Sword Play by Linda Joy Singleton Page A

Someone asked how she was doing. She said she was fine, but her daughter was still suffering. That’s the word she used. Suffering.”
    “Suffering how?” I leaned forward eagerly.
    “I don’t know. Maybe she’s sick.”
    “She didn’t look sick. What else did Mrs. Hurst say?”
    “Nothing about Leanna, just boring grown-up stuff.” Amy flipped a dark tendril from her face. “But I can snoop around to find out—”
    “Don’t waste your time.” I put up my hand. “Leanna isn’t the right girl.”
    “She is too!” Amy insisted. “She’s so sick, she’s probably dying.”
    “You’re just guessing. I found the girl Kip wants me to help.”
    “Who?”
    “Kip’s girlfriend. I talked to her and she’s really messed up.”
    My sister pursed her lips. “Kip probably had lots of girlfriends, but he only had one sister. Leanna needs our help. If you don’t help her, Kip’s gonna be real mad at you. He’ll keep haunting you forever.”
    “I doubt that. He has better things to do than hang around haunting me. Besides, I don’t know how to help Leanna.”
    “Just use your powers.”
    “Sure. While I’m at it I’ll get rid of global warming, poverty, and pollution. Seriously, I’m just a tool for communication—a phone has more powers than I do. I never know when a ghost or spirit will contact me.”
    “Kip talked to you because his sister is in trouble,” my sister insisted.
    “Not my problem.”
    “You have to help.”
    “Amy, you’re impossible.” I let out a weary breath. “Let’s say Leanna is the right girl—what can I do?”
    “That’s what I’m gonna find out when I go to her—”
    Amy was interrupted by a sharp knock on my door.
    “Sabine, are you in there?” my mother called.
    “I’ll fill you in later. “ Amy jumped off my bed and went over to the door and opened it. “Hi, Mom. I gotta go.”
    Amy disappeared down the hall as my mother strode into my room. Her expression was solemn and her arms held an ominous-looking orange folder.
    “Sabine, we’re going to talk,” she said in a no-nonsense tone. “No more going to bed early or rushing off without letting me know what you’re doing.”
    “I left a note.”
    “You call that a note? Out with a friend? What friend? Out where? And no mention of when you planned to be back.”
    “I didn’t think you’d mind. You could have tried my cell phone.”
    “I did.” Her eyes narrowed.
    Checking my purse, I found out my phone was dead. Oops. Guess I should have recharged it. But hardly anyone had my cell number; most of my friends preferred email.
    Mom strode over to my desk and set the orange folder down. She was all business and agitated. Her determined expression spelled out trouble as she grabbed a chair, turned it around, then sat down to face me.
    Instead of meeting her gaze, I noticed how her hands were folded, one elegantly overlapping the other. The diamond in her wedding ring was as large as her thumbnail, reflecting sunlight coming through my window, sending sparkles across my wall. Her nails were squared and manicured in a French style. Her skin was slightly darker and rougher than mine. And there was a tiny scar on her right knuckle, an injury from when she and Dad played couples tennis. But now they were more like two singles than a couple.
    “Sabine!” she said sternly. “Would you pay attention to me? It’s important we discuss your education.”
    Trapped, with no escape this time, I thought, fighting the panic rising in me. I eyed that thick orange folder and saw my own name scrawled across the flap. Enrollment papers, for my new school. (Or my old school?) I might as well find out what my mother had planned—even if she ended up ruining my entire life.
    “Okay, tell me,” I said in the same tone a death row inmate would use to find out how many days before execution. “Am I going to a private school?”
    Mom shook her head, the dark blond waves so carefully arranged they didn’t move. “I