How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12TH
6:09 PM
VANTERBEST FOOTBALL FIELD, BLEACHERS

The band plays loudly from their spot on the bleachers, but even the brass section isn't loud enough to drown out the loud crunch as Renny bites into a cheese-covered nacho. The four of us are sitting together in the front row, watching the Vanterbest Vultures play against the Winsor Weevils. Well, they might be watching—I'm spending a lot of my brainpower trying to decide which of us got stuck with the weirder mascot.

The sun drenches the cloudy sky in oranges and pinks as it nears the horizon, shining down on the football players as they move into position for a snap. Soon, the field will only be lit by the moon and the large lights standing high next to the bleachers.

There's a reason we chose the front row—right below us are the cheerleaders, waving their pom-poms and smiling at the crowd, cheering at every good play. Kayla, again, looks totally normal, as do the rest of the squad.

Actually, I take that back. Normal is about the last word I'd use to describe Hemani. Try beautiful, gorgeous, ethereal, or totally-out-of-my-league. Which isn't to put myself down—as far as I'm concerned, she's out of everybody's league.

But I can't let myself get too distracted by her. We're here for a reason, and that reason is sitting right across the bleacher-steps with the rest of the members of the marching band, tooting out melodies to help get the crowd riled up. Hoffman is a few rows up from us with the rest of the tuba players, but he's right at the edge, meaning it's easy for us to keep an eye on him.

"God, these are like crack," Renny talks through a mouthful of nacho. "I might start coming to these things just for the food."

Watts holds his paper container out to her so she can get another. He reminds me of a puppy, trying to do whatever it can to get someone to warm up to it. With the way she thanks him and leans in to grab a chip, it seems like he might not be doing such a bad job.

There's a question that's been eating at me, and from the way he keeps eyeing Renny, I'm guessing Watts, too. But I think both of us have been too scared to ask what exactly the long, cylindrical cloth bag strapped to Renny's back is for.

This time she catches my gaze, and shrugs a shoulder to gesture to the black bag. "Art project," she says simply.

I didn't take her for the artistic type, but it doesn't seem like she's eager to explain it any further than that. She goes back to watching the game, yelling out trash talk as the crowd around us boos, upset by a tackle.

Before I know it, the sky has gone dark and the announcer—some teacher whose voice I don't recognize—tells everyone it's halftime, encouraging us to buy refreshments and stick around for the marching band and cheerleaders.

"Great," Renny says sarcastically. "My two favorite forms of entertainment. An off-key rendition of one of today's greatest hits, followed by a bunch of girls waving pom-poms around. I'm getting more nachos."

She stands, arching an eyebrow at Watts when he does the same.

"I'll come with you," he offers. "I mean—you know—we shouldn't go anywhere alone."

Renny opens her mouth—if I had to guess, I'd say she's probably about to ask him if he really thinks bringing him along would do any good if Bozzanath decided to show up, since that's what I'm wondering. Not that I mean to crap on Watts—without him, the rest of us wouldn't have a clue about any of this, let alone any idea how to handle it—but physically, there isn't much he and I can do to help Renny or Ambrose.