Free Ghost Detectors Volume 1 by Dotti Enderle Page B

we made those placemats for Thanksgiving?” Malcolm asked.
    Dandy nodded, looking confused. His finger slipped around to the other side of his nose. “Yeah. We glued old photos to a piece of construction paper.”

    â€œWell, it’s sort of the same thing,” Malcolm explained, playing with the strap of the camera.
    Dandy’s finger slid from his nose to his lip. He kept scratching. “But I ended up with more paste on the top than on the bottom. Everyone on my placemat had a milk mustache.”
    Milk mustaches . . . Got Homework? That was a great idea for the faculty picture!
    â€œI don’t think I’m going to be very good at working on the yearbook,” Dandy added.
    â€œDon’t worry, Dandy. You can be my assistant and help me take pictures.”
    â€œThat’s no good. I usually end up with pictures of my fingers,” Dandy said.
    That was true. Malcolm remembered several years ago when he had found a footprint so large it could only have belonged to Bigfoot. It was starting to rain, so right then was his only chance to show proof. He’d lain down next to the huge track to give it scale. Then he had Dandy snap the photo.
    When they uploaded the photos, Dandy’s big orangey thumb covered the entire footprint. Malcolm had looked like he was being slammed by a giant meteor.
    â€œHow about I do the picture taking,” Malcolm suggested. “You can pose the subjects.”
    Dandy sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I guess I could do that.”
    â€œOf course you can. You’ll be great at it,” Malcolm encouraged his friend.
    The bus bounced and jolted its way around a few more blocks, stopping every couple of minutes to cram in more kids. Then the Waxberry marquee came into view.
    Welcome back to Waxberry for another great year! Go Hornets!
    Some of the kids cheered. Some groaned. Dandy yawned. The first thing Malcolm did after he got off the bus was snap a picture of the marquee. He had big plans for the yearbook photos. Nothing was going to mess that up.

CHAPTER FOUR
GRUELING GOOLSBY

    M alcolm snapped a few more pictures of the morning bustle. He caught kids rushing to class and teachers smiling through clenched teeth on film.
    He also caught Coss Fitzfox, last year’s Kickball King, hobbling in on crutches. He snapped a picture of “Booger” McCready, chess champion, walking the halls with a pair of soccer cleats slung over his shoulder. And he captured Waxberry’s rough-and-ready tomboy, Candace Dillion, wearing mascara.
    â€œYou can’t make this stuff up,” Malcolm told Dandy. They headed for the bulletin board in the cafeteria to check which rooms they were assigned.
    â€œI hope we’re in the same class again,” Dandy said, heaving his enormous backpack. Withevery step he appeared to be trudging through syrup.
    It didn’t take long to find their names. “Look!” Dandy said. “We are in the same room.”
    Malcolm smiled. “Yep.” Then he checked the room number. Yikes! Room 503! Mrs. Goolsby! Grueling Goolsby, the toughest teacher in the entire school.

    â€œOh no! We’re doomed.” Dandy dropped his backpack with a thud.
    Malcolm couldn’t agree more.
    Dandy dragged his backpack behind him as they headed for that fateful room.
    Mrs. Goolsby stood by the classroom door. She tapped a ruler on her palm as students ducked in. Malcolm figured she couldn’t wait to shut the door and begin the torture.
    Malcolm debated whether or not to take her picture. Not a good idea, he concluded.
    When they took their seats, Dandy whispered, “I guess we won’t get to ghost hunt now, huh?”
    True. There probably wouldn’t be another free weekend until next summer. Malcolm had heard that Mrs. Goolsby even assigned homework during the winter holidays! “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” he said. But secretly, he knew better.
    The sweat beads had