Ghost

0803

We sat on the dusty wooden floor, loose paper and text books sporadically placed around us. We were mostly quiet, save for exchanging notes and asking the occasional question. I looked up at him at one point, tapping a pencil against his lip as he looked down at his notes, his expression conflicted. I noticed the notebook he'd been scribbling in earlier lying beside him, the cover filled with doodles. 

"What is that?" I asked, my voice sounding more timid than I had meant. When he looked up, I pointed at the book.

"Oh," he said, smiling slightly and scratching the back of his head. "Just a sketchbook."

"You draw? That's pretty cool."

"Eh." He glanced back down at his notes, shrugging. "Just for fun. I'm not all that great, I mostly just do it for band logos."

"Band logos?"

"Yeah," he said. He smiled slightly, almost seeming embarrassed. "I'm in a band. We're still trying to come up with a logo." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "We're supposed to have a scout come look at us soon, but all of our songs are complete shit."

I blinked. "Wow." I wasn't even sure how to feel. Having someone who was in a band in my house hanging out with me? I couldn't help but feel a little...cool. "What's the name?"

"Of the band?" He asked, hesitating. This was the first time I'd ever seen him so shy. I couldn't help but feel a little special, breaking the walls of the high school punk. "It's stupid. We're planning on changing it but...Ghost-Punch." He looked at me expectantly, his face cringed as if afraid of what I would say. Waiting. Waiting to hear my opinion. I couldn't help but feel a little giddy.

"I think it's great," I said, not bothering to contain my smile. Ghost-Punch. "I really like it, actually."

"Really?" He asked, doubtful. "Our lead singer hates it, he thinks it's too Horror. But then again, he's wanting to go more Anarcho, when the rest of us want to stay Hardcore." He shook his head. "He thinks being on front suddenly means he can be a pompous ass."

I stared at him blankly a moment, the words blurring past me until I caught the  last sentence. "Do they go to school with us?" I finally asked. "Your band?"

"No, they live a town over," he said, waving his hand off and looking back down at his notes. "They go to Terrance."

"Oh," I said, feeling slightly disappointed; the opportunity for more friends evaporated. "I guess that's why you don't bother too much with the kids here."

"They certainly seem more snobby here." He flipped his pencil over to erase something, lifting the paper to blow on it. "I know another girl who's about to get a record deal, and everyone thinks she's so cool now." He sighed, like this was something that bothered him often. "She used to actually seem cool before everyone found out about it. And then the little prep-pack took her in. That's why I don't tell anyone. If someone's going to bother talking to me, I don't want it to be just because I'm in a band. That's so bogus."

"Yeah," I said, but my curiosity got the better of me. "Who is it? I mean, that girl?"

"Her name's Liz. Liz Donick? Surely you've seen her around at some point, though she's only in school half of the day."

My eyes widened.

"You mean the girl that hangs out with Valerie and all of them?"

"Yeah." He noticed my look of shock. "Why?"

I was about to open my mouth when a wisp of air left my lips.

"What was that?" He asked suddenly.

"What?" 

"That noise."

We were silent a moment, and I was about to open my mouth again to continue the conversation when the floorboards right next to us creaked. Randy's eyes widened before they turned devilish.

"That's creepy."

I laughed nervously, silently praying that Alfred wasn't going to try anything.

"Maybe this place is haunted."

"Doubt it," I said quickly. A little too quickly.

"Oh come on," Randy mused, lifting himself up off the floor and brushing the dust off his black jeans. "Have some imagination."

We're not going to need any 'imagination' if an actual ghost pops out at us.

"Uh, Randy...maybe we should go back downstairs."

He shushed my softly, raising his hand as if it would silence the room. "Don't tell me you're a chicken."

I laughed, louder than I meant to before regaining my composure. "Uh, yeah actually, I am. Let's go. Like, now."

He laughed this time, shaking his head and sighing. "Okay, fine. But we're gonna play a little game."

"A game?" I asked, suspicious of his devilish tone. "What game?"

"Twenty questions," he said, making his way for the ladder before stopping and adding, "No lying."

"Why?"

"Because I think you're hiding something."

He winked and flew down the ladder before he could catch the panic rising through my face.