School of the Dead by Avi Page B

the teasing of new students with haunted stories, I said, “Yeah, right.” Same time I wondered why only these kids were teasing me.
    â€œNo,” said Barney. “It’s true.”
    â€œThat’s why they don’t let anyone inside them,” said Mac.
    â€œThey
say
it’s for safety reasons,” added Barney.
    â€œActually,” said Mac, “she doesn’t want us to see what’s up there.”
    â€œWho’s
she
?” I asked.
    Jessica said, “Ms. Foxton.”
    â€œShe’s afraid of what we’ll find,” Mac said.
    â€œThe ghost,” I said.
    Jessica said, “Yeah, the ghost.”
    I couldn’t hold back. “What if I told you that the first time I was here, I saw a kid at one of the tower windows?”
    The boys’ mouths dropped open. Jessica sat up straight, eyes right on me. “Who’d you see?” she demanded. “We need to know.”
    Glad to get some reaction, I said, “When my parents and I first visited the school—Sunday—at the highest tower’s window—I saw a boy looking out.”
    Jessica said, “That true?”
    â€œI think so.”
    The boys looked at Jessica as if she should reply. After studying me for a bit, she said, “Then you saw the ghost.”
    â€œWhat . . . ghost?”
    She said, “The Penda Boy.”
    â€œThe kid whose picture is in the school office?” I asked.
    â€œYeah,” said Mac.
    I waited a second before saying, “Has anyone else seen him?”
    No one spoke until Jessica said, “You were close to someone who died, right? Bet you anything the Penda Boy thinks—because of your smell—that you’re dead enough to be his friend. But I hate to tell you, he’s not your friend—he’s an enemy.”
    â€œYou serious?” I cried as the bell went off for the end of recess.
    â€œHey,” said Jessica, standing up. “You’re the one who told us you saw him. No one else is seeing the ghost. Want to know how to handle him? Join our club.”
    Defensively, I said, “Please don’t write any more comments under my picture.”
    â€œWasn’t me,” she said, and the three went off.
    Shaken, I sat there thinking:
It can’t be a ghost.
I don’t want anything to do with ghosts.
I shut my eyes. When I opened them, Uncle Charlie was sitting opposite me.
    Frustrated, I said to him, as firmly as I could, “Okay. From here on, I am
not
going to remember you. Get it? I’m on my own.”
    He went.
    I headed for class, not sure what I felt more: angry, annoyed, or just creeped out.
    Right before lunch, Batalie called me up to his desk. “Ms. Foxton asked that you stop in her office during fifth period. You can be late for science.” He handed me a late slip.
    My mind still churning over what Jessica had said, I felt lousy and had no desire to see Ms. Foxton. Not having a choice, I went.
    Mrs. Z greeted me. “Ms. Foxton will be with you in a minute.”
    I sat down on the office couch and stared at the painting of the Penda Boy. Absolutely, he was the kid I kept seeing. My big question kept coming back: If he was a ghost—as Jessica said—how come I was the only one seeing him?
    â€œMs. Foxton is free now,” said Mrs. Z.
    As I entered her office, Ms. Foxton stood up behind her desk. “Tony,” she said, “so glad to see you again. Please, have a seat.”
    She sat, clasped her small, well-manicured hands, and smiled. “How are things going?” she asked.
    Preoccupied by thoughts of the Penda Boy, I just sat there.
    â€œGetting on with Mr. Batalie?” she prompted. “The other teachers?”
    â€œI think so.”
    She waited a moment, then said, “Have any impressions to share?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œAny problems?”
    â€œNope,” I said. For a second I thought of telling her about the Penda Boy. Not