How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

MONDAY, OCTOBER 7TH
7:16 AM
VANTERBEST HIGH, ATHLETIC WING

Renny and Ambrose came to Watts's locker this morning to talk to us more about what happened Saturday night, and I got so caught up in it that I almost forgot about needing to talk to Coach Deeley. I manage to get to his office before the bell—just as I go to knock on the closed door, it swings open and I'm nearly run down by a tall, mustached man in a baseball cap that's definitely against the school dress code.

"Whoa!" His sneakers squeak against the tiled floor as he halts right before we collide. "Sorry." His eyes shoot to my raised fist, which had been just centimeters from knocking on the door. "You looking for me?"

"Uh, yeah. Yes, Coach," I say more firmly, trying to remember what Dad said about making a good first impression. Funny, since he thinks I've already made a first impression, thanks to my spur-of-the-moment lie. "I wanted to talk to you about baseball tryouts."

He checks his watch. "The roster will be posted on Friday, I told you guys that."

"Well, see, that's the thing. I wasn't at tryouts. I mean, I wanted to be, but I was told the wrong date."

His head tilts to one side, brows furrowing. But he stays quiet, so I keep rambling.

"I was just wondering—hoping, you know, that maybe... there was some way I could still try out."

He lets out a long sigh that pretty much lets me know the answer. "I'm sorry, uh...?" He gestures to prompt me.

"Diego. Rivera."

"Diego. I'm sorry, you missed 'em, but... there's really nothing we can do about it."

"Couldn't I... I don't know, just try out after school today?" I trail after him as he starts down the hall, both of us weaving through the teenaged traffic. "Or sometime before the roster gets decided? I know it's asking a lot, but my parents really want me on the team."

He shakes his head. "I wish I could, but tryouts have to be the same for everyone, or it isn't fair."

"But—I—" I try to take a deep breath. This is not how I imagined this conversation going. "I'm good Coach. I swear. You wouldn't regret it. And my Mom and Dad would be so grateful—"

He stops and turns to me. "Rivera. That's twice now you've mentioned your parents, and not once that you've mentioned yourself wanting to be on the team."

I can only blink in response. Crap. I really need to work on my begging skills.

"If your parents are so concerned about baseball, there's an adult league over in Kentwood they can join. But I'm afraid for you, the Vultures already have our team this year. Sorry, Rivera—but it's not the end of the world, right? Don't take it so hard."

Maybe not your world, I think, not following this time when he continues down the corridor. But mine is officially donezo.

There's no doubt I'm going to puke. If any occasion calls for it, this is the one.

But... as I watch Coach disappear into the morning crowd, my stomach sits at ease. My hands aren't clamming, I'm not suddenly overheating. And my lungs seem to be working a lot better than they were just a minute ago.

If I had to classify the feeling? Relief.

It's as if Coach Deeley just handed me a get-out-of-jail free card by telling me I can't join the team. I can't join the team. No practices, no games, no unfamiliar team that doesn't even want me. It all just got yanked from my grasp, and now I realize that carrying around that potential future was like walking with a ball and chain.

I know the feeling won't last. Not when I have to tell Mom and Dad, not when it sinks in how royally I've screwed up my plans. I mean, it can't last. No way.

But for now? For now, I don't see all that. I see a future that doesn't feel like a prison sentence. I see time to draw, to hang out with Watts once all this Bozzanath stuff gets sorted out. And for the first time in a long time, there's a sliver of something I thought I lost a long time ago: hope.

two short updates today!
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