How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Behind him, Kayla is yammering to Darren Hoffman, who looks like he's in cheerleader heaven surrounded by members of the squad. Hemani is talking to a tall girl with a high ponytail that matches her own, and doesn't notice me as the group walks past us towards Kayla's locker down the hall.

I should probably be thankful. I should take everyone's advice and stay away from her. She's Kayla's best friend, she's around Paul all the time, and if something is going on with that group the way Watts—the way we—suspect, then there's almost no chance she doesn't know about it.

But there is a chance. And that's enough to give me a twinge of disappointment that she didn't say hello.

I swear, teenage hormones are too powerful. Two potential demons just walked past me and here I am whining about the girl I like not waving her hand in my direction. I'm lucky the others can't read my thoughts—Renny would probably punch me, and I don't think Ambrose or even Watts would blame her.

Kayla saunters up to her locker, unlocks it with ease, and immediately starts primping herself in the pink-rimmed mirror she's hung inside of the metal door. She smooths a hand over her already perfect ponytail, then pulls it tight. Hoffman watches and practically drools as she pulls a tube of lipgloss from one of the shelves and blots her lips with it.

"Normal," Ambrose mumbles, making me realize everyone else's eyes have followed the group as well. "Completely normal. Like any other day."

Renny lets out a laugh. "If that's what it means to act normal, I must be some sort of mutant."

He smirks. "You know what I mean. Normal for her."

"Not like there's a thousand-year-old demon inside her," I agree. You'd think I'd be grateful, but it's discomforting, to be honest. There's a part of me that wishes she'd freak out and go berserk right now, just like she did in the locker room. I mean, never want to see that again, but at least then other people would know.

The fact that everyone else only sees them like this, in their usual, perfect way, means they have no reason to catch on. No reason to wonder. Sure, if people noticed the fact that Layne, Pamela, and Greg all hung out with the crowd beforehand, they might have certain curiosities about the behavior. They might wonder how any of them can carry themselves like nothing's going on.

But anyone who's spent ten minutes in therapy can tell you this: different people react differently to bad situations. For some people, coping means putting up walls and ignoring whatever's going on. To the average outside eye, that's probably all this looks like. Some students have been crying in the counselor's office every day, some have been staying home altogether. Others have been just a little bit quieter, distracted and tired. And then there's the few like Kayla's group, who seem like they're trying to shut it all out and pretend it isn't happening at all.

You know, if things keep going like they are, I may not be the only one who's made a public display of throwing up by the end of the year.

Kayla pouts as she puts the makeup away, tilting her head in the mirror, analyzing herself from different angles. She runs a hand over her necklace and smiles at the glimmering, red pendant. I try not to remember how it dangled over Paul's body, hanging below her grotesque mouth. Instead, I focus on her as she finally grabs a textbook from inside her locker before shutting the door and leading the group away.

"You know," Renny starts, "Whatever it meant, that dream had a good point. We can't show up to the game empty-handed. We need to be able to protect ourselves."

I cross my arms, not enjoying the possibilities of the idea. "The dream ended with all of us accidentally killing someone, and that's what you got out of it? That we need weapons?"

"I don't know about you, but I sure would've felt a hell of a lot safer in the library if Ambrose had been packing a sledgehammer like he was in that dream," she shoots back. "If I'd had an ax—"

"If you had an ax, you might've beheaded the librarian," I argue. "I seem to remember your lighter was inches away from her when those lights came back on."

She looks away with an annoyed sigh. "Look, I don't want anyone innocent to get hurt, but that includes us. I can promise not to hit first, but I can't promise not to hit. If something like that comes at us, I'm not just gonna sit there on the off chance it's some kind of hallucination. That's my rule, and if you don't like it, then tough. We are not gonna be the ones who end up dead when all this is over, okay?"

The four of us share a look of understanding. We're a "we" now. If Renny wants to fight for that, fight for us, I'm not about to be the one to turn that away. And I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me feel a little less scared.

I'm not ready for Saturday, or tomorrow, or even next period. The knowledge of what we're up against looms overhead, constant and overbearing. But no matter what happens, I'm not in this alone.