A Tale of Two Proms (Bard Academy) Read Online Free PDF Page A

biotches!”  
      “You really think prom could be trouble?” Blade asked me, her dark-ringed, heavily make-upped eyes looking hopeful. Blade was the only one of us who really liked it when crazy stuff happened. She loved near-death experiences, ghosts, and any fictional character bent on destruction. She’s the only one who thought it was cool sophomore year when pyromaniac Mrs. Rochester was let loose on campus. “Maybe the LITs could get back together!”
    The LITs—Literary Investigative Team—was Blade’s brainchild. She gave our group of friends the name after we saved Bard and the world three times (but who’s counting?). 
    “Great, let me just fire up the Mystery Machine and grab Scooby Doo,” Hana said, rolling her eyes. Hana was the one who least liked the name (and the T-shirts). She also had gotten pretty tired of fighting ghosts and fictional characters. I knew how she felt. It’s not like we got any credit for it. None of us were on Time’s list of the 100 Most Intriguing Butt-Kicking-Crazy –Fictional-Characters-While-Quipping People.
    “There’s no need to investigate anything,” Samir said, his tone a tad nervous. Samir never met a ghost he wouldn’t happily hide from. If he and Shaggy ever had a coward-off, Samir would win, hands down. “Nothing has happened.”
    “Yet,” Blade said.
    “Stop that! Do you want to see more ghosts around here?” Samir was losing his veneer of calm rapidly. All you had to do was pull out the Oujii board and he’d go white like a sheet and faint.
    “Everything okay here?” asked Coach H. He snuck up on our table with the stealthy moves of the ghost he was. He looked surprisingly solid, even though ghosts had to concentrate to make themselves appear like real people. It was all an illusion, though. He wasn’t really in that body. It was just a projection.
    Still, his white and gray beard was just the same as I remembered from English class the day before. He had a stocky build, and the gruff, no-nonsense approach you’d expect of Bard’s head coach. Coach H never minced words, and he didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about tact, either. But what else would you expect from the ghost of Ernest Hemingway?
    Heathcliff stiffened a little beside me, straightening up his shoulders, ready to defend me. Not that I had anything to fear from Coach H, but Heathcliff had a healthy skepticism of the motivations of the faculty. Coach H was a good ghost, as far as I knew. He’d saved us several times. He’d not tried to feed us to any vampires, either. I think that proved that he liked us.
    “Coach, geez, you scared me,” Samir said, flattening one hand against his chest and breathing hard.
    “Just wanted to make sure you guys are all up on your reading.” Coach H flashed us a grin. Part of his purgatory punishment included teaching remedial English to a bunch of juvenile delinquents. Coach H had been here for more than fifty years. 
    “Eavesdropping again,” Samir said.
    “Can’t help it.” Coach H shrugged.
    “Well, maybe you can settle this argument for us,” Hana said, turning to him. “Prom? Good or bad?”
    “Why?”
    “We’re curious about your opinion. Since this is the first time Bard has had the big dance.”
    “Hmmmm.” Coach H seemed to weigh this a moment. “I don’t see the harm in it.”
    “You don’t think a big celebration is a bad idea?” I asked.
    Coach H quirked an eyebrow. “Why not? You will be graduating in a couple of months. Then, you’ll be off this island and free to live your own lives. Isn’t that worth celebrating?” He sounded wistful, and not a little bit jealous. I was sure graduation was difficult for many of the teachers. While we moved on to the next stage of our lives, they had to remain here. Forever.
    “Yes,” Hana, Samir and Blade said together.
     I was the only one who didn’t agree. I looked at Heathcliff, but his face gave away nothing.
    “You’re not looking forward to leaving?”