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surprise. He’d been expecting the boys’ changing room, but thisdoor led outside.
    They were facing an avenue of tall, thin trees with branches that almost met overhead, turning the central path into a long, green tunnel. The trees cast a lot of cool shade, and in the light breeze their leaves sounded as if they were advising silence with a long, gentle
ssssh
. Jason led them out into the tunnel. Slowly, everyone fell quiet. About halfway down the avenue, Jason stopped. He turned to face his audience.
    â€œYou may already know that Stadium School was built on the site of an old football stadium,” he said, his voice sounding oddly flat in the enclosed space. “The school was founded by Jon Masters, who I’m sure you’ve all heard of. He was one of the first highearning footballers, and when he retired he wanted to give something back, especially to encourage young players like us.”
    Jason indicated the young trees either side of them. “This avenue of trees marks the place of the tunnel that the players walked down to reach the pitch,” he explained. This ground is where Jon Masters saw his first match as a little boy, and also where he first played professionally. That coincidence made him view this place as really special, and so when he heard that the team had moved to a new stadium, he decided to buy the old one to turn into a school.”
    â€œSo Jon Masters walked down here,” said Roddy, trying to imagine the avenue as a players’ tunnel. He could see the two teams lined up, waiting to run on.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Jason. “And if you come down here,” he led the way to the end of the avenue, “you can see the pitch.”
    Roddy gasped. It was the most amazing school pitch he’d ever seen. The grass wasperfectly cut, without a blemish on its surface, and at the end of the avenue, off to one side, were a few rows of old, wooden seats. He could see that they must have been part of a large stand at one time, but now they stood alone, looking very odd in the tranquil surroundings. They had all been freshly painted, apart from one of them, which looked as if it had been partly burnt.
    â€œNo walking on the pitch,” Jason warned, as several people moved forward. “It’s only used for matches against outside teams, and for the house finals at the end of the year. If you’re not playing, it’s out of bounds.”
    â€œWhich house won last year?” someone wanted to know.
    â€œMoore,” said Jason. “My house. But it was very close. These are the lucky seats,” he explained. As it’s the holidays you can sit here for a few minutes. We like to think that someof the old stadium luck rubs off onto anyone who touches them. Not that one though!” he said hastily, as Roddy made for the nearest seat, the one that hadn’t been painted. “Sorry, I should have said. No one sits in that seat, ever. You’re allowed to touch it for luck, but not sit in it.”
    Roddy felt embarrassed. “Why not?” he asked, taking the next one instead.
    â€œWell it’s silly, I suppose, but A23 is the seat Jon Masters sat in when he was a child. When he came to restore the seats, he decided to leave that one as it was. There was a fire that swept through the stadium and destroyed most of the stand shortly before he bought it, but he wanted to keep this seat as it was. Somehow it doesn’t seem right for us to use it.”
    â€œSo doesn’t
anyone
sit there?” asked a tall boy.
    â€œNo,” said Jason. “Very occasionally JonMasters comes to a match. But when he does, he always chooses a different seat. If you come to school here, you’ll hear all sorts of ghost stories about the avenue and the seats, but they’re not really haunted. Kids just like to make up that sort of thing.”
    â€œWhat sort of ghost stories?” asked a wellbuilt boy, standing some way from