Boy Meets Ghoul Read online

  ‘And you know who’s captaining the pros?’ Jez said, showing every single tooth in his mouth as his lips dragged up into a vicious smile. ‘Me. So which of you thinks you can take me?’

  Nobody replied.

  Up in the stands, Lacey Laine turned the pages of XOW and smiled, calling down, ‘You tell ’em, babe. Jez Dutton – ten times tougher than a teenager, wooo!’

  Jez smirked, and Lacey’s smile vanished just a second before her head dipped behind the pages again.

  ‘All right – tomorrow, we start looking at set pieces and choosing positions,’ Jez announced, as we gathered to sign out. ‘Which means today was your last chance to screw up. Tomorrow, we get serious. I mentioned there’d be scouts at this match, didn’t I?’

  A whisper went round the team. Chidi had been right. This was probably the last chance most of us would get to be spotted for the youth squad of a professional team. We were already nearly too old.

  And I wasn’t going to tell Dad anything about it. It wasn’t that I didn’t think being given the chance to try out for a professional football team would be amazing, I just didn’t think it was likely to happen. And I was fine with that, but Dad would have got his hopes sky high. Somehow, it’s always so much worse disappointing other people than being disappointed yourself.

  Anyway, it was all anyone was talking about as we shuffled through to the changing room. Freddie clapped me on the shoulder as he passed and called out, ‘Great going!’ loud enough that a couple of other boys turned round to look, adding comments like, ‘Yeah, you’re an assassin!’ And, ‘Well, we know who’s playing up front.’

  Laurie Deering scowled and said nothing.

  It felt good to be noticed that way, and as I smiled at Freddie and just about managed to scratch out a, ‘You too!’ from the hollow of my throat, I found I had that weird guilty feeling in my stomach again.

  Which was so stupid. I didn’t have anything to feel guilty about. Maybe Freddie liked me a bit, but it wasn’t as if he liked me.

  Grabbing my kitbag from the peg next to Leroy’s. I stripped off my shirt, and that’s when I heard it.

  ‘Pssssst.’

  A soft hiss that somehow cut through the general chat. I looked around. There are two types of boys you’ll meet in communal changing room. There are the ones like Freddie and Chidi who think it’s totally fine and normal to have a casual chat while shirtless (or worse), and then there are the normal people who just want to keep as many clothes on as possible and won’t make eye contact until there’s no chance of someone judging their six pack (or lack of one).

  I’m one of the normal ones, by the way. If I could change inside a tent, I totally would.

  ‘Pssssssssst,’ it came again – a little louder this time. But there was definitely no one on the opposite side of the bench trying to attract my attention.

  I glanced behind me.

  A football was floating in mid-air between where I was changing and the storeroom door.

  As I watched, it lifted a few feet further into the air and jiggled frantically from side to side.

  Was the training ground haunted by the ghost of a vengeful ex-pro, forever stuck doing keepy-uppies in the afterlife?

  Probably not.

  Squinting a bit more, I noticed a white painted stick poking out of one side of the ball, leading through to where the storeroom door was open just a crack.

  Checking no one was watching me, I followed it to its source.

  And found Kayla crouching behind a stack of training cones.

  ‘What are you doing in the boys changing room?’ I whispered frantically. Any moment, she’d be caught, and everyone would think I’d snuck a friend in to leer at them.

  ‘I didn’t mean to—’ Kayla started.

  ‘While they’re changing!’ I exclaimed, almost forgetting to keep my voice low. ‘I haven’t even got a shirt on!’

  I crossed my arms over my chest.

  ‘Dylan, when we were twelve, you spent a whole year making me tell you if I thought your muscles had grown at least once a week. I think we’re past the coy about your boy-boobs stage.’ Kayla folded her own arms, probably for a different reason.

  ‘They are not boy-boobs,’ I huffed. ‘What are you doing here, then?’

  ‘I needed supplies for my next challenge. I have to make a video of a haunting – so I thought, why not film it here? I just need to borrow a few of these cones and balls and alter them first.’

  ‘Alter them?’

  She nodded. ‘You know, make a few holes, add a few extras so they’ll move on their own. I was thinking of adding wheels to some of the cones.’

  I shook my head. ‘If you start putting balls on sticks and making holes in things, it’s not like you can give them back. That doesn’t sound much like borrowing to me.’

  ‘No – it sounds like stealing,’ a voice said from the back of the storeroom. Rising from under a vaulting horse like an avenging angel, his yellow ringlets still dripping shower water on to his shoulders, emerged Leroy. ‘And not only is that against the law; it could get you kicked off the course.’

  SIXTEEN

  ‘I’m not on any course,’ Kayla was arguing, forgetting to keep her voice to an appropriate hiding-in-a-cupboard level no matter how much I shhh-ed her.

  ‘Then what are you doing here?’ Leroy demanded, trying not to drop the towel that he’d draped around himself like a fluffy Roman toga. ‘I think you’ll find trespassing is also generally frowned upon by the relevant authorities.’

  ‘Well, aren’t you clever. So far, you’ve let me know both burglary and trespassing are illegal. How incredible – I never knew.’ I could tell Kayla was getting really snippy now. She only used this trick of repeating things back at people when she was about to demonstrate how stupid they were. ‘Fortunately, now I’ll be able to call you as witness if I plead ignorance in a court of law.’

  ‘Will you both please stop?’ I stepped in between them, trying not to cut myself on the daggers they were staring at each other. ‘Leroy, Kayla is booked on to a course. She’s just not . . . actually doing it.’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Ethical reasons,’ said Kayla, adopting a haughty air. ‘I object to cheerleaders being considered anything other than elite athletes deserving of their own events, not just being a sideshow to yours.’

  ‘I thought you objected to cheerleaders?’ I asked, feeling like I must have missed something somewhere.

  ‘Well, I did,’ Kayla admitted. ‘But I watched some of their sessions today and changed my mind. They’re actually really incredible, and cheerleading’s so much more interesting than football. It also has a much better soundtrack. Anyway, the point is I have a legal premise for being in the building.’

  ‘Sounds more like a case of fraud and deception to me,’ Leroy retorted.

  I put my head in my hands. ‘You’re not actually helping things here.’

  Leroy did a great job of looking mortally wounded. Seriously, if the sports didn’t work out, he could go into theatre instead. He looked a bit like those portraits of miserable children you had to look at when you studied Shakespeare and the Tudors.

  ‘I’m not planning to help this – this – friend of yours abscond with team equipment. For one thing, I don’t know what sort of video you think you’re going to make, but I accidentally got locked in here for three hours after practice yesterday, and I’m almost completely certain it’s not haunted.’

  Taking a shaky breath, Leroy turned to throw a nervous glance into the dimly lit cupboard behind him, suggesting the almost was more important than the certain. I was about to ask how he’d got locked in, and why he’d decided to come back in here again after the clearly traumatic experience, when he went on – glaring at me.

  ‘And for another, I might expect this of someone so . . . alternative-looking.’ As Kayla squeaked indignantly at this description, Leroy held up a hand and whispered loudly to me from behind it, ‘Sorry – it’s the h
air.’ Then he continued, ‘But, Dylan, I wouldn’t have expected it from you. After our talk yesterday, I thought we trusted each other.’

  Now Kayla was looking confused, probably wondering why I’d neglected to share whatever soul-baring experience Leroy and I had here yesterday. She hadn’t really met him properly at Starcross Sands. He’d been the quietest one in the gang he hung out with, and even I’d only really spoken to him when we’d played football.

  I could see her squinting at him now, though. ‘Do I know you from somewhere?’

  Leroy attempted to look mysterious. ‘We do have a history. I know your past. I know what you did last summer.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ I sighed. ‘Kayla, he was at Starcross Sands with us. The only history he knows is that your hair used to be pink.’

  ‘Very alternative,’ Leroy muttered.

  ‘Leroy, nobody’s stealing any balls,’ I said, firmly. Then I added, firmer still, ‘Kayla, nobody’s stealing any balls. We’ll just have to figure out another way to get some props for your video.’

  ‘Maybe I can help?’

  Freddie Alton’s voice came from a couple of inches behind my left ear, so soft and so warm and so unexpected that I almost did a somersault over the vaulting horse in surprise.

  Somehow managing to keep on my feet, I tripped over my words instead, turning towards him to coolly reply, ‘I . . . Uh. I – I? Um.’

  Really, I didn’t know how I hadn’t already been scouted as a live-TV presenter or hot upcoming DJ, given my flawless ability to stay smooth and keep talking under pressure.

  Kayla was already beaming and holding out a hand in Freddie’s direction. He blinked at it a couple of times before realizing she wanted to shake.

  ‘Freddie!’ She greeted him like they were best friends. She didn’t even put that much warmth in her voice when she said my name, and we’d been inseparable for years. ‘Kayla Flores – you might know me as captain of the school’s cheer squad. I’m here with Dylan – sorry, I didn’t have a chance to say hello to you at the hotel.’

  Freddie’s eyebrows lifted, and I could see him trying to place something. Most people at school knew Kayla by sight at least, because being eye-catching was number seven on her list of daily goals – it must have been something else he couldn’t figure out.

  ‘Does the school have a cheer squad?’ he asked, finally. He looked a little guilty, since being sports captain and not knowing that would have been a bit of an oversight.

  If anything, Kayla’s flashbulb beam of a smile grew wider. ‘It does next term. As well as being captain, I should have mentioned I’m also the founder member.’

  Freddie’s expression cracked into a smile. ‘Ah, I see. And you know the sports captain has to sign off on any new teams?’

  ‘I do,’ Kayla said conspiratorially. ‘But we’ll talk about that later. You said you could help me with my video?’

  She looked around the storage cupboard. ‘I’m not sure how. My idea was to make it look as though these were being kicked around the hallway by invisible players, but somebody won’t let me borrow them, and no one’s going to have five or six spare footballs just sitting around at home.’

  ‘Actually . . .’ Freddie started.

  ‘Jez might,’ Leroy put in helpfully. ‘Of course, he hates Dylan and would probably hate anyone associated with Dylan. But we could always get someone he doesn’t openly despise to ask him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, not looking at Freddie. It was obvious Jez wasn’t my biggest fan, but I didn’t exactly want to be known as the rubbish one who spent every day doing enforced laps forever.

  ‘Well, that’s an option,’ Freddie said awkwardly. ‘But I was going to say, actually my mum has. Not at home, though – in our hotel room.’

  That was so weird, it actually startled me into speaking to him, even if it was just to repeat what he’d said like a startled parrot. ‘Your mum has footballs in your hotel room?’

  Freddie nodded. ‘But not five or six.’

  Kayla, who’d started to look hopeful, let out a sigh.

  ‘More like fifty or sixty.’

  We all turned into startled parrots, then.

  ‘Your mum—’ Leroy started.

  ‘Has sixty footballs,’ Kayla cut in.

  ‘In your hotel room?’ I finished. ‘Why?’

  Freddie shuffled his feet, looking as embarrassed as he had back in the hotel lobby when we first arrived. It was weird to see the way he started to fold in on himself, as though being smaller made a person less noticeable. Kayla was four foot ten and should have been obvious evidence that wasn’t the case.

  ‘You know there’s a celebration dinner and trophy presentation back at the hotel after the students versus pros match on Friday?’ We all nodded. Freddie shrugged. ‘Well, Mum offered to decorate. There’s going to be a bit of a theme.’

  Kayla and Leroy were still looking dumbstruck, but before I even realized it, I was nodding sympathetically.

  ‘Dad heard about that. He’s still upset they didn’t want to let him DJ for it – he was going to do his special singalong set of World Cup team anthems, all night long.’

  Freddie shot me a quick smile, almost as if he was grateful for me sharing one of my weird dad stories to counter his weird mum. It made me feel so warm and squishy inside, I started to worry my internal organs were liquefying.

  ‘And your mum wouldn’t miss a few?’ Kayla guessed.

  Freddie nodded.

  ‘Oh, you’re a lifesaver. That’s brilliant.’

  She pulled out a notebook from her skirt pocket. ‘Right, well, if you’d all like to put some clothes on, I’m going to head down the hall and plan my shoot.’

  She turned to edge past Freddie through the storeroom door as a pale, slightly damp hand clamped over her shoulder.

  ‘No you don’t. There’s no way I’m leaving you alone now we know your previous criminal intentions. We might get out and find the whole hall gone.’

  Kayla shot Leroy a withering look. ‘Unless I’ve got a bulldozer in my pocket, it seems unlikely.’

  ‘Well, who knows . . .’ Leroy exclaimed, frogmarching Kayla towards the door.

  Leaving me and Freddie in the changing room. Alone.

  Just as my phone started to ring.

  Leo.

  SEVENTEEN

  The thing about phones is they’re supposed to be private. They’re personal, portable, pocket-sized prisons for all the little secrets you really don’t want anyone else to know.

  For example, if you google Tom Holland Spider-Man arms, your mum might sit down at the family computer one evening, decide to look up tomahawk to help with a crossword clue, and accidentally find it. And then, if she happens to be really, really immature about it, she might start using the Spider-Man theme tune as the soundtrack to her morning exercise routine, shooting you knowing looks while doing bicep curls holding tins of store-brand beans.

  Google Tom Holland Spider-Man arms on your phone, and no one will ever know. They won’t even know if you’ve googled How to get Tom Holland Spider-Man arms if I’m too lazy to work out or How can someone look so gorgeous squatting in a primary-coloured onesie please advise or I even fancy him with the mask on, do I need professional help?

  Even if you’ve got your own laptop, there’s no guarantee of privacy. Someone might ask to borrow it, and if you say yes, they might stumble into that one folder where you saved an epic multi-part fan fiction about a dead Harry Potter character. And if you say no, they might start to suspect you have weird secret folders anyway. Maybe even weird secret folders about dead Harry Potter characters where they get to stay alive and fall in love with other Harry Potter characters, while working part time in a coffee shop, and owning a cat called Frisky.

  There’s just no way to win.

  It’s also true that someone might ask to borrow your phone. But there’s an unspoken rule, which dictates that phones can only be borrowed to make calls with, because everyone knows all the other bits
are full of secrets. So then if you spot them looking something up online, or trying to scroll through the last two hundred selfies you took (where you’d been trying to get just one where the light falling across your face made you look tanned and mature and even a little bit like you might finally be growing stubble, rather than just lurking ominously in someone’s bathroom in the dark like a baby-faced serial killer), then you’d have every right to cut them out of your life forever. No one would think that wasn’t reasonable behaviour.

  But the problem with how safe phones seem is that you start to get lulled into a false sense of security.

  It’s way too easy to forget that the photo that flashes up every time your boyfriend calls happens to be covered in little animated hearts, and that you’d let your best friend add a dashing floral crown to the top of his head for ‘effect’.

  Or that the ringtone you’d set for him was ‘Crazy in Love’.

  I’d never hung up on Leo before, but as Freddie Alton looked between me and my phone with a curious expression, I did it without even hesitating.

  And that didn’t help anything at all.

  Because the next thing Freddie asked was obvious. Inevitable, even.

  ‘Who was that?’

  And even though I was waiting for it, I had no idea what to say.

  It wasn’t down to the usual tongue-tied feeling I got around Freddie. It wasn’t that I was going to trip over the words if I said them. It’s that words weren’t even going to get a chance to make it out through the desert dryness of my mouth. My throat suddenly felt like someone had filled it with sandpaper.

  The worst part was, I knew why I felt like that, and I’d thought I was over it. It was fear. The really specific fear that comes from knowing that, any minute, someone’s going to find out something new about you, and it might just change the way they look at you forever.

  That’s what happens when you tell people you’re gay. Most people are fine with it, if you’re lucky – it never changed anything with Kayla, or with Mum and Dad, even if it took me ages to get up the courage to say anything to them. And with a few people at school starting to find out now, I hadn’t really noticed any of them treating me differently. There might have been a couple of things said behind my back, but that was true for basically everyone. Maybe that just made me normal.