I ran upstairs and pressed the photo against the wall. “Eleanor?” I said. “Are you the one whispering?”
It wasn’t words, exactly. It was more like the memory of a voice. A soft, hurried hush, like someone on the other side was trying to tell me a secret but couldn’t find the right letters.
She sighed dramatically. “The chalk broke the loop. For five minutes. So hurry—ask me something important.”
Do you think Leo will try to pull Eleanor back? Would you? Why or why not? That night, at 2:17 a.m., I didn’t hear a whisper. Holt Mcdougal Literature Interactive Reader Grade 7
Have you ever felt lonely in a new place? Describe a time you wanted someone—anyone—to notice you.
The silver light began to flicker.
She wasn’t a ghost. She was a girl. A living, breathing girl who looked exactly like her photo, except angrier. I ran upstairs and pressed the photo against the wall
The room went cold. Then, the wall began to glow—a soft, silvery light, like moonlight through water. The plaster rippled, and a hand reached out. Not a ghost hand. A real one. Warm. With chipped blue nail polish.
That afternoon, I grabbed a piece of chalk from the sidewalk and wrote on my bedroom wall:
“Hello?” I whispered back.
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. But secretly, I loved that idea.
Do you agree with Leo’s dad? Is the wall just “old,” or is there something more? Why might Leo think differently?
Who or what wrote “TRAPPED”? List two possible explanations—one realistic and one imaginative. My heart hammered. I wasn’t scared. I was seen . Someone—something—knew I was here. For the first time since we moved to this gray city, I didn’t feel invisible. It was more like the memory of a voice