Chapter 3

"My ghost hunting?" She put on a good show of innocent confusion, I'll give her that. "Did you fall and hit your head?"

"Relax, Valerie. You don't need to play games. I've actually known for a long time–almost a year." I rubbed my hand across the back of my neck and tried to sound apologetic. "Sam and I were. . . uh. . . you know. . . we were together," I pointed to a clump of laurel near the edge of the clearing, "right over there. Uh, we were. . . uh, behind those bushes, uh, and you. . . well, you kind of. . . interrupted us." I actually blushed. I didn't enjoy lying to her about that, but I needed my story to match Valerie's memory of that day–which was one reason why I had chosen this particular place for our meeting.

"What makes you think that was me?" By the sharply rising tone of her voice, I could tell that she was frantically trying to figure out a way to talk herself out of this. (I recognized the tone, because I have to talk myself out of these sorts of conversational traps every single freaking day.)

"You said something like, 'Loser love! I always knew you two geeks would end up together,' which, by the way, Sam was really pissed about." She let a tiny smile slip across her face, which might have given her away if I had not already been certain. "The mask covers your face, but you have a very distinctive voice. A really, uh. . . beautiful voice." I had almost said, "sexy voice," but something stopped me.

"The first thing Sam said when you zoomed off was, 'That sounded like Valerie!' She was right, it did sound like you. And two days later, we're all sitting together at a basketball game and even though you'd never given me the time of day before, suddenly you're all, 'So, Tucker tells me your parents hunt ghosts,' and the next thing you know there's a ghost dog in the gym and. . .well, you disappeared right after that."

I paused for a few moments in case she wanted to voice any more objections. She just frowned, caught up deep in a memory. "You're always running off on some kind of mysterious business during school. You're injured a lot, your grades are slipping. . ." I could have been describing myself, but I was willing to bet that she'd been too busy with her own problems to notice mine. "And then, for a few days last spring, I thought maybe we would be able to. . . you know, have something. . . and then you're all full of that noble garbage about how your life is 'too complicated' to spend time with me."

"Is that what this is about?"

"No!" I reached across the table to clasp her hand. "This isn't about dating, this isn't about us. This is about having something–a purpose, a mission–that's so important that you have to let all the ordinary stuff slide. I get that. Don't push me away, Valerie! Let me help you with the complicated stuff."

I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. I had blindsided her, and she resented it. The funny thing is, she didn't say "no" right away. She paused and looked thoughtful, not as though she was actually thinking about accepting my offer of help, but as though she were trying to think of a way to blow me off without hurting my feelings.

"Danny," she said gently, "It's real sweet of you, but. . . I work alone. Besides which--you do remember that I have a ninth degree black belt? No offense, but I hear you barely passed the President's Fitness Test."

"Oh, you're right," I agreed happily. "Physically, we're not in the same league at all." That was true on so many levels! But now was not the time to play Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better. Her ego was due for an nasty blow before the evening was out, so this stage of my plan called for compliments. "That's not the kind of help I'm talking about. The whole thing with the armor and the weapons, that's your thing. Me, I'm a Fenton. We know a lot about ghosts. I have access to resources, weapons, tools, a freakin' huge library with reference materials you won't find anywhere else–"

"I don't spent a whole lot of time doing research. I'm more the 'shoot first, ask questions never' sort of ghost hunter."

Like I hadn't noticed. "–or maybe I could just be somebody you can call in the middle of the night and say, 'I am so pumped, I nailed two ghosts tonight!' Or, 'God, this sucks so much. I'm exhausted and the damn ghost got away!' I could be a resource, a sounding board, a voice of encouragement, a shoulder to cry on. . . ." I squeezed her hand. "I could be a friend."

"I don't know. . . ."

She was resisting. I had anticipated that, it had come up the same way when I rehearsed this conversation with Sam. It was a temporary setback, but she'd come around. I had her the moment I mentioned weapons.

"You are a friend, Danny, but I don't want to get you involved in this. It's too dangerous for you."

"But not for you?" I was ready for this objection. "Val, I know you and your Dad were out of town when the ghost pirates kidnapped all the grownups in town. But I'm sure you heard about it. . . ?"

"Yeah, I heard folks talking about that at school. Somebody mentioned that you were part of the rescue mission."

"A part of the rescue mission? Is that what they said?" I should have expected that. Why should they let the facts get in the way of their close-mindedness? To them I was a wimp, a geek, a loser. But here and now, I was not going to lie down and take it. "I don't know what they told you, but I planned and led that rescue mission! We used the weapons from FentonWorks, and we boarded the pirate ship from the Fenton Emergency Ops Center. I may not be in your league, but I can help you."

She shook her head slowly, her face a mix of doubt and pity. "Danny. . . ."

"Look. We don't have to decide anything right now–all I'm asking is that you consider what I'm offering. No commitments, no promises, just hear me out." I glanced down at my watch. "It's only eight-twenty. How about we talk–just talk–about ghost hunting for. . . say, the next half hour. Just a friendly conversation between two friends who share a common interest."

"Just talk?"

"Absolutely. Just talk. I talk, you talk, we talk. And after we talk for half an hour about ghosts, maybe you'll see that I have something to offer. And, if you'll give me thirty minutes to convince you that I have something to offer–that I can actually help you–I'll give you this." I reached into my backpack and pulled out the new Fenton Thermos, placing it upright on the table between us.

She gave it a glance, then dismissed it with scorn. "I already have one of those. Whatever it is, it doesn't work."

I smiled. My plan was back on track. Thirty minutes should be enough time, though it would be rough going–for both of us. I'd have to keep my head in the game, stay calm, avoid doing anything that might set her off, and pray that she wouldn't hurt me too badly in the end.

"It's called a Fenton Thermos. I don't know where you got yours, or why yours doesn't work, but this one works just fine." I twisted off the lid and fired a blue-white beam straight up into the night sky. "It's a trap: you point it at a ghost, and the ghost gets sucked inside." I waved my left hand across the beam, easily resisting the gentle suction. "Go ahead, it doesn't work on humans."

She gingerly extended her hand and let her fingertips intercept the beam. "It's cold!"

"So. . . are you interested?"

She looked across the table at me, holding me in a level gaze as though she were trying to read a coded message in my eyes. Until tonight, she had thought of me as a naive kid, a silly ninth-grade crush, good for some casual company when there weren't any ghosts to hunt. Tonight she was seeing a whole new Danny.

She had no idea.

"You're on."