Since the fireworks in December, I’d been waiting for a chance to be lit up by Yana once again (if you know what I mean). I don’t know if it was teenage hormones, or because it was Valentine’s Day, or because we had to endure watching a game first before having a ‘date’ in the School Fair, or because I just missed her so much that I’d been itching to hoard her to myself all day.
Funnily enough, it turned out I wasn’t the only one having such thoughts.
It was eerily quiet in the storage room at the far side of the sports building, except for the occasional cheers coming from the nearby arena. The dark and faded atmosphere instantly reminded me of another ‘storage room’ which I didn’t want to remember, and so I shook the image out of my head. It was half past ten in the morning, and there was no reason to get jittery—ghosts don’t appear in the morning anyway, at least, I do believe—apart from the ghostly hand whose steady grasp was leading me across the room.
