[Not Just Any Other] Ghost Story

Chapter 8

"So how was your day?" Jane asked, picking at the mashed potatoes on her plate.

Having just bitten into a piece of steamed broccoli, Sarah slowed chewing and thought. How was her day? Well, she could answer in at least two ways.

There was always the option of going into full detail about how she made an utter fool of herself in Physics class by bringing up ghosts. But then she'd need to not only reveal the strange things she'd experienced since arriving in New Bedford to justify her curiosity other than what Jane already knew about, but also admit that she skipped out on the rest of the day's classes due to embarrassment.

Or she could lie.

"It was fine," she said after swallowing. Quickly realizing that she'd still also need a plausible out for the next day, she added, "But I'm feeling kind of icky. Must be from those shots I got this morning. Mind if I stay home tomorrow?"

Jane dropped her fork with a clank before reaching over. "Oh, no. Poor dear," she said, leaning across the dinner table and placing her palm against Sarah's forehead. "You're not feverish, are you?"

Sarah shrugged and pushed her plate away. "Could be. I am feeling a little chilly. Not much of an appetite either. Can I be excused?" she asked, hoping the ruse would fly for a day. After all, tomorrow would be Friday. Hopefully something even worse than the new girl going all Paranormal Investigator would happen over the weekend to distract everyone by the time Monday came around.

"Sure, sure," Jane said, watching as she got up to go. Sarah hadn't left the room when she added, "Oh, I do hope you feel better by tomorrow night, though. It would be a shame for you to be stuck at home."

Sarah turned. "Why? What's tomorrow night?"

Her aunt smiled. "Friday night lights, of course. New Bedford is playing Milton Park. Every high schooler within twenty miles will be there," she said before digging back into her food.

* * *

The thought of seeing Caleb quarterbacking a game was too much for Sarah to resist, so swallowing her pride, she decided to make a miraculous recovery just in time to accept Jane's offer of a ride to the football stadium.

Wearing the most athletic outfit she could put together from her decidedly un-athletic wardrobe, she paired her favorite purple Doc Martens with black leggings and Caleb's sweatshirt. A knitted beanie--it was October in New England, after all--topped off the look.

Floodlights were on high blast and the cheers of the crowd could be heard as they pulled into the parking lot. Ditching her aunt, by the time Sarah entered the athletic field sandwiched between two sets of aluminum bleachers, she was sure her heartbeat had synched up with the drumming coming from the pep band.

Da-dum, da-dum, da-dum-dum.

Surrounded by strangers, she looked for a lone spot from which to quietly ogle the Pilgrims' star player. As she scanned the risers, a wave from one of the trumpet players caught her eye. Squinting, she recognized Bennett and returned the wave before heading in the opposite direction.

Finding a relatively empty row in the nosebleed section, she sat down just as the first quarter or whatever the parts of a football game were called came to an end. As the referee blew the whistle, the players ran off the field and the spectators cheered. Sarah clapped too, while trying to figure out which of the guys in matching skin-tight white pants and padded, red shirts was Caleb. They all had their last names written on the back right above giant numbers, but that didn't do her any good since she never bothered asking his.

He was tall and skinny, yet also fairly well built, but that pretty much described half of the thirty or so other guys standing at the sideline waiting for the next round to start. Luckily, that didn't take long.