Tamsyn Murray-My So-Called Haunting (3 page)

I looked up reluctantly, willing my eyes not to fill with tears. ‘Look, I can’t —’

A faint footstep in the alley made me stop. Then a low voice said, ‘Let her go, Peterson.’

The words were laced with a veiled menace that sent a shiver down my spine. I craned my head to see who had spoken but the others were blocking my view. The boy pinning me to the wall twisted
his head, scowling.

‘This ain’t nothing to do with you, man,’ he snarled and I was surprised to detect a new note in his sullen voice. Fear? I wondered. Or respect?

The newcomer didn’t seem to have heard. ‘I said, let her go.’

You could have carved the atmosphere like a tree trunk. Around me, the boys shuffled restlessly, and I sensed they were preparing to fight. My heart pounded in my chest. I’d seen fights
from a distance but that was all. What were my chances of scrambling clear once the fists started flying? And how would my rescuer, if that’s what he was, cope with four against one?

The moment teetered on a knife edge. I tensed, ready to run, but then something shifted and it was like the battle had happened and I’d missed it. Either that or Peterson had decided I
wasn’t worth fighting over. In any case, he stepped backwards and yanked his hand roughly out of my bag handle, flashing an insincere grin my way. ‘’Course. We was only having a
joke.’

The others took their lead from him and melted backwards. With a sneering jerk of his head, Peterson turned away and they sloped off down the alley. Shaken, I turned to thank my saviour, and for
the second time that morning the breath whooshed out of me – only this time, I couldn’t blame being pushed against the wall for my sudden breathlessness. Standing a few metres away was
the most drop-dead gorgeous boy I’d ever seen. And he was staring at me with a chilling fascination. I drew in an unsteady breath as I stared back. No wonder Peterson had backed off without a
fight; if I hadn’t been practically paralysed by the beam of those smouldering eyes I would have wanted to run away too. Either that or go for the World’s Longest Snog.

He was tall, even for a teenage boy; I felt like a doll in comparison. Tendrils of long fringe touched his eyelashes and lay coal-like against his pale skin as he gazed at me with dark,
heavy-lidded eyes. I was sure I’d never seen him before. With those devastating looks, I would definitely have remembered.

‘Th-thanks,’ I stuttered, hauling my bag up my arm self-consciously.

He studied me for a long moment before speaking. ‘Don’t cut through here again. It’s asking for trouble.’

His black eyes raked over me again and then came to rest on my face. Shrinking under the weight of his gaze, I leaned against the wall for support.
This must be what a deer feels like just
before the car hits
, my dazed brain whispered. Then, with one fluid movement, he brushed past me.

‘I won’t,’ I called after him, for want of anything more intelligent to say. ‘Thanks.’

He didn’t show any sign of having heard. I watched him go, my breathing shallow as my heart slowed to its normal pace. Then I dragged my sleeve back and peered feverishly at my watch. Its
hands weren’t on my side; I was detention-inducingly late.

‘Crap!’ I muttered. Hauling my bag further on to my shoulder, I ran towards the main building. With a bit of luck I’d be in time to catch the end of registration. Panting, I
pounded along the corridor and pushed back the door of my classroom. As I opened my mouth to mutter an apology, the tormented strap of my bag chose that moment to give up. My books, pencil case and
a daintily wrapped sanitary towel spilled out across the floor and skittered to a halt in front of Mr Exton.

‘Nice of you to join us, Miss Thackery,’ he said, surveying the jumble before him and smiling humourlessly. ‘That’s a lunchtime detention you’ve just
earned.’

Megan flashed me a sympathetic grimace, but the rest of my classmates sniggered. Face burning, I scrabbled everything back into my traitorous bag and slunk to my seat. Seriously, could this day
get any worse?

It could. And it did. Not only had I left my history coursework at home, I’d also forgotten to pick up any lunch money; not that I had any time to eat after I’d
survived the hell that was lunchtime detention. I swear the teaching assistant supervising us knew Marcus Jones was flicking spit-balls at me, but she just buried her frizzy head in her book and
ignored it.

So by the time I’d reached the last lesson of the day, my mood was once again blacker than a vampire’s soul and the only thing keeping me going was the memory of my knight in shining
armour that morning. The version of events running on loop in my head was only a little bit embellished; Peterson and his gang had their roles downgraded, obviously, and Mystery Boy was overcome
with brooding admiration at my wit and fabulousness. I stared dreamily out of the RE classroom window, wondering who he was. I made up my mind to ask Megan later. Peterson had definitely known him,
so maybe he was in Year Eleven. I really hoped he wasn’t in the sixth form. It was a fact universally recognised that the sixth formers regarded the lower years as pond life.

Despite keeping an eye out as I’d moved from lesson to lesson, I hadn’t seen Mystery Boy again. For one awful moment I wondered if he’d been a ghost, but then I remembered that
Peterson had seen him too. Whoever he was, he’d got my attention big time, and in a way no other boy had come close to before.

Sister Margaret’s voice was droning on in the background. We were supposedly learning about alternative religions, but half the class were texting and the rest had dozed off. It was hardly
mind-blowing stuff, anyway; Sister Margaret was so hot for Christianity that she could hardly bring herself to mention any other religion. I studied her drab tweed skirt and fussy blouse dubiously;
it wasn’t a nun’s habit, but there was no way you could mistake what she was. I didn’t dare think about how she’d react if she ever found out what my aunt did for a living
– spontaneously combust, probably, or report me to whatever the modern equivalent of the Witchfinder General was. I made a mental note that parents’ evening was a definite no-no.

‘Who can tell me about Buddhism?’ Her bespectacled gaze swept the room, searching for a victim. I glanced away a fraction too late, then made a frantic attempt to blend into the
grubby beige walls. Her eyes gleamed and she pounced. ‘Skye?’

I’d had a reputation as a bit of a boffin at my last school. It wasn’t exactly something that had won me friends, so I’d made a conscious decision to dumb down during my first
few weeks at Heath Park, at least until I’d got to know a few people. Sister Margaret wasn’t doing me any favours. I considered sliding under the table, but nothing short of a medical
emergency could save me now. Sighing inwardly, I dredged my memory for information.

‘They believe all life is sacred and think that our souls are endlessly reincarnated.’ My gaze narrowed as I thought some more. ‘And they wear orange. A lot.’

Sister Margaret’s mouth twisted into a humourless smile. ‘Very good. Of course, Buddhism took most of its basic beliefs from Christianity, but they choose not to observe the divinity
of our Lord.’

I relaxed into my seat, thinking she was about to launch into one of her rants about heaven and hell and the almighty Almighty. But she wasn’t done with me.

‘I don’t believe you’ve shared your religious beliefs with us yet, Skye. Why don’t you tell us about them now?’

Every molecule in my body froze. The class shifted in their seats and watched me with more interest than they’d shown in the rest of the lesson. I moistened my lips as my mind scrabbled
furiously for an answer – whatever I said next, it couldn’t be the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe in God exactly, more that I’d seen enough ghosts to realise
it was better to keep an open mind. I could hardly explain that to her now though. Should I take a chance on one of the mainstream world religions or was I better off going for atheism and bearing
the brunt of Sister Margaret’s barely concealed disdain? There were bound to be follow-up questions and what I knew about most religions could be written on a glamour model’s bikini.
Then I remembered something Jeremy had said a few nights ago as he’d forced me through another repeat of
Star Wars
.

‘Did you know that Jedi is a proper religion?’ he’d said, ‘Thousands of people declared it on the population census a few years ago and since then it’s grown
worldwide.’

I’d shaken my head in disbelieving pity as he’d gone on to show a suspicious amount of knowledge about what sounded like the most crackpot belief system of the lot. But it was
exactly what I needed to get Sister Margaret off my case. I was willing to bet my GHDs she wouldn’t know where to begin with her questions. And it might just earn me a certain amount of
begrudging respect among the other kids. OK, it would mostly be with the geeks, but I had to start somewhere . . .

Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. ‘I’m a Jedi, Sister Margaret. We believe that the infinite Force of the universe lies within everyone.’

There were gasps around the room and barely muffled laughter broke out in the rows behind me. Sister Margaret’s jaw dropped as she stared at me, revealing ugly dark grey fillings on her
back teeth. It was a full ten seconds before she pulled herself together enough to close her mouth. ‘You dare to mock me?’

It was my turn to be stunned. ‘No. It’s a genuine religion.’

‘It ridicules everything true faith stands for,’ she snapped, her eyes narrowing in fury. ‘People have died for their beliefs and you sit there and tell me you are a member of
a church based on make-believe?’

I could have argued. What was the Bible but a collection of stories? But I knew it was pointless. Just like I knew exactly what was coming next.

‘Get to the head teacher’s office.’ Fixing me with a steel gaze, she pointed a dramatic finger at the door. ‘You clearly need to consider the state of your soul and you
can do it in —’

‘Detention, yes, I know,’ I cut in, getting to my feet dispiritedly. What was that old saying; it never rained but it poured? I’d never really understood it before, but at that
moment it felt like I had my own personal thunder cloud right above my head.

As I reached the door, the nun fired her parting shot. ‘I’ll pray for you, my child.’

I didn’t slam the door, even though a voice in my head was screaming to. With extreme care, I pulled it closed and squeezed my eyelids down in miserable rage. Celestine and Jeremy were
doing their best to help me settle in, but nothing was working out. I’d gone my whole school life without a detention and now I had two in the same day. My new teachers seemed to be
determined to make my life as awful as possible, and I’d become a bully-magnet. Oh yeah, and a sixteenth century witch was giving me fashion tips. If I didn’t know better I’d
suspect someone had stolen my actual life and replaced it with the crappiest one they could find. For the first time I wondered if I’d made a mistake letting my mum go to Australia. How was I
supposed to get through another three days of this, let alone the next two years?

As I trudged towards the head teacher’s office, I knew I was sinking into Self-Pity City but I couldn’t help myself. At least at my old school I’d had a few mates to knock
about with. At Heath Park, everyone had their friends already and no one except Megan had room for a slightly off-the-wall midget who wasn’t exactly cheerleader material. On paper I sounded
OK – blue eyes, wavy blond hair and a dusting of freckles on my upturned nose. But once you threw in a tendency to squint into the distance a lot (especially if I’d run out of contact
lenses) and a habit of talking to people no one else could see, maybe you’ll understand why I wasn’t winning any popularity contests.

Feeling totally sorry for myself, I rounded the corner and was halfway across the hallway that led to the closed door of the head teacher’s PA’s office when a shout rang out behind
me.

‘You, girl! Stop!’

The voice had the ominous ring of authority. My shoulders slumped. For crying out loud, how many more teachers were going to tell me off today?

I stopped and turned slowly. And relaxed. Unless Heath Park had a weird recruitment policy, the teacher I was looking at wasn’t a current member of staff. If the glowing blue outline
hadn’t given him away, the fact that he was hovering several centimetres off the ground would have done. On top of that, his grey suit looked like something my great-granddad would’ve
worn. In fact, with his waxed handlebar moustache and yellow-checked bow tie, he might have stepped straight from the pages of a World War II propaganda poster.

‘Are you talking to me?’ I asked uncertainly. It was entirely possible he’d been yelling at some ghostly student I hadn’t seen.

‘Of course I’m talking to you!’ he roared, his bushy eyebrows burrowing into one another ferociously. ‘Although I must say it’s a pleasant surprise to have one of
you little blighters actually listen for once.’

He must have been a past teacher at the school, I guessed, who’d somehow died on the job. From the way he was dressed it had been a long time ago. I felt a tiny stab of sympathy as I
imagined him being surrounded by kids who didn’t pay him the blindest bit of notice. Then again, wasn’t that kind of what teaching was like now?