How to Save Your School From Soul Stealing Demons

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17TH
6:09 AM
VANTERBEST HIGH, ATHLETIC WING

"Coach Deeley?" I knock on the frame of his open office door. He looks up from his messy desk, eyebrows raising when he realizes it's me.

It's early, way before first period—I asked Ambrose if he wouldn't mind making a quick stop at Vanterbest before we stop by the hardware store. Apart from this, the four of us are skipping out on school altogether today.

When I'm done here, we're swinging by the hardware store before our community center stakeout—if we do get the chance to go back into the tunnel, we need to be prepared with more than just Renny's lighter.

"Rivera," he greets, voice laced with curiosity instead of the anger I was expecting. "You didn't show yesterday."

"I know," I say, stepping over the threshold into his office.

The space is cluttered with sports memorabilia from wall to wall— posters, framed pictures of teams, a Patriots calendar with scrawled plans on almost every date. His desk is no neater, covered in papers, pens, and various mascot bobbleheads.

"I had to go home early," I lie. When did I start lying so much? "I wasn't feeling well."

"Sorry to hear it." He clicks his pen a few times and leans back in his chair. "I wondered if you changed your mind."

"No," I blurt, shaking my head. "No, definitely not."

He nods, pursing his lips. "Well, alright then. You okay to come to practice today?"

"Yeah. I should be."

"I've got a freshman who wants your spot, you know."

"Oh," is all I can manage to say as my shoulders deflate.

A freshman who wants my spot. Actually wants it. And here I am, wishing I didn't have to take it.

"Diego..." He sighs heavily, sitting forward. "Would you tell me why it feels like I'd be doing you a favor if I gave it to the other kid?"

I swallow, not knowing how to answer. Because in some ways, maybe he would be. Maybe if I didn't have to lie about wanting to be on the team, my appetite would come back again. Maybe I'd have more time to draw, to think about what I actually want for my future. Maybe I'd finally plan my comic series; maybe I'd finally set a baseball down and never pick one up again.

But on the other hand, even if all that happened, maybe I'd never live up to Miguel in Mom and Dad's eyes. Maybe I'd never even come close.

"Look," he continues, freeing me of the burden of answering. "Let's make this simple. If you're at practice today, you're on the team. If you're not, you're not. I want you to think hard today about what you really want, okay?"

I nod, shifting on my feet. "Okay. Thanks, Coach."

But the truth is, I can't focus on what I want right now—I have to focus on what needs to be done. Until we put Bozzanath to rest, who knows what any of our futures look like?

I head back through the mostly-empty halls to the side exit where Ambrose dropped me off. I walk outside as a few early students file in, a couple sending curious glances my way as I leave the building. Ambrose's truck is parked at the curb, waiting.

I hurry over and hop inside, buckling up next to Watts with a, "Thanks."

"No problem." Ambrose starts the car. "We've got time to kill until eight, and getting what we need from Wilson's shouldn't take long."