How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER FOUR

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 2ND
2:00 PM
VANTERBEST HIGH

Watts and I have more classes together—English after lunch, and French last period. Once the bell rings to signal the end of the day, the two of us head for the door and into the hall as students flood out of their classrooms.

"I'm serious man, you have to read it. I'll lend it to you," Watts offers. He's talking about one of his favorite comics—some underground, freaky horror that I've never heard of. It might not be one of the classics, but at this point I'd be willing to talk about Betty and Veronica. No one I knew at Darwin had any interest in comics at all.

Guess that's another point for Vanterbest, huh?

"You taking the bus?" he asks as we follow the crowd towards the main exit. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't searching the sea of people for tan skin and silky black hair. Not that I'd have the balls to actually say hi to Hemani, but at least if I saw her, maybe she would see me, and maybe she would say hi.

I wonder if Miguel ever had such a pathetic thought process when it came to the opposite sex. I sincerely doubt it.

I shake my head at Watts' question. "Nah. I rode my bike."

Dad offered to buy me a junker and help me fix it up so I could drive to school for my senior year. But I made up some excuse about not thinking I'd have the time between baseball and everything else to work on a car, and he let it go.

We both know the real reason is that I never plan to get behind the wheel again. How could I? Sure, the doctors say it was just a not-so-rare case of inexplicable fainting and that there's no reason to believe it'll ever happen again. But how can they know? 

They can't. But I know that I killed Miguel, and I know damn well I'm not going to put anyone else at risk.

Watts lights up at the mention of my bike. "Hey, me too! I always do—I tried to get my license, but... well, let's just say it didn't work out. There were a lot of traffic cone funerals that day. And... even more the next month. You wanna ride together? I'm on Polivane Street."

"Yeah, sure. That's a few blocks from my house, I think. Oh, shit—I need to stop by the athletic office first. I gotta ask about baseball tryouts." Over the course of the day, I've been picking up on bits and pieces of conversation to get a feel for the place. One of those just happened to mention the athletic office, which I'm guessing is my best bet for learning about tryouts.

"Jeez, you sure don't waste any time." He shrugs, following as I head past the exit. "I'll wait. You know, it's too bad you're not into football—it'd give you time to hang out with you-know-who. The cheerleaders don't go to the other team games, as far as I know."

"Too bad," I agree with a nod of my head. "Then again, I've seen the size of some of the lettermen around here. Probably for the best if I stick with no-contact sports."

Watts laughs. "Yeah, try being their tutor and taking the blame when one of them gets a D in Algebra and almost loses extracurricular privileges."

I raise my eyebrows at the insinuation.

"That was last year, though—I think Paul learned he can hurt me all he wants, but it's not gonna make him any better at figuring out the value of X." He just raises a shoulder, shrugging it off as if it's no big deal. Which is pretty much the opposite of what it sounds like.

Sure, people got into fights at Darwin, but they were equal fights. Half the time, they were agreed upon beforehand. What Watts is describing sounds like straight-up harassment. If all the jocks are jerks like that, my time on the team is bound to suck.