Everyone called you unusual, weird, quiet, unnatural—a freak. You could count on hearing those words every day from the other kids at your primary school. Not that you cared. The way you saw it, things that bothered other people didn’t bother you anymore; they’d tried their best to get under your skin for a while, but in the end, you decided not to let them. You were doing fine in school, and that was all you needed.

It was just another lesson, like any other day. Mr. Ghost, your teacher, stood at the front of the room, droning on about something the younger kids should probably remember for later. He was tall and always looked like he’d just been through a windstorm, with blonde tousled hair and clothes that seemed to hang a little loose on him. He was a curious figure, sure, and he wore a pair of red-rimmed glasses that he never actually seemed to look through. His eyes always seemed to be wandering off somewhere else, as though he could see things that no one else could.

The kids around you seemed only half-interested, some with heads propped up on their desks, others passing notes or doodling in their notebooks. You kept your gaze on the lesson, though. You always did. You liked observing, picking up on the small details others missed. The way Mr. Ghost’s fingers tapped out a rhythm as he spoke, or how he’d sometimes pause in his teaching and look out the window, even when there was nothing there but gray skies and distant trees swaying in the wind.