himself across a tree branch that’s hanging partway into our yard.
“Why do you always have to sneak up on me?” I ask.
“I didn’t sneak,” Cat says. “I’ve been here all afternoon.”
“Why?” I ask. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than watch my backyard? It’s my job to watch my backyard, not his.
Cat licks his front paw. “I was waiting for you to come outside,” he says. “I have a message for you.”
A message? For me?
“From who?” I ask, padding over to the fence.
“Agatha,” Cat says.
Agatha is the name of the ghost at school. If there really is a ghost at school.
I swallow hard. “What’s the message?”
“Stay out of the basement,” Cat says. “Agatha doesn’t like people or animals hanging around her school at night. She won’t bother you if you keep everyone out of the basement. But if you, or anyone else, goes down there tonight, you’ll be sorry.”
I don’t know if Cat is messing with me or not.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What’ll happen if I go down there? What’ll happen if any of the kids go down there?”
“You don’t want to know,” Cat says. “But trust me. It’ll be bad.”
The sleepover is going to be in the library, so I don’t think anyone will want to go to the basement.
But I could be wrong.
2
Agatha’s Story
I follow Mom and Connor back and forth from the house to the garage. Back to the house. Back to the garage. House. Garage. They are loading suitcases and boxes and grocery bags into the car. I think this is all the stuff we are bringing to the sleepover.
“Don’t forget the bag with my food in it,” I tell Mom and Connor. I go over to show them which bag I’m talking about. But they each grab different bags.
“Um, guys? My food?” I say again.
Finally, Mom picks up the bag with my food. I wag my tail and start to follow her back out to the car.
Ding! Dong!
“I’ll get it,” Connor says, racing for the front door. I think I can trust Mom to put my food in the car by herself, so I hurry after Connor. I can’t wait to see who’s here!
But when Connor opens the front door, nobody is here.
There’s a box sitting on the front porch, though. Thunder rumbles in the distance as Conner and I step outside. We both gaze around the front yard, and up and down the block, but there is nobody around. I lunge for the box. Sniff … sniff … sniff. I can’t tell what’s inside. I can’t tell who sent it, either. Somebody we don’t know.
Connor opens the box. Inside is a flashlight and two pieces of paper. One. Two.
I smell chocolate and bubblegum on the box, the flashlight, and the papers.
“What do those papers say?” I ask as Connor reads one to himself.
“Hmm,” he says. His eyebrows scrunch together and he flips to the other paper.
I peer over his arm. There are a lot of words on those papers. I know some of them: who , you , are , she , has , and a . Mrs. Warner says those are “sight words.” Sight words are words you know when you see them. Most of the words on Connor’s paper are not sight words.
“Let’s go, Connor,” Mom calls from the garage.
“Coming!” Connor calls back.
We go inside and Connor stuffs the flashlight and the papers into his suitcase. Then we go out to the car.
We pick up Connor’s friend Michael on the way to school. Too bad my friend Mouse doesn’t get to come, too. Mouse is a dog, not a mouse. He is the biggest, loudest dog on our street. He lives at Michael’s house. But he lives outside the house and Michael lives inside the house.
I feel sad that Mouse doesn’t get to come to the sleepover.
“IT’S OKAY, BUDDY,” Mouse says. “KEEP AN EYE ON MY BOY WHILE HE’S GONE.” Mouse is so big that he can’t help yelling when he talks.
“I will,” I promise Mouse.
Michael climbs into the backseat with me and Connor. And then we are off to school. I LOVE school. It’s my favorite place!
Connor and Michael don’t say much in the car. Usually Connor and
“Why do you always have to sneak up on me?” I ask.
“I didn’t sneak,” Cat says. “I’ve been here all afternoon.”
“Why?” I ask. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than watch my backyard? It’s my job to watch my backyard, not his.
Cat licks his front paw. “I was waiting for you to come outside,” he says. “I have a message for you.”
A message? For me?
“From who?” I ask, padding over to the fence.
“Agatha,” Cat says.
Agatha is the name of the ghost at school. If there really is a ghost at school.
I swallow hard. “What’s the message?”
“Stay out of the basement,” Cat says. “Agatha doesn’t like people or animals hanging around her school at night. She won’t bother you if you keep everyone out of the basement. But if you, or anyone else, goes down there tonight, you’ll be sorry.”
I don’t know if Cat is messing with me or not.
“What do you mean?” I ask. “What’ll happen if I go down there? What’ll happen if any of the kids go down there?”
“You don’t want to know,” Cat says. “But trust me. It’ll be bad.”
The sleepover is going to be in the library, so I don’t think anyone will want to go to the basement.
But I could be wrong.
2
Agatha’s Story
I follow Mom and Connor back and forth from the house to the garage. Back to the house. Back to the garage. House. Garage. They are loading suitcases and boxes and grocery bags into the car. I think this is all the stuff we are bringing to the sleepover.
“Don’t forget the bag with my food in it,” I tell Mom and Connor. I go over to show them which bag I’m talking about. But they each grab different bags.
“Um, guys? My food?” I say again.
Finally, Mom picks up the bag with my food. I wag my tail and start to follow her back out to the car.
Ding! Dong!
“I’ll get it,” Connor says, racing for the front door. I think I can trust Mom to put my food in the car by herself, so I hurry after Connor. I can’t wait to see who’s here!
But when Connor opens the front door, nobody is here.
There’s a box sitting on the front porch, though. Thunder rumbles in the distance as Conner and I step outside. We both gaze around the front yard, and up and down the block, but there is nobody around. I lunge for the box. Sniff … sniff … sniff. I can’t tell what’s inside. I can’t tell who sent it, either. Somebody we don’t know.
Connor opens the box. Inside is a flashlight and two pieces of paper. One. Two.
I smell chocolate and bubblegum on the box, the flashlight, and the papers.
“What do those papers say?” I ask as Connor reads one to himself.
“Hmm,” he says. His eyebrows scrunch together and he flips to the other paper.
I peer over his arm. There are a lot of words on those papers. I know some of them: who , you , are , she , has , and a . Mrs. Warner says those are “sight words.” Sight words are words you know when you see them. Most of the words on Connor’s paper are not sight words.
“Let’s go, Connor,” Mom calls from the garage.
“Coming!” Connor calls back.
We go inside and Connor stuffs the flashlight and the papers into his suitcase. Then we go out to the car.
We pick up Connor’s friend Michael on the way to school. Too bad my friend Mouse doesn’t get to come, too. Mouse is a dog, not a mouse. He is the biggest, loudest dog on our street. He lives at Michael’s house. But he lives outside the house and Michael lives inside the house.
I feel sad that Mouse doesn’t get to come to the sleepover.
“IT’S OKAY, BUDDY,” Mouse says. “KEEP AN EYE ON MY BOY WHILE HE’S GONE.” Mouse is so big that he can’t help yelling when he talks.
“I will,” I promise Mouse.
Michael climbs into the backseat with me and Connor. And then we are off to school. I LOVE school. It’s my favorite place!
Connor and Michael don’t say much in the car. Usually Connor and
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