waist. She could wear her braids up, too, with flowers, in her hair. The party store had silk flowers, and she picked out purple, yellow, and coral ones.
Aimee already had most of her ballerina costume at home, so she didn’t need to get anything. She found some pink ribbon to wrap into braids and a bun on top of her head.
“This ribbon will totally match my new lipstick shade: Think Pink,” Aimee said, admiring the bright color.
Still unable to find a costume, Madison picked through the mask sections, tried on wigs in every length and color, and even put on a Dr. Seuss Cat in the Hat hat. It was too big and floppy, though, and kept sliding down her head. Plus it made her think of the first-grade play. She wanted to look older, not younger. She wanted to look like junior high, not elementary school.
Aimee and Fiona bought their stuff, and the three of them went off to meet Mrs. Gillespie at the fountain. Aimee and Fiona opened their bags to show Mrs. Gillespie the costumes. Aimee’s mother gave Madison a tight squeeze and whispered, “I’m sure you’ll come up with a great costume in no time, Madison.”
Madison got quieter than quiet. Was Mrs. Gillespie right? She racked her brain for great costume ideas … story ideas … over-thinking, as usual.
In the car, Aimee and Fiona were talking about the stars of the newest teen movie, Breaking Up Is Easy, which was showing in the Mall-Plex theater.
“Can we go see that, Mom?” Aimee asked.
“When they change the rating from PG-13, you can,” Mrs. Gillespie said with a chuckle. “Either that or when you’re thirteen.”
Aimee huffed. Sometimes it was such a drag to be twelve and not thirteen.
As they pulled into the Waterses’ driveway, Madison twisted her head up and sideways to peer out the car window up at the attic windows. They looked dark and spooky.
Mrs. Waters raved about Fiona’s grass skirt and Aimee’s ribbons.
Then she put her arm around Madison. “I’m sure you’ll think up a great costume, Madison,” she said.
Madison smiled, but inside she wondered why everyone kept saying that.
Mrs. Waters made hot chocolate and topped their steaming mugs with squirts of whipped cream. Then the girls moved into the den and sat on a big, comfy couch.
“I like cocoa with those teeny marshmallows more than this,” Fiona said. “But my mom got the plain kind. Sorry.”
“No biggie.” Madison nodded, taking a careful sip.
“I think we should tell ghost stories or something scary,” Aimee said, pretending to shudder.
“Yeah.” Fiona laughed a little. “Ghosts are okay to talk about. As long as we don’t have any in this house.”
Madison looked at her friend. “Well, you could.”
Fiona looked her squarely in the eye. “What are you talking about, Maddie?”
“Just that … well … there could be a ghost here,” Madison said. “Like in the attic or somewhere.”
“Are you for real?” Aimee snorted. She looked like she would fall off the couch.
“I haven’t gone up to the attic since we moved into the house,” Fiona said.
All of a sudden Aimee jumped off the couch. “Oh my God!” she shrieked. “I know who the ghost is! Maddie, remember the people who used to live in this house? You know who I mean!”
Madison hugged her knees to her chest. “You mean the Martins?” she said.
“What are you talking about?” Fiona asked. “What Martins?”
“The Martins were this family who used to live here,” Aimee explained. “I used to think their whole story was just a rumor. But maybe not!”
“You mean there’s really a ghost story about …” Fiona took a deep breath. “About this house? My house?”
Aimee squealed. “This is so cool.” The girls huddled closer together, and Madison told the whole story.
“The way the story goes is that the Martin family had this dance party one night and Mrs. Martin came up into the attic to get a ball gown or something. She wanted to look especially beautiful for the dance.
Aimee already had most of her ballerina costume at home, so she didn’t need to get anything. She found some pink ribbon to wrap into braids and a bun on top of her head.
“This ribbon will totally match my new lipstick shade: Think Pink,” Aimee said, admiring the bright color.
Still unable to find a costume, Madison picked through the mask sections, tried on wigs in every length and color, and even put on a Dr. Seuss Cat in the Hat hat. It was too big and floppy, though, and kept sliding down her head. Plus it made her think of the first-grade play. She wanted to look older, not younger. She wanted to look like junior high, not elementary school.
Aimee and Fiona bought their stuff, and the three of them went off to meet Mrs. Gillespie at the fountain. Aimee and Fiona opened their bags to show Mrs. Gillespie the costumes. Aimee’s mother gave Madison a tight squeeze and whispered, “I’m sure you’ll come up with a great costume in no time, Madison.”
Madison got quieter than quiet. Was Mrs. Gillespie right? She racked her brain for great costume ideas … story ideas … over-thinking, as usual.
In the car, Aimee and Fiona were talking about the stars of the newest teen movie, Breaking Up Is Easy, which was showing in the Mall-Plex theater.
“Can we go see that, Mom?” Aimee asked.
“When they change the rating from PG-13, you can,” Mrs. Gillespie said with a chuckle. “Either that or when you’re thirteen.”
Aimee huffed. Sometimes it was such a drag to be twelve and not thirteen.
As they pulled into the Waterses’ driveway, Madison twisted her head up and sideways to peer out the car window up at the attic windows. They looked dark and spooky.
Mrs. Waters raved about Fiona’s grass skirt and Aimee’s ribbons.
Then she put her arm around Madison. “I’m sure you’ll think up a great costume, Madison,” she said.
Madison smiled, but inside she wondered why everyone kept saying that.
Mrs. Waters made hot chocolate and topped their steaming mugs with squirts of whipped cream. Then the girls moved into the den and sat on a big, comfy couch.
“I like cocoa with those teeny marshmallows more than this,” Fiona said. “But my mom got the plain kind. Sorry.”
“No biggie.” Madison nodded, taking a careful sip.
“I think we should tell ghost stories or something scary,” Aimee said, pretending to shudder.
“Yeah.” Fiona laughed a little. “Ghosts are okay to talk about. As long as we don’t have any in this house.”
Madison looked at her friend. “Well, you could.”
Fiona looked her squarely in the eye. “What are you talking about, Maddie?”
“Just that … well … there could be a ghost here,” Madison said. “Like in the attic or somewhere.”
“Are you for real?” Aimee snorted. She looked like she would fall off the couch.
“I haven’t gone up to the attic since we moved into the house,” Fiona said.
All of a sudden Aimee jumped off the couch. “Oh my God!” she shrieked. “I know who the ghost is! Maddie, remember the people who used to live in this house? You know who I mean!”
Madison hugged her knees to her chest. “You mean the Martins?” she said.
“What are you talking about?” Fiona asked. “What Martins?”
“The Martins were this family who used to live here,” Aimee explained. “I used to think their whole story was just a rumor. But maybe not!”
“You mean there’s really a ghost story about …” Fiona took a deep breath. “About this house? My house?”
Aimee squealed. “This is so cool.” The girls huddled closer together, and Madison told the whole story.
“The way the story goes is that the Martin family had this dance party one night and Mrs. Martin came up into the attic to get a ball gown or something. She wanted to look especially beautiful for the dance.
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