Reunion by Meg Cabot

that you and I aren’t enjoying ourselves.”
    It occurred to me that my youngest stepbrother, Doc, and Michael Meducci had a lot in common.
    It also occurred to me that pointing out to a girl that she might be suffering from a biological dysfunction was not exactly the way to win her heart.
    â€œMaybe,” Michael said, as we dodged a large puppet hand dangling down from an insanely grinning puppet head some fifteen feet above us, “you and I could go somewhere a bit quieter. I have my mom’s car. We could go get coffee or something, in town, if you want—”
    That’s when I heard it. A familiar giggle.
    Don’t ask me how I could have heard it over the chatter of the people all around us, and the piped-in mall Muzak, and the screaming of some kid whose mother wouldn’t let him have any ice cream. I just heard it, is all.
    Laughter. The same laughter I’d heard the day before at Jimmy’s, right before I’d spotted the ghosts of those four dead kids.
    And then the next thing I knew, there was a loud snap—the kind of sound a rubber band that’s been stretched too tightly makes when it breaks. I yelled, “Look out!” and tackled Michael Meducci, knocking him to the ground.
    Good thing I did, too. Because a second later, exactly where we’d been standing, down crashed a giant grinning puppet head.
    When the dust settled, I lifted my face from Michael Meducci’s shirt front and stared at the thing. It wasn’t made of papier-mâché, like I’d thought. It was made of plaster. Bits of plaster were everywhere; clouds of it were still floating around, making me cough. Chunks of it had been wrenched from the puppet’s face, so that, while it was still leering at me, it was doing so with only one eye and a toothless smile.
    For half a beat, there was no sound whatsoever, except for my coughing and Michael’s unsteady breathing.
    Then a woman screamed.
    All hell broke loose after that. People fell over themselves in an effort to get out from under the puppets overhead, as if all of them were going to come crashing down at once.
    I guess I couldn’t exactly blame them. The thing had to have weighed a couple hundredpounds, at least. If it had landed on Michael, it would have killed, or at least badly hurt, him. There was no doubt in my mind about that.
    Just as there was no doubt, even before I spotted him, who owned the jeering voice that drawled a second later, “Well, look what we have here. Isn’t this cozy ?”
    I looked up and saw that Dopey—along with a breathless Gina, CeeCee, Adam, and Sleepy—had all hurried over.
    I didn’t even realize I was still lying on top of Michael until Sleepy reached down and pulled me off.
    â€œWhy is it,” my stepbrother asked in a bored voice, “that you can’t be left alone for five minutes without something collapsing on top of you?”
    I glared at him as I stumbled to my feet. I have to say, I really can’t wait until Sleepy goes away to college.
    â€œHey,” Sleepy said, reaching down to give Michael’s cheeks a couple of slaps, I suppose in some misguided attempt to bring him around, though I doubt this is a method espoused by EMS. Michael’s eyes were closed, and even though I could see he was breathing, he didn’t look good.
    The slaps worked, though. Michael’s eyelids fluttered open.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked him worriedly.
    He didn’t see the hand I stretched out toward him. He’d lost his glasses. He fumbled around for them in the plaster dust.
    â€œM-my glasses,” he said.
    CeeCee found them and picked them up, brushing them off as best she could before handing them back to him.
    â€œThanks.” Michael put the glasses on, and his eyes, behind the lenses, got very large as he took in the carnage around us. The puppet had missed him, but it had managed to take out a bench and a steel trash can without any