristically gentle, which just made me feel worse. I nodded, touching my hand to the planchette. After a second, Oscar did the same. Neither of us spoke, and after a few seconds, Mi Jin piped up.
“One of you should talk to Ana out loud,” she reminded us.
“Oh yeah.” Oscar glanced at me. “Want me to do it?”
“Sure.”
We turned our attention back to the board. “Hello, Ana,” Oscar said. “I’m Oscar. That’s Kat. So . . . how are you?”
I snorted. “She’s dead, you dork. How do you think she is?”
“Well, what am I supposed to say?”
“You have to invite her,” I said, remembering the way Jamie had contacted Sonja Hillebrandt back in Crimptown. “And we both have to focus on her.”
Oscar let out an exaggerated sigh that reminded me strongly of Roland. “Okay. Ana Arias . . . we invite you to join us. Please. You know, unless you’re busy.”
Gritting my teeth, I tried to focus on Ana. But I was too irritated. This whole thing had been a dumb idea. I didn’t want to be on television anyway. I’d probably—
The planchette twitched lightly under my fingers. I could tell immediately that Oscar was trying to move it. Pressing down, I glared at him and shook my head slightly. He rolled his eyes, but the planchette stopped moving after a few seconds.
Focus on Ana, I told myself. But it was a lost cause. Oscar’s weird Roland impression was annoying me, the stupid cameras were annoying me, but most of all, I was annoyed with myself. I hardly ever talked about my mother around anyone, much less while I was being recorded. Why had I said that out loud? It’s not like I wanted my mom to give up everything that made her happy just for me. But what Oscar had said about Ana being Flavia’s first priority . . . it was never that way with my mother. Her own happiness had always been her number-one priority, not mine.
“Ana Arias,” Oscar repeated. “Are you here? We’d like to ask you a few questions . . .”
Like with this wedding. I was still upset with my mother for leaving last spring, and then for not telling me when she moved back to town. I went over six months without talking to her, and now she expected me to be in her wedding. To wear a pretty dress and make my hair more “stylish” and smile at the camera and basically act more like the daughter she probably wished she’d had in the first—
The planchette lurched across the board, and I gasped. “Oscar,” I hissed, but he shook his head.
“I’m not doing it!”
After touching the letter I, the planchette moved over to W. I pressed down again, glaring at Oscar. “Stop screwing around!”
He scowled. “I’m not! It’s—” The planchette jerked beneath our fingers, then touched the A before zooming over to N, and then T. I frowned, watching as it moved from letter to letter so fast, it was hard to catch them.
“O,” Oscar murmured. “U . . . T.”
The planchette fell still, and we looked at each other.
“‘I want out?’” I said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oscar blinked a few times. Then he patted the ground beneath us and smiled up into Mi Jin’s camera. “Sorry, Ana,” he said, his annoying new reporter voice going strong. “Digging you up probably isn’t the best idea.”
“Ha-ha,” I said dryly. My skin felt all creepy-crawly and exposed, and I wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between myself and the cameras as possible. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. To my intense relief, Jess flipped her camera off and got to her feet.
“Well, that was interesting,” she said with a grin. “‘I want out,’ huh?”
Oscar lifted his shoulders. “That’s what Ana said.”
Jess eyed him. “Come on, now. You guys really sold that—you even had me going for a second. But it’s time to fess up. Which one of you was moving it?”
“I wasn’t,” Oscar said immediately, and I snorted.
“Yeah, you were.”
Mi Jin had lowered her camera, too. “It really didn’t look like either of them were moving it from this angle,” she told Jess.
“Because we weren’t.” Oscar glared at me. “Not me, anyway.”
I crossed my arms. “You tried to, and I stopped you. Then I . . . I got distracted, and you started shoving it all over the place!”
“Kat, I swear I—”
“Okay!” Jess interrupted. “If Mi Jin says it looked legit, that’s good enough for me. Let’s get a few closing comments, and we’ll wrap this up.” Apparently my despair showed on my face, because Jess took pity on me. “Oscar, why don’t you do this one, since Kat introduced the story. Here, let’s move back over to Flavia’s grave . . .”
Oscar followed her and Mi Jin without looking at me, but I was too relieved to be away
