If you looked in the dictionary under the term "haunted house" you would find a picture of the old Harriman place. The decrepit one hundred year old Victorian style home loomed eerily above 30th Avenue, harboring fifteen or sixteen ghosts, all of them long-deceased members of the Percival Harriman family, according to Apple Valley legend.

Carlos approached the home warily. He was a firm believer in ghosts, even though he had never seen one. He did not care to run into any dead Harrimans today – or ever. He made sure he was never near the Harriman home after dark because, as legend had it, the ghosts grinned back at you if you peered into the downstairs windows of the home. Carlos had never counted the downstairs windows in the house, but he figured there was one for every dead Harriman.

Carlos' interest in the home was purely for skateboarding purposes. During the winter, the home was a popular place for sled riding. Carlos loved to sled down the steep driveway (which resembled a mountain) leading to the entrance of the Harriman home. He was always careful not slide headlong into traffic on 30th Avenue. He may be crazy (his three friends and every girl in Apple Valley seemed to think so), but he wasn't stupid.

Carlos strapped his hockey helmet under his chin and tapped the top of it twice for good look. He would need it. He started down the driveway slowly, picking up speed as the wheels of his skateboard bumped over the gravel. He hit a ridge half way down the driveway which gave him enough air to practice ollies and maybe even a 180 degree twist. He crashed every time he tried the tricks, and this time was no different. He lay face up on the grass next to driveway.

The bright sunlight (or an angel's halo, lest he be dead) blinded Carlos as he felt around for his skateboard. A shadow appeared over him in the form of a skateboarder.

"Carlos Garcia, that's not a half-bad ollie. But if you want to see how it's really done, watch me!"

Oh, great! He was surely dead and his first taste of heaven was an angel with an attitude. She – the voice was female - not only knew his name but was not very complimentary about his skateboarding skills.

"Is this heaven?" Carlos asked. "Or are you from the other place?"

"Neither. I'm Suzie Harriman. You know, from your history class."

She dashed away and Carlos groaned. Suzie! She sat directly behind him in his history class, and bore a hole in his back with her constant staring. What did she find so fascinating anyway? One time Carlos had turned in his seat to pass Suzie a copy of a test on the American Revolution, and her face turned bright read. He had caught her staring at him again.

Suzie was okay in the looks department – long blonde hair which she wore in braids and a face full of freckles – but nothing to write home about. Her family lived in a Colonial style home in a cul de sac of a new housing development, but Carlos never made any special attempt to go by her home except on the school bus. He didn't have any choice: the bus made a stop at the end of her street.

No girl, and especially not Suzie, was going to show him up. Carlos grabbed his skateboard and climbed back up the driveway. Suzie sailed by him on her skateboard, her braids flying out from her yellow skateboard helmet. Carlos' jaw dropped as she performed a near-perfect ollie. Then she crashed.

Carlos raced to the side of the hill and looked down at Suzie. He didn't like her. But he was too much of a gentleman to make sure she wasn't hurt.

"You okay?"

Suzie gave him the thumbs up sign. Carlos continued up the driveway, more determined than ever to hone his ollie. Carlos placed his skateboard on the ground and closed his eyes. He imagined doing the perfect ollie, a trick he learned while watching the skiers, bobsledders and lugers in the Olympics. Right before their runs, they closed their eyes and imagined going down the ski slope or the ice track successfully.

Carlos opened his eyes and stepped on his skateboard. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a figure step out of the mist. He screamed, slipped off of his skateboard and fell hard on his behind.

"Boo!" The figure laughed.

"Suzie! Don't do that!"

"What did you think? My great, great, great grandfather was walking out of his house to say hello?"

"That's not funny." Carlos said angrily. He got up from the ground, wiping gravel from his behind.

"It's hilarious," Suzie said. "Now step aside, amateur, and let a pro show you how it's done."

Suzie took off. Carlos slapped his skateboard on the ground and quickly followed her. The two of them hit the ridge simultaneously, both of them performing an Ollie, and they crashed. Carlos and Suzie lay face up in the grass, staring up at the sun.

"What a rush!"

"It was fun, wasn't it?" Suzie asked. "I think I can make you a pretty good skateboarder, Carlos Garcia. You've got potential."

Carlos sat up. "Let me get this straight: You're going to teach me to skateboard? A girl?"

"Don't let my gender get in the way of your big ego, Carlos." Suzie glared at him.

"Oh, believe me, it won't."

Suzie threw Carlos for a loop: she kissed him on the cheek and ran back up the driveway.