Stoneway

Chapter One: Simon Partridge

The first time I ever saw a ghost was when Coach Mackleby caught me skipping class out by the bleachers. I remember sitting with Brandon Westberry when he found us.

Do you have any idea how disappointed I am in the two of you? Coach Mackleby said to us that day. I’ve worked incredibly hard to change your attitudes towards your education, and this is the thanks I get?

I’m sorry, sir, I said to him. My gaze lowered to the ground, drifting away from the routine, tiresome lecture we were going to receive about life and not taking school for granted.

What happened to you, Bentley? Coach Mackleby snapped his fingers. Eh? I thought we were making progress.

I didn’t know what to say to him. I never knew what to say to him.

As I stood there, next to Brandon, I couldn't help but notice a boy standing in the middle of the football field. His face appeared gray and blurry, but his eyes were as clear as day. I couldn't tell you what he wore, but his body remained still, like a bronze statue. For a second or two, I thought the kid lost his way, or maybe escaped from the detention center up the road, but when the sun filtered out through the clouds, his body somehow slipped away into the shadows. He just vanished.

That was when I knew.

I asked Brandon later that day if he saw the strange kid on the football field, but he just spat on the ground like he always did and shook his head.

That was last year in the seventh grade.

That was also the year Simon Partridge transferred to our school.

OKAY EIGHTS, WE ARE almost at Lake Stoneway, I’m going to ask you again to please stay seated until we have completely stopped. Coach Mackleby stood at the front of the school bus with his clipboard. His golden brown muscular arms gripped tightly onto the seat in front of him as the bus swayed from side to side along the bumpy road.

Two busloads of eighth-graders had already spent four hours sitting inside the sweaty old yellow school buses with no air conditioning traveling north up the 400. Every single boy and girl likely couldn't wait to get into their bathing suits and dive into the water.

Everyone that is, except Simon.

Simon Partridge had dirty fingernails and always smelled like bonfire smoke. He lived in the foster home by the old church. He kept to himself, playing his guitar with one string missing. The only time I ever spoke to the guy was the day I saw that ghost. He must have overheard me talking to Brandon and felt compelled to strike up a conversation with me about it. I wasn't supposed to talk to him because he didn't hang out in our circle of friends. Truthfully, Brandon just didn't like the guy.

Please make sure you have picked up all your garbage from the floor and haven’t left anything under your seat. The coach slipped off his sunglasses and wedged it into the curls of his thick blonde hair. This bus won’t be coming back until Friday, so if you leave something behind, you’ll have to make do without it.

Sitting on the bus that September afternoon, watching the trail of dust rocket up into the giant maple trees and evergreens, I couldn't help but think of Simon. I didn't understand why the guy would want to go on a four day trip with a bunch of kids who hated him, especially Brandon. Maybe his new foster parents wanted him to make friends or learn some social skills.

Or better yet, swim in Lake Stoneway so that he could finally wash.

I had to admit, the idea of this school trip made my feet sweat. It wasn't because of Simon or being away from home for the longest time in my short thirteen years; I was nervous because we were going to Stoneway.

Is that the lake? Is that where it happened? Markus Trent stood up and leaned his head out the window. Sparkles of light bounced off a large body of water along the right side of the bus. That’s where it happened, I think. Right at the point.

Ever since our class learned about this big trip, the gossip spread like wildfire about Riley Grayson. The story had it, he drowned in Lake Stoneway last summer, and people have reported seeing his ghost rise out of the water. As much as we all talked tough, and joked about the story, I knew there was some ‘uneasiness' inside every kid on that bus.

I looked over at Simon Partridge, sitting by himself a couple of seats ahead of me—his guitar tucked in beside him. His snotty-nose stuck to the window, leaving streaks of slime along the glass. I wondered if he thought about the ghost we saw the year before.

I wonder if he tried telling anyone about it.

Part of me wanted to ask him more questions that day, but somehow, just looking at him would probably set Brandon off. I had a tight group of friends and enjoyed being with them at the top of the food chain. Not to brag, but over the past few years, we became the most popular and coolest kids at Ravensdale Public School. At least we felt like we were.

Hey Simon, Brandon shouted, standing up over the seat beside me. Did you bring some soap? There’s a giant outdoor bathtub over there, just for you. He pointed out to the lake and laughed.

Simon pulled away from the window and wiped his hands over the dirty streaks. Long black strands of hair drooped over his eyes. Turning to the front, he yanked his hood back over his head and then cowered in the seat.

Brandon's comment wasn't funny at all, and I don't think it was supposed to be, but a ripple of awkward giggles and laughter spread through the back of the bus, anyway. I knew why Brandon did it, I mean, he knew it gave him the power over his classmates. No one dared to make hurtful comments as he did, but then again no one dared to say anything to him either. But Brandon had a reason, a pretty good reason for being mean to Simon, so he claimed—although none of us knew what it was. Personally, I figured he just wanted an excuse to pick on someone to make himself look good.

Hey Bentley, check this out. Brandon nudged me before standing up and sliding over to Simon's seat. He looked at Markus and me for a second and grinned. All I could see was the back of Simon's pale blue hood, but I knew he must have been trembling. I watched as Brandon turned his large frame in the seat, and faced Simon straight on. He stared at the kid, clenching his jaw, holding back the urge to laugh. Brandon slowly lifted his giant hands up to Simon's face, hovering his fingers inches away from him. Brandon held still for a few seconds and then pounced forward. Boo!

Simon launched his body back, bumping his head on the window.

Brandon stood up and laughed, high-fiving Markus Trent and Clay Dogson.

That was epic! Markus shouted. The kid almost jumped through the glass.

I sat at the back, feeling the blood pump through my veins. My chest tightened. Simon ducked down in his seat and disappeared from my view behind the backrest. Brandon stepped along the aisle of the bus and sat down beside me again. Whadya think? He knows who runs the show around here, eh Bentley?

A million thoughts rushed through my mind. I wanted to tell Brandon precisely what I thought of his egotistical act of stupidity. But I also knew this year was about survival. Eat or be eaten, Brandon would say.

But what he did to Simon sometimes, was just too hard to swallow. I mean, there was taunting and teasing, which I guess I could tolerate, but I couldn’t help but think there was going to be a time where Brandon Westberry was going to take things a little too far.

I just hoped it wasn’t going to happen on this trip.

Chapter Two: Camp Stoneway

The bus pulled into a gravel parking lot, surrounded by brown grass and overgrown weeds. Giant rocks jutted up from the ground in all directions. Through a thin row of trees, down a steep incline, the deep blues from Lake Stoneway sparkled and glimmered.

We gathered our gear from under the bus storage and waited with the rest of the eighth-graders on a hill overlooking the cabins. I leaned back against my duffle bag and soaked in the warm rays.

Coach Mackleby shook hands with a large man in a white t-shirt with Camp Staff written in bright red letters along the front. The two looked like they could have been brothers, with their ridiculously tight muscle shirts and 'surfer-dude' bleach blonde hair. They talked for a few minutes before walking over to us.

The man with the white shirt flipped his sunglasses onto his head and blew a whistle. Okay folks, listen up. Welcome to Camp Stoneway.

The kids around us cheered and clapped. The smell of fresh pine filtered through the air. This was Northern Canada, clean, beautiful and in the middle of nowhere.

We better get Wi-Fi up here, my dad promised that we’d get service, Brandon muttered, pulling his phone out.

We're on a trip, who needs Wi-Fi? I replied.

Zip it, Bentley. Brandon slid open his phone and checked the signal.

The instructor blew his whistle again and looked out toward Brandon and me at the back. Are you guys listening?

I gave a thumbs up and nodded. Already we were establishing ourselves as the bad boys. Not sure how proud of that I was. We’re good, I muttered.

My name is Chaz, and I'm going to be your Camp Leader this week. We're going to head down to your cabins in a second and then get started with our first activities. He strutted around the perimeter of our scattered bags and sweaty bodies, parading an air of cockiness. He reminded me of Brandon. "Before we head down, I want to inform you that we are looking for full participation in all activities this week. That is all activities, including our talent show on Friday."

Coach Mackleby stepped over beside Chaz and eyed Brandon and I. He knew we were the tough guys, the ones who hated participating in useless activities, like talent shows. But, I was on a trip away from home, away from my military-like father, and I was prepared to do everything, including the talent show. Besides, we knew about it already. It was just a matter of finding a way to convince Brandon. I'm sure he wouldn't care if we sweet-talked a few girls into lending us some clothes and dress up as a girl band or something. Not only would we get participation marks, but we'd also get a good laugh as well.

I'd thought about this quite a bit. If Brandon was game, I planned to ask Michelle Heartly to help us. It would be the best way to get to know her better.

Michelle Heartly.

She sat in the shade under a big oak tree, weaving Sarah Livingstone's hair into a complicated braid. To say Michelle was pretty was an understatement. She had thick brown hair that floated down her head like a waterfall. Her white teeth glowed between her perfect lips.

She was a goddess.

Sarah Livingstone, on the other hand, was evil. My group of friends referred to her as the Cyber Ice Princess. She somehow could destroy a person on any social media app with the simplest, yet nastiest of comments.

Yo, dummy, stop staring. Brandon nudged me and grabbed his bag.

Chaz guided us all down the hill toward the cabins.

I wasn’t staring, I replied. "I was thinking.

Whatever, just face it, you like her. Brandon spat on the grass and flung his bag over his six-foot-tall frame. His size intimidated most, but not me. I saw through his fake strut and puffed out chest. Sure his voice cracked in the seventh grade, and he had thick black hairs pushing out of his chin, but to me, he was still the goofy kid who only became popular because he had a drop-dead gorgeous sister.

Hannah was two years older than us, and every boy at Ravensdale worshipped her. Brandon hated it when we talked about her. He punched a kid a couple of years back because of it.

Chaz checked his clipboard and pointed to Cabin Nine, our cabin. You have ten minutes to get changed, and we'll meet you back at the hill.

I bunked with four other guys from my class and one kid from French Immersion.