"Just do it like we practiced."

"But what if Suzie says no?"

James put his arm around Carlos' shoulder. "Not going to happen, mon ami." James was taking French this semester and he liked showing off by speaking the language whenever he had the chance. "She'll jump at the chance to go to Prom with you. Suzie digs you – or, at least, she digs teaching you how to skateboard."

"I already knew how to skateboard before I met Suzie up at Harriman Hill," Carlos said.

"Sure." James winked. "But think of those fringe benefits."

Carlos glared at James. "I told you to keep your mouth shut about Suzie and me kissing."

"Dude, it's just the two of us here. No harm. No fowl." He patted Carlos on the back. "Now go and conquer."

As Carlos approached Harriman Hill Suzie waved to him from the top of the driveway. Carlos waved back. But by the time he climbed the driveway to join her, Suzie had vanished.

Carlos cautiously peered around the side of the house where he had seen her disappear, certain she was playing an elaborate joke on him. But Suzie was not there. He shuddered, despite the warm May morning. Come to think of it, there was something not right about Suzie's clothes. The girl he had seen was wearing an old fashioned nineteenth century dress with her blond hair all done up in curls on the top of her head. Get a grip, Carlos, he told himself. This house has enough of a creep factor without adding ghostly activity to it.

"Hey."

Carlos nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me like that." Carlos took a long look at Suzie. "What happened to your hair? You weren't wearing braids a few minutes ago. And where is the dress you were wearing?"

"I always wear my hair in braids, Carlos. You know that. And I wouldn't wear a dress to skateboard anymore than you would wear your good Sunday suit to skateboard."

"No. No, when I first got here, you were standing up here by the house. You waved at me. You were wearing a long, red dress and you're hair was all up, you know, on the top of your head." Carlos tapped the top of his hockey helmet for emphasis.

"Carlos, I don't know what game you're playing," Suzie said. "But stop it. Okay? You're freaking me out." Suzie put her skateboard on the ground. "Now let's practice some ollies."

"I'm not crazy, Suzie. I know what I saw."

Suzie turned pale. "Carlos, I just got here. I don't know who you saw. But it wasn't me."

Carlos' eyes grew wide. "It was a ghost!" His skateboard slipped out of his hands and crashed on the gravel driveway. "I saw the ghost of one of your ancestors!"

"You did not."

"Did too." Carlos shuddered as he thrust his arm in the air. "Look. The hairs on my arm are standing up. I'm scaring myself just thinking about it."

"You're full of it, Carlos." Suzie bent down and picked up Carlos' skateboard. She handed it to him. "Now let's practice some ollies – unless you're too scared after seeing whatever it is you saw."

"I'm not scared." Carlos mustered all the courage he could.

"Good."

Suzie glanced at the underside of Carlos' skateboard.

"What's that scribbling there?"

"Scribbling where?"

Suzie pointed to the underside of his skateboard.

"That scribbling. It looks like you wrote something with magic marker."

"Oh! I almost forgot." Carlos blushed. "My skateboard is broken. I thought maybe you could look at it and tell me what's wrong with it."

Suzie raised an eyebrow as she looked at Carlos' skateboard. "If it's broken, Carlos, why are you asking me to fix it? You're the expert skateboard repairer." She read the message on the bottom of the skateboard: Would you go to Prom with me, Suzie?

She looked at Carlos, tears in her eyes. "Prom?" she asked. "But it's only two weeks away. I don't even have a dress. And you'll need a tux. And, and I don't even know if we can still get tickets."

"But you'll go with me?" Carlos looked hopeful.

"Yes!" Suzie dropped the skateboard on Carlos' foot. Carlos grimaced. But Suzie's hug and kiss more than made up for it.

Carlos won a Prom date, a girlfriend, and a fellow skateboarder and ghost hunter. The last is a story for another time.