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interspersed with guffaws from Duffy and Dylan who seemed to be getting on like a house on fire.
    Eoin gave Fiachra his tracksuit and asked him to leaveit in the dorm, before he and Alan set off at a jog for the playing fields. Once they got there Eoin sprinted the length of the field with Alan puffing along far behind. The friends lay on the ground till their breath returned to a steady pace.
    ‘So what’s all this mystery?’ Alan gasped.
    ‘Seriously, you have to promise not to tell
anyone
, or tell me I’m an idiot,’ Eoin pleaded. ‘But I can’t explain it, just that what I’m telling you is completely true.’
    ‘OK, I promise, go on,’ said Alan, now completely mystified.
    ‘Brian is a ghost––’ Eoin started.
    Alan laughed. ‘A ghost? Ah, come
on
, Eoin, you must think
I’m
an idiot.’
    ‘No, I’m deadly serious,’ he replied. ‘I met him in the Aviva last year, and we became friends. He gave me some really good tips about rugby, even during the final.
    ‘He was an old player who was killed playing rugby in the ground years ago, and came back to, sort of, haunt the place ever since. He’s gone now though, the last time I saw him was just after we won the final.’
    Alan just stared at his best friend. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to ask one of the many questions he wanted to ask. They all came at a rush.
    ‘Was he, like, white like a sheet, or all gory like a zombie?’
    ‘How was he killed?’
    ‘And how did you see him?’
    ‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Eoin. ‘He looked like any rugby player in his kit, but the jersey and boots looked very old-fashioned. He looked a bit pale, I suppose, but there was no blood. He was a prop and got injured when a scrum collapsed. I still don’t know why I was able to see and hear him – he told me that he’d been around for more than eighty years and I was the first person able to see him and that he was able to talk to.
    ‘He was a really nice lad, very friendly but a bit lonely I suppose. I sneaked in here a few times to talk to him. He was a great help. I hope I’ll be OK this year without his advice.’
    ‘Ah, don’t say that, Eoin,’ Alan chipped in. ‘You were epic last year, ghost advice or not.’
    Alan tapped his toe against the goalpost. ‘I’ll tell you Eoin, that story is a bit hard to take in to be honest … But I
do
believe you, even if no one else would. I’d love to see a ghost,’ he went on. ‘Is there any chance he might reappear if we went back to the Aviva?’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Eoin. ‘On the day of the final he said he was going to leave and there was no sign ofhim there today.’
    ‘It’s not fair,’ grumbled Alan, ‘Nothing interesting ever happens to me.’
    ‘I don’t know. One day you might beat me in the race back,’ laughed Eoin, as he took off in the direction of the school.

CHAPTER 12
    N ext day the first years had Mr Lawson for history. At the end of the class he told them that, at Mr Finn’s suggestion, they were going to enter the Young Historian of the Year competition for the first time. This was a very prestigious award scheme that included a generous prize for both the school and the winning pupil, including a trip for a class group to a historic site anywhere in Europe.
    ‘Mr Finn tells me you have some excellent young historians among you,’ said Mr Lawson, ‘but I want everyone to have a go at this. Have a think about what you’d like to write about and we’ll start tying ideas down at our next class.’
    ‘Yawn,’ said Alan as the boys wandered off to do their after-school work.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Eoin, ‘I like history. It could be a bit of crack. It’ll give us an excuse to get some extra time on the computer.’
    After they finished their homework they kicked a ball back and forth a few dozen times before Eoin called a halt to the game.
    ‘I’m going to go to the library. I want to check out if they have a book. Want to