Lost at the Start

15.

I knew better than to try for the gym itself, because of all places I definitely had not wanted to be when I was alive, that was pretty high up on the list.

However, I hadn't exactly been expecting to blink myself into a room lit only by the dim light coming from the hall though the little window on the door, which was barely enough to orient myself in the room, let alone actually see anything.

I blinked a few times, trying to shake off my surprise.

Thinking about it, it did kind of make sense. Mr. Monty probably hadn't even been in his room yet, because he was in the teacher's meeting.

Please learn to think this crap through. I chastised myself.

Once my eyes had adjusted the darkness enough I felt confident in my ability to make it to the door without walking through something that would've injured my solid form by bumping into it, I headed that way and passed through effortlessly into the main hall.

Lucky for me, all the louder non-core classes were in the same building as the gym, so I didn't have far to walk to get where I wanted to go.

Just like I thought, the gym lights were already perilously on, glaring down at the newly-shined for Basketball Season floor beneath them, and diffusing any hope of not looking washed-out, color-wise.

And I was alone. Thank Goodness.

If the idiots—I mean, people—that usually frequented the gym had been there, or even just some kids that got lost or decided to take a little personal field trip, I probably wouldn't been able to handle it.

For God's sake, I'd put up with enough of avoiding people and waiting for other people I didn't know to leave or otherwise get out of my way when I was alive. If I had to do that in death too, may lightning strike me down where I stood and fry me like a fork in a wall socket, putting an end to even my life as a ghost, for as long as time infinite.

At this point, I wasn't even concerned about the hall cameras having just witnessed a gym door magically swing open by itself. And, let me tell you, those doors are heavy, pull-opens, and are definitely not going to do that without some serious effort behind them. If anyone noticed up wherever the footage was monitored, they probably got either a good scare or a reason to lay off whatever questionable food or drink they were consuming.

I decided to start with appearing as solidly as I could—presumably becoming fully corporeal. Or at least as best I could manage.

I pushed my hair back from my face and walked nervously to the open space of the court floor. For the first time since I'd been introduced to the torture-chamber of a room, I looked around like I'd never seen it before.

As I walked, I tried putting my energy into appearing bit by bit, hoping maybe my footsteps would tell me how or even if that kind of process worked.

The best confirmation I got was when I was about halfway back to where I'd started, I started hearing the tell-tale squeaks on the shiny floorboards that I was, at least partially, back on the physical plane.

Since I wasn't trying to talk to anyone and was more or less left to my own thoughts, this time I could feel the strain being anything more than not-there really put on me.

Sure, after that first time with Jackson, I'd immediately felt the effects, but I was starting to think my lack of control and how that whole debacle had been was mostly due to inexperience, rather than just the Physics of Being Dead. Especially after how smoothly all my trials with him thereafter had gone.

That meant there was a good chance that my skill level would grow with either practice or the amount of time I'd been dead. (Or both.)

However, I had a feeling that there would still be some degree of limitation, based on how long and how often I pulled my little magic act out, no matter how good I got at it.