Author's Note: My first story of anything to do with ghosts, and I think
it turned out rather well. Don't ask me where I was inspired, I have no
idea--but I think I like it. Now I need to know what you guys think! ^.^
Please R&R and if you guys seem to like it, I'll keep writing! ^.^
*******
Paige tried not to groan as her reed slipped from her hand and fell to the floor just before band class started. "Just my freaking luck," she muttered, raising her hand. "Mrs. Hawfield, I need a new reed!" she called.
The band teacher rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. "For goodness' sake, Paige! Can't you at least hold a reed long enough to put it on your instrument?"
"Of course not," someone murmured from the brass section. "She's the *oboe* player." The band snickered collectively.
"Go get your reed, Paige, don't just stand there," Mrs. Hawfield said, waving her hand at Paige. "We *do* need to get started." As Paige, her cheeks red, hurried across the room, she could hear the band beginning to warm up--and continuing to make snide remarks about oboe players in general and Paige in particular.
She shut the door to the supply closet behind her to muffle the comments and groped around for the lightswitch. Before she found it, however, the lights came on of their own accord. "There you go," someone said, sounding as if they were to her right. Paige turned to give thanks to the person-- and nearly fainted.
There was nothing remarkable about him at first glance--short, brown, uneven hair, medium height, wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, eyes an uncertain shade between brown and grey and a liberal splattering of freckles across his pale complexion. What alarmed Paige much more was the fact that he was slightly translucent and hovering about two inches from the floor.
"Oh no, don't scream," he moaned, darting foward and placing one cool hand over her mouth. Paige froze in horror. "Look, I'm here to help you," he told her. "I'm George. I used to play oboe here before I died in a car accident. And I see how they harrass you. No one appreciates oboes, do they? What would the school fight song be without us?" he asked her.
Paige tried to open her mouth to answer to him, but he pressed his hand tighter over her face. "It was a rhetorical question. Anyway, I'm going to help you teach that band a lesson in oboe appreciation! If I let go, will you promise not to scream?" he added, looking justifably wary. Paige nodded. Gently he pulled back his spectral hand and turned to a shelf, rummaging around for something while Paige tried to think of what she could possibly say. "Here's a box of reeds," George said before Paige could gather her thoughts. "I'll carry it for you." Paige shrugged and walked out, George floating after her with her reeds.
"Hey, Paige!" one percussionist called, a snide snare drummer whose birth name was Marie but insisted on other people calling her Barbara. (No one was really sure why...) "You took an awful long time in that closet--what were you *doing*, I wonder?" she added with a smirk. The other percussionists snickered. "Wait..." Marie/Barbara said suddenly, her expression going somber. "Is that box of reeds--levitating?!"
Everyone in band turned and stared at the seemingly-flying box of oboe reeds. "Jesus Christ," Danisha, one flute player, breathed. "She's a wiccan or something!"
"What's wrong with wiccans?" Brianna demanded. "I'm one, you know."
"Nothing," Danisha replied, "but you've never made a box of reeds fly around, either."
"I am not a wiccan!" a voice that sounded eerily similar to Paige's said. Paige glanced over and saw that George was speaking for her. "Play along," he whispered. "Just look angry and wave your hands around some."
Paige, feeling like an idiot, managed a scowl and waved her arms around. George darted foward and picked up various instrument cases, making them fly in crazy patterns around Paige. "I am the all-powerful oboe player, and tired of your snide remarks! You will repsect me or you will suffer!" he intoned dramatically.
Judging by the stunned look on the band member's faces, George decided he was through with his show and placed the instrument cases on the floor, then pressed the reed box into Paige's hand. Paige tried not to smile as she sat back in her seat and began fitting a new reed onto her oboe. "Wow, I'm sorry," a clarinet player next to her breathed. "If I'd known you could do all that stuff, I wouldn't have been so mean before. Why didn't anyone ever tell us oboe players were all powerful?"
Paige shared a smirk with the ghostly form beside her. Maybe this could be a good thing, after all.
*******
Paige tried not to groan as her reed slipped from her hand and fell to the floor just before band class started. "Just my freaking luck," she muttered, raising her hand. "Mrs. Hawfield, I need a new reed!" she called.
The band teacher rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. "For goodness' sake, Paige! Can't you at least hold a reed long enough to put it on your instrument?"
"Of course not," someone murmured from the brass section. "She's the *oboe* player." The band snickered collectively.
"Go get your reed, Paige, don't just stand there," Mrs. Hawfield said, waving her hand at Paige. "We *do* need to get started." As Paige, her cheeks red, hurried across the room, she could hear the band beginning to warm up--and continuing to make snide remarks about oboe players in general and Paige in particular.
She shut the door to the supply closet behind her to muffle the comments and groped around for the lightswitch. Before she found it, however, the lights came on of their own accord. "There you go," someone said, sounding as if they were to her right. Paige turned to give thanks to the person-- and nearly fainted.
There was nothing remarkable about him at first glance--short, brown, uneven hair, medium height, wearing a simple white t-shirt and jeans, eyes an uncertain shade between brown and grey and a liberal splattering of freckles across his pale complexion. What alarmed Paige much more was the fact that he was slightly translucent and hovering about two inches from the floor.
"Oh no, don't scream," he moaned, darting foward and placing one cool hand over her mouth. Paige froze in horror. "Look, I'm here to help you," he told her. "I'm George. I used to play oboe here before I died in a car accident. And I see how they harrass you. No one appreciates oboes, do they? What would the school fight song be without us?" he asked her.
Paige tried to open her mouth to answer to him, but he pressed his hand tighter over her face. "It was a rhetorical question. Anyway, I'm going to help you teach that band a lesson in oboe appreciation! If I let go, will you promise not to scream?" he added, looking justifably wary. Paige nodded. Gently he pulled back his spectral hand and turned to a shelf, rummaging around for something while Paige tried to think of what she could possibly say. "Here's a box of reeds," George said before Paige could gather her thoughts. "I'll carry it for you." Paige shrugged and walked out, George floating after her with her reeds.
"Hey, Paige!" one percussionist called, a snide snare drummer whose birth name was Marie but insisted on other people calling her Barbara. (No one was really sure why...) "You took an awful long time in that closet--what were you *doing*, I wonder?" she added with a smirk. The other percussionists snickered. "Wait..." Marie/Barbara said suddenly, her expression going somber. "Is that box of reeds--levitating?!"
Everyone in band turned and stared at the seemingly-flying box of oboe reeds. "Jesus Christ," Danisha, one flute player, breathed. "She's a wiccan or something!"
"What's wrong with wiccans?" Brianna demanded. "I'm one, you know."
"Nothing," Danisha replied, "but you've never made a box of reeds fly around, either."
"I am not a wiccan!" a voice that sounded eerily similar to Paige's said. Paige glanced over and saw that George was speaking for her. "Play along," he whispered. "Just look angry and wave your hands around some."
Paige, feeling like an idiot, managed a scowl and waved her arms around. George darted foward and picked up various instrument cases, making them fly in crazy patterns around Paige. "I am the all-powerful oboe player, and tired of your snide remarks! You will repsect me or you will suffer!" he intoned dramatically.
Judging by the stunned look on the band member's faces, George decided he was through with his show and placed the instrument cases on the floor, then pressed the reed box into Paige's hand. Paige tried not to smile as she sat back in her seat and began fitting a new reed onto her oboe. "Wow, I'm sorry," a clarinet player next to her breathed. "If I'd known you could do all that stuff, I wouldn't have been so mean before. Why didn't anyone ever tell us oboe players were all powerful?"
Paige shared a smirk with the ghostly form beside her. Maybe this could be a good thing, after all.
