How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER EIGHT

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 20TH
12:03PM
VANTERBEST HIGH CAFETERIA

Watts' dentist appointment meant I biked to school alone this morning, and that I had nobody to help me—or more accurately, no one to copy off of—in Chem. More than that, it means I've had no one to ask a question that's been eating at me for hours: are people acting totally weird today, or is it just me?

Since this morning, Vanterbest has just felt off. The halls are quieter than usual, filled with hushed whispers. Students are standing around with frowns and furrowed brows, and even the teachers seem more sullen than usual.

When Watts finally shows up during lunch, I almost sigh in relief. This weird atmosphere was starting to get to me, and knowing that I'm probably imagining it doesn't make it suck any less. If there's one thing I've learned since the accident, it's that things don't have to be real to be upsetting. Take it from the way I wake up sweaty and shaking at least twice a week.

Watts plops his bagged lunch down on the table and offers a short, tense smile. Okay, that's not exactly the typical off-the-wall, zany-style greeting I was expecting. It definitely doesn't do anything to help my uneasy feeling.

"Okay, I have a whole thing to get into, but first, how's it been today?" he asks, looking around at the cafeteria, which is less lively than usual. Well, apart from Hemani's table— she looks distracted, but most of her friends are talking and laughing like normal. At least there's one thing that's the same as always.

I could answer Watts's question honestly, but he probably isn't interested in my delusions. Most likely he's just asking what he missed in Chemistry or if anything interesting decided to happen to Vanterbest during the few hours he was away.

I shrug, biting into my sandwich. "You didn't miss much. We watched a video in Chem and filled out a worksheet."

He stares at me, blinking and shaking his head when he realizes I don't have anything more to say. "Dude. I mean how has everyone been taking the Greg thing? And Pamela? Did they say anything on the announcements?"

Now it's my turn to look confused. The Greg thing is old news—and why would anybody else know about Watts's confusion about the popular crowd adopting Pamela? It occurs to me that I went to the bathroom during announcements this morning—was there some kind of update on Greg?

"Did you not hear?" His wide-eyed expression makes it pretty obvious I missed something major.

"I guess not. Did Greg finally come home or something?"

He sighs and stops unwrapping his lunch. "Are you joking? Because it's seriously screwed up if you're joking. You really didn't hear?"

"Watts, I have no idea what you're talking about," I argue, wishing he'd just tell me what the hell is going on. "Joking about what?"

"Greg's dead."

My stomach drops. Dead?

I'm suddenly regretting that bite of sandwich. Nausea stirs in my stomach as heavy dread washes over me and coils around my body.

I don't deal with death so well since the accident. In fact, I've avoided every possible mention of it, which is harder than you might think. Movies, TV, books, real life—there's a hell of a lot of death in everything. I've managed to do a pretty good job to keep it at a distance, up until now. Now it's all around me, on the face of every sullen, mourning teenager. I've been walking through the halls with it all day and had no idea.

"He's... really?" I ask, unable to even say the word. I don't know why I'm even asking for confirmation—it's obvious. For someone who was supposedly unpopular, the whole school seems pretty shaken up.