Off the Wall by P.J. Night Page A

maybe that’s the only way she knows how to act,” Jane replied. “Maybe she doesn’treally know how to make friends.”
    She stared down at the lid of the sarcophagus. The body of a girl their own age was in there, with only her cat to keep her company. She had been in there for so long.
    Good-bye, Daria, Jane thought.
    â€œSo, new friend!” said Lucy brightly as the two girls made their way back to the dining hall. “How about some pancakes?”

EPILOGUE
    FOUR YEARS LATER
    â€œPlease, people. We’re representing our school. People, please exit the bus in an orderly fashion.”
    â€œWhy do teachers always call us ‘people’?” Lucy whispered to her friend Cailyn as they stood up to get off the school bus.
    â€œI guess they think it makes us feel more grown-up,” said Cailyn. “Doesn’t work for me, though.”
    The girls’ high school art teacher, Mr. Flaren, was hovering outside the bus now. He looked as flustered as a hen who’s lost a chick.
    â€œThis way, please, people,” he said. “Right up the steps and in the main entrance.”
    â€œHow else would someone get into the museum?” Cailyn muttered.
    Lucy smiled without answering. She knew there were other ways into a museum than just the main entrance.
    Not that Lucy remembered the lock-in all that well. She was in high school now, with a lot going on. And she and Jane had never managed to connect after the night in the museum. In all the confusion at pick-up time, Lucy hadn’t had a chance to get Jane’s e-mail address or phone number. She hadn’t even gotten to say good-bye.
    Lucy had been sorry about that. She’d liked Jane a lot, and she had the feeling they could have been good friends.
    She had also wondered about Daria from time to time. As her memory of the lock-in began to fade, Lucy became more and more sure that Daria hadn’t been anything more than a grumpy middle-schooler.
    Probably nothing unusual actually happened that night, she told herself now, as she and her art class climbed the broad museum stairs. It’s so easy to remember things wrong. And even to remember things that didn’t happen.
    Still, she had never managed to entirely shake the feeling that Daria had been the mummy rumored toroam the halls of Templeton Memorial. A mummy that must have been lonely and bored and just wanted to have some fun with them, so she dared them to go on a hunt in a museum in the middle of the night for something she knew they’d never find.
    What did it matter now, though? They were visiting the museum during the day. So were tons of kids from other schools. Any supernatural being would have to be nuts to show itself in front of so many people.
    Lucy herself hadn’t been back to this particular museum since the night of the lock-in. But she was glad to be back at Templeton where she had spent so much time when she was younger. As the years of high school passed, she was becoming more and more sure that she wanted to work in an art gallery or museum, or maybe even become an artist herself. When her school had offered the kids in Lucy’s painting class a chance to take a field trip to the Templeton, Lucy had accepted eagerly.
    The lobby hadn’t changed at all, Lucy saw. It was bustling with field trips from all over the city. A group of excited preschoolers was being shepherded up the stairs. A fifth-grade teacher was telling her class, “I don’t want any snickering when we get to the Greek and Romanstatues.” And Mr. Flaren was practically hopping up and down, he was so flustered.
    â€œKeep together, people,” he kept repeating. “I don’t want you to get mixed up and think you’re part of another class.
    â€œNow, before we go to the Portrait Gallery, we’ll take a brief walk through the Egyptian wing, since I know that’s a favorite section for many of you,” said Mr. Flaren.
    Not mine,