Page 82 of Ghost
So now here we were, at the stadium.
“Sit here,” Miles said, gesturing to a mesh chair. “You don’t want to sit over there,” he nodded his head toward the distant bleachers. “No one should be near that.”
I glanced past Miles. Other players were already warming up on the field. Besides us, and two other girls already seated in the area Miles pointed out to me, no one else was on the field. Only a crowd of people across the way, secluded to the bleachers.
My gaze turned back toward the girls—they wore lovestruck expressions as they stared at certain players—and my focus returned to Miles. Somehow, I had a feeling this placement was significant.
But he was no longer paying attention to me. He was nodding at someone, another player on the field. I tugged his sleeve.
“Miles,” I whispered when he turned his questioning gaze back to me. This was highly suspicious. There was no way he had me sitting here for the reason I was imagining. “What’s so special about this place? Why shouldn’t I sit in the bleachers?”
For the second time in one day, his face turned completely red. And he was no longer able to meet my gaze. He opened his mouth, words apparently forming, but nothing came out.
Finally, though, he spoke. “We’re closer to the locker rooms here. It’s safer. Will you sit here for me?”
My heart fell. This was exactly what I had been afraid of.
Bryce had mentioned there was a ghost hovering in the locker rooms. And now the boys were setting me into a position to meet with it. A test of my skills.
Determination flooded through me. I could do this. I would find the pervert-ghost who haunted the women’s locker room and help it find peace.
“Okay,” I nodded at him, trying to smile. I would make them proud. “I’ll sit here as long as you’d like.”
Mr.Dungworth—whose name I recalled because of its strangeness—was nearby. I could feel him. He was not a stranger to me, I had almost encountered him the previous week. I might not have had physical education this semester, but Finn did. And since I was a wonderful friend, I had come to ogle Finn in his lacrosse uniform.
It was a wonderful sight then. But now the thought of his silken blond hair and striking grey eyes, made me ill to my stomach. How could I have fallen prey to the muscular build he kept hidden behind his geeky outwards appearance?
How young and naive I used to be.
Even so, I couldn’t put off my mission forever. As engrossing as it was watching Miles chase a ball, it only could capture my attention for so long. Even his naked chest couldn’t overshadow the obnoxiousness originating from the bleachers.
Obviously most of them weren’t good people. Anyone who would cheer while our athletes froze to death in the brisk September air should be ashamed of themselves. There was only one reason they’d be pleased—and it was because they were here to distract Miles from his goal of saving the world.
They must have been anti-environmentalists. No wonder Miles had performance anxiety. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate either.
There were a few good souls mixed within the ranks. A few good Samaritans were even offering Miles their clothing. I could relate to that, at least.
But surely the school could have afforded jerseys? Seriously, though, it didn’t make logical sense. How would Miles—who had biceps the size of my head—be able to fit his arms through the sleeves of most of these women’s shirts?
Perhaps that was why he was running so much, to keep from freezing to death. Of course he couldn’t look in my direction. His body was preserving all its energy to survive. His ocular muscles couldn’t afford to burn the extra calories necessary for such a movement.
If that were the case…
I fingered the hem of my sweater. Should I give him my shirt? He could wear it as a scarf. I might be cold, but I did have a tank top on underneath. That was more than what Miles wore at the moment.
Even so, even this spectacle couldn’t hide that suffocating, familiar sensation. Twenty minutes into practice, it became too much to handle.
It was excellent timing. Miles had begun arguing with a goalie, and no one was looking at me. I sighed, awkwardly climbing out of the cloth chair and brushing off my skirt. I had put off this confrontation for long enough, but it was time to find Mr. Dungworth.
“Where are you going?” a long-haired blonde queried as I walked past. “Try to hold it if you can, this is the best part. Look at your man.” She pointed toward Miles. He was rubbing his temples as two players continued to argue beside him. “There’s about to be bloodshed and grappling. Someone might even lose their pants—that happens sometimes.”
I never realized soccer was so violent.
“That’s okay,” I replied, moving along. “I’ll catch up later. I’d rather watch a fight in the ring.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged. “Toilets are that way.” She pointed toward the locker rooms, which I had already seen.
But I still couldn’t figure out where Mr. Dungworth was.
