Free A Ghost of a Chance by Minnette Meador

headed, and fell. That’s not a crime, is it?”
    One side of Thompson’s lip and the opposite brow curled up. He nodded and played his flashlight above Keenan’s head. When Keenan turned around, his heart fell into his guts and boiled there.
    Just above his eyes, in neat silver letters splayed evenly across the red bricks, were the words St. Angelo’s School for Girls . The Catholic cross hung straight and true beside them.
    “Mr. Swanson, you are being charged with public indecency, a Class A misdemeanor. I strongly suggest you cooperate. Sorry, buddy,” Thompson added with a huffed laugh. “You’re looking at maybe a year in jail and a six grand fine. Tough break.”
    Sergeant Thompson yanked Keenan’s arm once to get his legs moving toward the parked police car.
    The red and blue lights throbbing above the snow-white sedan blurred through the sweat in Keenan’s eyes. He had never even gotten a ticket, let alone been arrested. It all just seemed so bizarre.
    His ghostly friends congregated just outside the throw of lights and started to disappear one by one. Reggie and Constance remained just long enough for Sergeant Thompson to slam the front door behind him and start the engine. The prostitute sitting next to Keenan in the back seat pointed at him and chortled. It took him a second to realize she wasn’t alive. He concentrated instead on adjusting his hands so he could get feeling back into them. He wasn’t very successful.
    Keenan’s imagination was ruthless, creating scenes of the local constable dragging him through the streets while citizens laughed and threw things at him. It was giving him a headache. Thankfully, Thompson shut the lights off once he got the car going.
    When the car jolted into the street, Keenan’s eyes and cheeks went hot and the rest of his face went numb. A black shadow materialized in the headlight for only a moment and then disappeared into the night.

 
     
     
     
    Chapter Seven
Ghost in the Cell
     
    Charles J. Murray was the biggest asshole at Portland State University during Keenan’s freshman year. Keenan had trouble with bullies all his life. Over the years, he had developed excellent ways of coping. Running mostly, but his ability to ignore insults reached a genius plateau by the age of fifteen.
    However, Charles J. Murray was a bully of extreme discipline. The junior football player had terrorized the campus for three years, and most students considered him pitiful at best. Not that any of them would say that to his face, mind you.
    For whatever reason, Charles had developed a special affinity for tormenting Keenan. Names like numb nuts, faggot, and dumb shit all rolled off Keenan’s back, as always, but this just pissed off the giant fullback. The initial pranks were mostly embarrassing, but when they turned increasingly dangerous, Keenan got on a first name basis with terror. Try as he might, he could not get away from Charles. He even moved off campus, but it took Charles less than a day to find him, probably torturing one of the housing student aids for the information.
    In November, right before Thanksgiving break and a rather nasty incident involving dish soap coating his kitchen floor and a concussion, Reggie told Keenan he had had enough. The vindictive ghost hatched a plan that was not only diabolical, but could rid the school of this tyrant forever. It was the first time Keenan had seen Reggie’s really sinister side and it bothered him. But since Reggie promised no real harm would come to Charles, he reluctantly agreed.
    Keenan had never bought pot before. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried it; he smoked it only once when he was about twelve. Unfortunately, he was allergic to the stuff and ended up in the hospital. He told his mom, and the doctors, that he had smoked a clove cigarette. His medical record still stated he was allergic to cloves.
    The next morning, he approached one of the dealers someone told him about. Keenan was certain some undercover cop