R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 03 by One Night in Doom House Page A

blinks GOOD EATS on and off in bright blue neon.
    As I pulled open the glass front door, we were greeted by the aroma of French fries and hamburgers sizzling on the grill. I took a deep breath. Sweet!
    “Wow! It's crowded,” Tara said, glancing down the long row of blue and red booths. She slapped her mittens together, trying to warm up her hands.
    Just because we’re ghosts doesn’t mean we don’t get cold.
    I stomped my boots to get the snow off.
    “Look out!” I cried.
    Tara and I leaped out of the way as a blue-uniformed waitress hurried past carrying a platter of sandwiches and shakes.
    I grabbed the coatrack to catch my balance. It tipped a little and a few coats fell on the floor. I picked them up quickly. I hoped no one saw the coats floating by themselves back onto the hooks.
    Tara pointed to the booth in back by the kitchen. “Our old booth—it's empty. Race you!”
    We took off, running full speed down the narrow aisle between the booths.
    “Whoa!” I slipped in a puddle on the floor and fell into a booth jammed with high school kids. They all cried out in surprise as their hamburgers and fries went sliding off the table.
    “Oops. Sorry.”
    Of course they didn’t hear me. They started arguing about who did it. “Maybe it was an earthquake!” a boy said.
    A girl called to the waitress. “Miss? Miss? There's something wrong with this table!”
    I pulled myself up quickly, wiping coleslaw off my coat, and made my way to our booth. Tara was already sitting down, gazing at the menu.
    “Nicky, the menu is exactly the same,” she said as I climbed in across from her. “And here we are in our old booth. Nothing has changed. Except…Except…”
    Except Mom and Dad aren’t here.
    Tara hid her face behind the menu. She didn’t want me to see her crying.
    She's only nine, but she's very tough. She hardly ever cries.
    But being in Scruffy's without Mom and Dad was really hard—for both of us.
    You see, our parents took us to Scruffy's every Saturday afternoon. We always loaded up on burgers and fries and Scruffy Shakes—thick shakes with lumps of ice cream in them. Then we’d go to the mall or to the movies.
    Every Saturday afternoon.
    And we always sat in this booth.
    So, this is our big idea. … If we sit in this same booth on a Saturday afternoon at the same time we always came here—maybe…just
maybe
…Mom and Dad will show up.
    Of course it's crazy.
    Crazy and sad at the same time.
    But Tara and I are desperate. It's been four months, and we still don’t have a clue about how to find Mom and Dad.
    So we’ll try
anything
.
    Even sitting in this booth and waiting.
    “I think I’m really hungry,” Tara said.
    Ghosts get cold. And they get hungry, too. At least
we
do.
    “I don’t think the waitress will take our order,” I said. “You know. Since she can’t see us and can’t hear us.”
    “No problem.” Tara slid out of the booth.
    Uh-oh.
    “Hey, wait!” I called. “Tara—what are you
doing
? Tara—wait!”
    But it was a waste of breath. You can’t stop my sister when she wants to do something.
    I watched her trot up to the booth with all the high school kids. They were still arguing about who spilled their food. Tara picked up two plates of French fries and started back to our booth with them.
    A hush fell over the table. The teenagers stared at the two plates floating in midair. Then they scrambled out of the booth, pulling on their coats and hats.
    “Whoa, dude—too weird! I’m outta here!”
    “Outta my way!”
    Tara and I watched them run out the door as we helped ourselves to the French fries. They were hot and greasy and really salty. Excellent!
    But before we could finish, a waitress stepped in front of our table. “This booth is free,” she called to a man and woman behind her. “Let me just clear away these French fries.”
    The waitress grabbed our plates and stepped back to let the man and woman slide into our booth. They both wore jeans and black leather