“Why do we even have to do this fall concert?” I ask.

“Because,” my best friend Kyle Starr starts, “it allows us to demonstrate our numerous talents.”

“Yeah, right,” I joke. He knows that I’m a bad singer, and he’s a horrible bass recorder player. His parents think that learning an instrument is an “important life skill,” but Kyle disagrees.

While we are talking, I hear what is supposed to be “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star,” but sounds nothing like the original. Second grader, Genevieve Johnson, is screeching through her violin piece. Luckily, Genevieve is the last act, and we don’t have to listen to much more. She finally finishes and everyone claps. Kyle and I walk to our parents.

“Great job, Brooklyn,” my mom says.

“Thanks, Mom,” I reply.

“You need to work harder,” Kyle’s dad says sternly.

“Alright, Dad,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes at me.

“Oh, darn,” I exclaim, “I forgot my homework in the classroom. Kyle will you come with me to get it?”

“Sure. Be right back dad.”

“Alright son,” Mr. Starr replies.

Kyle and I run up the stairs to the classrooms.

“Okay, I’ll just run in, grab my math, and be out in two minutes.”

“Alright. I’ll wait here.”

I go into my classroom and turn on the lights. I locate my homework stuffed underneath my Social Studies book. When I turn to go meet Kyle, the door slams shut.

“Kyle?” I ask nervously. “Was that you? It’s not funny.” I get scared very easily and am pretty rattled right now. “Kyle?” The lights flicker off. “Kyle…,” I say a bit louder. I hear a scream coming from behind the closet doors. “KYLE?!!” I’m screaming now. “KYLE ALEXANDER STARR! Come out right now or I’ll… I’ll-”

“Send me to eternal detention?” Kyle slides out from behind the closet door.

“You!” I lunge toward him. “Why did you scare me like that?”

“Aw, come on Brooklyn. It was kind of funny. Plus, it wasn’t me,” he argues, pushing me away.

“It most certainly was you!” I hiss just as a stack of books fall over from across the room. I stare accusingly at my best friend.

“What?” he puts his hands above his head, as if to surrender. “I was standing right here this whole time!”

“Okay, if it wasn’t you, then who was it: a ghost?”

“Yes,” a hoarse voice whispers from nowhere.

I tense. The door starts to open and close by itself. I dig my hand into Kyle’s wrist and refuse to release my grasp .  The window shades close suddenly, and it is pitch black in the room. I start to freak out. I can’t think of anything except that I don’t want to be alone. I tighten my grip on Kyle’s wrist.

“Are you scared?” the voice asks. “Because you should be. You are going to have a very fun night.” The way the voice says fun is really creepy; it’s like our night will be full of misery.

The lights turn back on and the shades come up. As I look around, I notice the awkward position I got myself into. I’m hugging Kyle, arms thrown around him, because I’m scared out of my mind. I quickly let go before he has time to process this situation.

“We need to get out of here,” I say urgently.

“Yeah,” he replies quietly, which is really unlike him because he is usually very loud.

“You okay?” I ask him, concerned.

“Yeah. This is just so weird.”

“I know. Crazy ghost people are a little weird…” I trail off because Kyle isn’t even paying attention to me. “Kyle,” I ask, “what’s wrong?”

“I just have the strangest feeling that I know who that voice was. I’ve heard it before; I swear. Brooklyn, I know you’re really scared right now, but I don’t think this is a real ghost. I think it’s someone trying to mess with you.”

“But why me?” I stutter. “Why not you? You’re here too, and if it is someone, then who?”

“Everyone in school knows that you never watch horror movies, go in the haunted house at the Boo Bash, or do anything scary at all. You are the perfect target for a joke.”

“Oh… I didn’t realize everybody thought of me like that.” I didn’t know what else to say. There is a moment of silence and Kyle looks at me and I look at him back. “What do we do now?” I ask in a whisper, trying not to break the silence.

“We grab your homework, go back downstairs, and later, I’ll help you catch the culprit,” he promises.

***

A couple hours later, I am in my bedroom on the phone with Kyle. He is brainstorming ideas of who the possible offender could be.

“So, I’m thinking that maybe it could be Jonathan Bell. Ooh! Maybe it’s Maria Graham. We can’t forget about her. Or-”

I interrupt him. “I appreciate your help and all, but really I’m over it. It’s fine. Plus, it’s getting late, and I still have to finish my math homework.”

“But Brooklyn,” he whines, “we’re almost there. I can feel it!”

“I. Have. Homework,” I say firmly. When Kyle gets an idea, it’s really hard for him to stop.

Kyle starts, “Okay, fine. But tomorrow-”

“I know, I know. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “Goodnight. Goodbye.” I can hear him start to hang up the phone.

“Kyle!” I shout, maybe a little too loudly. “Wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. For everything,” I say in a quiet voice.

“You’re welcome, Brooklyn. Goodnight for real?”

I reply, “Goodnight for real.”

With that, I hang up the phone and start my homework, making sure to watch out for any more ‘ghosts’.