Don't Move a Muscle! (21) (You're Invited to a Creepover)

Don't Move a Muscle! (21) (You're Invited to a Creepover)

Don’t miss the frights and fun as Cora faces her fears in a spooky sculpture garden in this mind-bending Creepover tale. Cora Nicolaides is panicking: It’s just three weeks until the school dance, and she’s the only one of her friends without a date! But then Cora meets Evan. Evan is cute and smart, and he even encourages Cora to volunteer with him at the nearby sculpture garden after school. Cora’s friends think the garden is creepy—some of the sculptures look a little too lifelike. Cora isn’t about to let a few weird statues come between her and her crush, but deep in the garden, Cora might just learn that some stones are better left unturned. This terrifying tale is rated a Level 4 on the Creep-O-Meter. A lifelong night owl, P.J. Night often works furiously into the wee hours of the morning, writing down spooky tales and dreaming up new stories of the supernatural and otherworldly. Although P.J.’s whereabouts are unknown at this time, we suspect the author lives in a drafty, old mansion where the floorboards creak when no one is there and the flickering candlelight creates shadows that creep along the walls. We truly wish we could tell you more, but we’ve been sworn to keep P.J.’s identity a secret…and it’s a secret we will take to our graves! Don’t Move a Muscle! “And I want it to have a halter top. Or maybe spaghetti straps. Of course my mom says it can’t be strapless.” “Mine won’t let me get a black dress. She thinks it’s too formal. But I found something online that I think she’ll say is okay. It is so, so gorgeous.” “Well, my parents say they won’t pay for a dress for an eighth-grade dance. But I’ve saved up a lot from babysitting.” Four girls were sitting at a lunch table in school. Three of them had been talking about clothes for ten minutes. Those ten minutes had seemed more like ten hours to Cora Nicolaides, the fourth girl at the table. The eighth-grade dance was in a couple of weeks. Her three best friends—Hailey, Amber, and Skye—had dates for it. Cora didn’t. Hailey must have sensed how Cora was feeling. “Sorry, Cor,” she said. “This must all sound stupid.” “No, it’s fine,” Cora said honestly. “I’m interested. It’s just . . . you know. I wish I could go too. The four of us have always done everything together.” “But you can go! Lots of people are going to the dance without a date!” objected Amber. “Just come on your own and hang out with us.” “Be bold,” Skye added. Easy for them to say, thought Cora. Her friends had enough self-confidence for thirty people. And why not? All three were smart, athletic, and pretty. Cora knew she was smart, but she hated sports. (Reading was what she liked.) Pretty? Hard to say. She liked her hair—a tumbling cloud of dark brown curls. Her green eyes and thick black lashes were okay too. But wasn’t it really a person’s expression that got other people’s attention? And Cora was sure she looked too serious and shy for anyone to notice her. Sometimes she wondered if Hailey, Amber, and Skye would have been her best friends if they hadn’t all been in the same second-grade class. For so long they’d all been interested in similar things: crafts, animals, video games . . . but now the three other girls seemed to care much more about gossip. Who was going out with each other? Who was going to Brooke’s party that weekend? Why had Aiden been grounded? Cora was interested in those things too, of course, but only up to a point. Was that going to become a problem? What if the three other girls moved on—found a new friend who was more outgoing, more like them? Then Cora would be on her own. And a lot of the time she felt lonely enough already. But now Cora realized she was starting to feel sorry for herself. Don’t wallow, she thought. It won’t get you anywhere. “So when are you guys getting these dresses?” she asked cheerfully. “Because you know I have to approve them first.” “I was thinking this weekend would be good,” said Amber. “Maybe we could all go together?” “Yes!” said Cora. Quickly she checked the calendar on her phone. “Why don’t we all go on Saturday afternoon? And then why don’t you come over for a sleepover?” Her friends all promised to check with their parents as soon as they could. “Perfect. I can’t wait to see what you guys pick out!” Cora said, hoping she sounded convincing. Right then the bell rang to signal the end of lunch period. In the hustle to return trays and collect books, Cora felt free to drop the cheerful act. She sighed as she heaved her backpack onto her shoulder. The sleepover would be fun, she knew, but she also knew that most of their conversations would end up at the same place—the dance. Her friends would start by talking about the dresses they’d bought. Then the conversation would move on to their dates. And Cora would be nodding enthusiastically, trying to be a good sport. Maybe I should buy a dress just in case, she thought. I might suddenly get the courage to go. Or it’s just possible that someo