She was playing hooky more and more these days—she figured with just days of school left before summer vacation, it didn’t really matter all that much. As long as she did decently on her final exams and turned in her papers, she figured she’d pass ninth grade. She’d been ripping up the notes they gave her to bring home for her dad, asking to set up a special meeting, saying Olive’s truancy had become a serious issue. Deleting the messages from the school on the digital answering machine (yeah, they still had an answering machine—something her mom had picked up at a yard sale—and the weirdest part was hearing Mom’s voice on the recording each time someone called: You’ve reached the Kissners. We’re not home right now, but leave a message and we’ll get back to you; neither Olive nor her father could bear to erase it). Sooner or later, if he didn’t already know how much she’d been skipping (of course he knows, dumbass), he’d find out. But by then, she’d have found the treasure, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. He’d be so happy, so proud, that he’d understand completely why conducting her search had been way more important than showing up for freshman biology and English each day.

Mike was giving her a lot of shit about missing school, too. He’d cut out early himself today, sneaking out after lunch to come meet her here in the bog. But he’d been trying to make her feel guilty about it all afternoon—like if his dad found out, he’d get hell and it would be all her fault for being such a bad influence. Like he didn’t have a choice. Like she actually had that much power.

Olive looked out across the bog. “Maybe Hattie’s here now, watching us.”

“Quit it, Kissner,” Mike barked.

It always amused Olive, how easy poor Mike was to scare.

“Are you here with us, Hattie?” she called out. “Give us a sign.”

“Shut up,” Mike said.

“Okay, Hattie,” she said now as she stood with her metal detector. “If you are here, help me out, okay? Show me where the treasure is!”

Mike gritted his teeth. “You shouldn’t be talking to her like that,” he warned.

She held the metal detector out in front of her like some heavy dowsing rod, pretending to be pulled right, then left. Mike’s eyes got bigger, more frantic.

Odd Oliver, she thought. Being cruel to her one and only true friend. Talking to ghosts.

She wondered if there were people who really could talk to ghosts. Aunt Riley said there totally were. That mediums were real and had a special kind of gift.

“Can you talk to ghosts?” Olive had asked her once.

“I know people who can. I haven’t been able to myself, not yet, but I keep trying.”