Free Girl Meets Ghost by Lauren Barnholdt Page B

because Grace is annoying, and aren’t all older brothers usually annoyed by their little sisters?
    â€œHello,” Brandon’s dad says, coming out of the living room to meet me and Brandon as we walk into the kitchen. He’s tall, and he looks pretty much just like Brandon. He’swearing a flannel shirt spotted with paint, and he’s blinking hard, like the light is bothering him. “Sorry, I was working and I got caught up.” He looks down at his shirt with a confused look on his face, like he can’t imagine where all that paint came from.
    â€œDad’s an illustrator for children’s books,” Brandon explains, “and sometimes he gets lost in his work.”
    â€œThat’s okay,” I say. “Hi, I’m Kendall. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Dunham.”
    â€œPlease,” he says, “call me John.”
    â€œOkay.” Yay! John! He wants me to call him John! Already on a first-name basis with the dad! That can only be a good sign.
    â€œWould you kids like a snack?” Mr. Dunham asks. He crosses the room to the refrigerator and peers inside. “We have a veggie tray with dip, some crackers . . .” He opens the freezer. “Frozen potato skins, frozen mozzarella sticks, frozen zucchini balls . . .”
    Frozen zucchini balls? That doesn’t sound all that appetizing. On the other hand, the rest of the frozen food sounds great. My dad never lets us have stuff like that. Well, usually not. That’s mostly because Cindy sent him this article about how eating organic is so much better, and how if you let your children eat processed foods they go crazy and become serial killers. Of course, that doesn’t stop him from sneaking stuff himself every once in a while.
    â€œPotato skins?” Brandon asks, looking at me.
    â€œPerfect.” I grin. God, we are so in sync! It’s like we have some kind of psychic connection. What are the chances that we’d both want potato skins?
    â€œI’m going to have some too!” Grace screams. Then she pokes me with a plastic sword that she’s pulled out from somewhere.
    â€œNo, Grace,” Mr. Dunham (John?) says. “You and I are going to go into the living room and let Brandon and Kendall study in here.”
    â€œNO!” Grace says. “I. WANT. POTATO SKINS.” She pokes me again with the sword, a little harder this time. Ouch.
    â€œGrace,” I try, “how about when the skins are ready, we bring you some? Would that be okay? And then maybe after Brandon and I are done with our homework, we can play ninja.” Please, please, please let us have so much homework that we don’t have time to play ninja.
    â€œI’m not a ninja!” Grace says. “I’m a karate master.”
    â€œWell, then we can play karate master.” I think about adding “just as long as I’m not the victim” but decide to get into the specifics later.
    She thinks about it. “Okay,” she finally says. Then she grabs her dad’s hand. “Come on,” she says. “I want to watch a movie.”
    Once they’re gone, Brandon smiles at me apologetically.“Sorry.” He reaches down into one of the cabinets and pulls out a cookie sheet. I open the box of potato skins and start laying them neatly on the sheet as Brandon turns on the oven.
    â€œOh, it’s no problem,” I say. “She’s cute.” And she is. If you like hyperactivity. I don’t, but whatevs. I can’t exactly say that to him. No one wants to hear something bad about their little sister. Besides, why would I ruin this moment? It’s so cozy in here, cooking with Brandon. I place another potato skin on the sheet and look around the kitchen.
    It’s done in butter yellow and white, and opens up into the dining room. It’s cheerful and bright, and there’s a picture of Brandon’s family hanging on the wall in the