The Smoky Corridor

31

Zack was starving.

He went to his locker (nobody was inside it waiting for him) to retrieve his lunch box and followed a swarm of hungry sixth graders toward the tantalizing aroma of tacos wafting up from the cafeteria’s steam tables. Mexican Fiesta Day!

Girls were giggling. Guys were goofing around, slugging each other in the arms.

And Zack saw another ghost. One he recognized.

The ghost was leaning against a wall near the tray rack, wearing tights, a tunic, and a Robin Hood hat.

“What ho, Zachary!”

It was Bartholomew Buckingham, a dead actor Zack had met at the Hanging Hill Playhouse.

“How fare thee, lad?”

“Fine,” Zack muttered as he bent down and pretended to tie his shoe so nobody would see him talking to a stack of plastic cafeteria trays.

“My, what a merry and motley crew is this!” said Buckingham, placing his hands on his hips and taking in the cafeteria scene. “Are these your new school chums?”

“No. Not really. It’s my first day and—”

“Tut-tut. I trust you shall soon be as popular amongst your peers as I was.” Buckingham struck another pose. This one involved jutting out his chin.

“Why are you here?”

“Ah! An excellent question, most excellent, indeed! I was recently anointed guardian ghost of my great-great-grandson Charles Buckingham.”

The ghost gestured at a boy in the food line.

“Unfortunately, being deceased, I can do little to help the poor child.…” The hammy actor took off his feathered cap and held it over his heart. He sobbed some.

Zack sighed. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

“Huzzah! Glad you asked!” He sounded all bright and cheery again. “Here, then, is the situation: I fear young Charles may have inherited my heart condition—the one that did me in during my final performance as Hamlet. I’m told the critics called it ‘the best death scene ever done by any Hamlet anywhere’—even if it did come one act early.”

“I’m not a doctor.…”

“No, but perhaps you could have a word with his gym teacher? If Charles exerts himself too much, say shinnying up a rope or doing too many jumping jacks, I fear there might be complications.”

“You want me to tell a gym teacher that your great-great-grandson should be excused from phys ed?”

“Huzzah! What a brilliant idea! Thank you, Zachary!”

Buckingham disappeared before Zack could tell him he’d only said what he’d said so the actor could hear how ridiculous it sounded.

And then he saw something more bizarre than a swashbuckling Shakespearean actor: Malik Sherman standing on top of a chair at the far end of the dining room, flailing his arms above his head and whistling like a maniac.