Megan Stine_Jeffery & the Third-Grade Ghost 02 by Haunted Halloween Page B

Max said in a friendly voice.
    “Max, I just stayed an hour after school because of your
first
cool idea,” Jeffrey said.
    “Aw, you’re not bent out of shape about that,” Max said. “Like, I can tell you’re groovin’ to see me.”
    Jeffrey smiled. He couldn’t help it. Max was right. Jeffrey was glad to see his friend. They started walking home together.
    “What’s your ‘really cool’ idea?” asked Jeffrey.
    “How about you and me going to a soda shop? We’ll buy a couple of skyrockets and play some platters on the jukebox.”
    Jeffrey shook his head. “I’ve got bad news for you, Max. There are no soda shops. And they don’t make anything called a skyrocket anymore, either. Besides, I don’t have any dollars for the jukebox.”
    “Dollars?” Max gasped. “What happened to nickels?”
    “Collector’s items,” Jeffrey said. “I’m working on my dad to get him to raise my allowance, but nothing so far.”
    By that time, they had walked as far as the McGyver house. Jeffrey had to pass it on his way home, unless he wanted to go ten blocks out of his way.
    “Cool-looking house,” Max said.
    “People say it’s haunted,” Jeffrey told him.
    “Oh, yeah?” Max asked excitedly. “Maybe it’s someone I know. Come on, Jeffrey. Let’s make the scene.”
    What? Go into the McGyver house for a ghost reunion? That was about the last thing Jeffrey wanted to do—especially so close to Halloween.
    “Maybe you should go in first, Max, and check the place out,” Jeffrey said with a weak smile. “If there are ghosts in there, you know, they may not want too many guests just dropping by.”
    “Okay, I’m gonesville,” Max said, flying off. “But, like, I’ll be right back.”
    But Max wasn’t right back. He was gone for a long while, so long that Jeffrey finally walked home by himself. But all the way home Jeffrey wondered what Max had found in the McGyver house—and why he hadn’t come out!

Chapter Two

    Jeffrey sat in his room after dinner that night. His homework was on the desk in front of him. Jeffrey wasn’t doing his homework. He was reading a
Tales from the Cave
comic book. But his homework
was
on the desk. In fact, he used it to prop up his comic book.
    There was a knock on the door and then Jeffrey’s father came in.
    “Got time for a quick talk?” asked Mr. Becker. He sat down across from Jeffrey on the bed.
    “Sure, Dad,” Jeffrey said, hiding his comic book. “I was just looking over my homework. But I can tear myself away for a few minutes. Did you get my notes about my allowance?”
    “Yes,” said his father. “Yes, I got all seventeen of them. I found them in my pants pockets, in my shirt pockets, in my wallet, and in my sandwich. I especially enjoyed the one signed by the president of the United States.”
    “Yeah, you’d be surprised how much the presidentis interested in people’s personal finances,” Jeffrey said. He tried to be convincing and keep a straight face. “The minute I explained the situation to him, he said, ‘Go for it, Jeffrey.’ ”
    “I’m sure of it,” said Mr. Becker, clearing his throat. “But exactly how did you come up with that amount? I mean, seven dollars and thirty-five cents a week is an odd figure.”
    “It’s an average, Dad,” said Jeffrey.
    “An average allowance for an eight-year-old?”
    “No,” Jeffrey said. “On the average, an eight-year-old has to ask his parents seven hundred and thirty-five times to raise his allowance.”
    “Oh,” said Mr. Becker. He rubbed the left side of his chin with his right index finger. “In other words, I don’t have to take action until you’ve asked me another five hundred times. That’s good to know.” Mr. Becker stood up to leave.
    “But, Dad—” Jeffrey started to say.
    “And, Jeffrey, if you leave any more notes in my sandwich, please don’t write them on yellow paper. I took two bites of it before I realized it wasn’t a slice of dry American cheese.”
    “You