The Sign in the Smoke (Nancy Drew Diaries #12)(10)

It looked human. But how could it be?

You would think after solving so many cases in which “ghosts” ended up being, well, “not ghosts,” I wouldn’t believe in them.

But sometimes it’s hard not to.

We all settled on a bench in front of the camp office to wait for our CITs. The first to arrive was assigned to Bess, and her name was Janie. She had a small, heart-shaped face and dark hair cut close to her jawline. She was smiley and enthusiastic about being at camp, but when it came time for her mom to leave, she was super reluctant to give up her smartphone.

“Oh man,” she murmured. “I knew this was coming. . . . It’s just . . . I’ve never been away from technology for a whole week!”

George smiled. “I know how you feel.”

“I have a blog,” Janie went on, “where I talk about new technological innovations and review some games and programs. I put up a post saying there’d be no updates for a week . . . but it’s going to feel really weird!”

George poked Bess and whispered, “I like this girl. Want to trade?”

Bess shoved her away. “Mini-George is mine,” she hissed. “You haven’t even met yours yet.”

Bess took Mini-George—Janie—over to the cabin Deborah assigned them to, Maple Shade Cabin, then moved her own things there from Pine Cabin. When the campers arrived tomorrow, they’d be presiding over a bunkful of eight-year-olds.

Next to arrive was Frankie, Maddie’s curly-brown-haired CIT, and then Susie, who had silky dark hair and a serious expression. She was assigned to Bella.

“I hope I get someone good,” George whispered to me as we continued to wait. “I liked that Janie.”

“Remember what Mrs. Collins said in kindergarten, George,” I said. “You get what you get and you don’t get upset. I’m sure we’ll both get great CITs. And I’m personally going to need mine! I’ve never been alone in a room with six kids before.”

“Hear, hear,” George agreed, as a classic Mustang convertible pulled up.

The girl who climbed out of the passenger seat looked like she could have walked out of a movie from the 1960s. She wore a floral scarf knotted around her hair and big, round sunglasses. Once she’d taken out her duffel bag and placed it on the ground, she smiled and pulled off the scarf, revealing a cascade of wavy blond hair. “I’m Maya?” she asked. “Maya Beaumont? I’m going to be a CIT? I’m so excited! I came to this camp when I was teeny tiny!”

Deborah walked up and introduced herself, then looked at her clipboard. Just then a silver SUV pulled up, and out climbed a preppily dressed redhead with cool blue eyes. A single silver barrette held back her bangs, and she carried a Moleskine notebook, which looked well-loved.

“Excuse me,” she said, as a middle-aged woman climbed out of the driver’s side and popped the trunk. “I’m Marcie Polk? I’m supposed to be a CIT here.”

George looked at me with raised eyebrows. But before I could respond, Maya the blonde came running over and threw her arms around me.

“I’m so, so, so excited!” she said. “Is your name Nancy? My name’s Maya. I’m going to be your CIT and we’re going to be in the Juniper Cabin with a bunkful of ten-year-olds! Isn’t that perfect? Couldn’t you just die? We’re going to have so much fun! Have I mentioned I came to this camp when I was little?”

I smiled and introduced myself to Maya, saying that yes, that sounded pretty great, and that I was sure we were going to have a lot of fun. “I’m sure I’ll need your help,” I added. “I’ve never been a counselor before—I’ve never even been to camp! So you can show me the ropes.”

Maya nodded eagerly. “Sure thing!”

As Maya grabbed her bag and explained which cabin was Juniper Cabin, at least as Deborah had explained it to her, George glanced at me and winked. “Have fun with Mini-Bess,” she whispered.

At that moment Marcie walked up and opened her notebook. “Are you George?” she asked. “I’m Marcie. I’m going to be your CIT. Deborah says we’ll be staying in Pine Cabin with the seven-year-olds?”

George looked a little panicked. “Hoo, boy,” she said. “The youngest campers. That will be a challenge. I’m going to need your help, kid.”

Marcie just nodded, seeming to take that in stride. She began flipping through her notebook. “I talked to my old Brownie troop leader to get some tips on dealing with kids of different ages,” she said. “Do you want to go over what she said about seven-year-olds?”

As George raised her eyebrows, Maya turned around and whistled. “Wow, you’re organized!” she said. When Marcie looked at her in surprise, Maya smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Maya. Sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m so excited to be here! I’m sure we’re going to be great friends! Anyway, do you always carry that notebook?”

Marcie hesitated for just a moment before smiling. “Yeah, I do. I guess I’m really curious about people. I like to talk to them and then write down what they tell me. It’s just this habit I have.”

George bugged out her eyes and looked at me.

“Mini-Nancy,” I whispered. “A complete set.”

George shook her head as though she couldn’t believe it. “All right, Min—I mean, Marcie.” She smiled. “I’m sure we’ll have more time to get to know one another at lunch. For now, though, we should probably get our stuff into Pine Cabin and start cleaning it up! Only”—she looked at her watch—“twenty-three hours until the campers arrive.”