It was a tradition, for any new football players at John Marshall High to sneak into the cemetery and steal something from a grave. Everyone did it, even the cheerleaders. When we took said item, we had to keep it, and if we became haunted, we had to put it back and drop the team. It was simple, and I wondered if anyone really took anything from the graves. I was a believer of the supernatural. I didn't want to steal from a grave, it was wrong. So before the team got here, I shoved a single rose into my coat pocket, careful not to damage the flower.
Beeping outside warned me they were here, telling my parents I was going bowling I skipped out the house joining the group outside.
I was nervous that my plan wouldn't work, but when we got there, they didn't bother searching me.
Get in, get out. I repeated like an annoying mantra. I stepped through the gates, confident they were going to believe me. I stepped farther in and once out of sight, I walked back, carrying the rose. They cheered and slapped me on the back and we headed home.
I sat on my bed, twiddling the delicate flower between my fingers. I placed it on my nightstand and fell asleep.
I woke up, my parents shaking me awake. I looked around to find two police officers in the room. They explained that my friends were dead in a car crash and I was the last to see them.
I told them what we did, getting disappointed looks from the adults.
I pulled the blanket away from me once the adults left, revealing my tattered and muddy clothes, that'll teach them to rob graves. I think to myself before shedding them off and throwing them away.
