What would you trade your soul for?
The answer is simple for Jessa: nothing. Life isn't perfect, but it's pretty good with her best friend Taylor at her side.
But everything changes when the Devil--disguised as an attractive high school girl--comes...
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Everything that happened next was a bit of a blur.
One of the chaperones shouted, "Everyone stand back!" Another one rushed over to Billy, found a pulse, and started to deliver rescue breaths. As we pressed against the walls, several kids pulled out their phones: some took pictures, others started filming, and—thankfully—someone called 911. I heard sirens moments later, but before I had time to process what was going on, the chaperones herded us out of the gymnasium like cattle. As we all lingered on the darkened blacktop, underneath a black night sky, someone called out: "Call your parents to pick you up. The dance is over! Go home!" And that was it.
There was stunned silence as Taylor, Alex, and I filed back into Alex's car. Alex didn't leave the parking lot immediately; he was frozen, hands stuck on the steering wheel, his face bathed in the red glow of ambulance lights.
"I can't believe he just collapsed." His voice was stilted, as if the words didn't want to come out. "Did anyone... see what happened?"
"I kind of did," I said, my throat dry as I recalled Lana's triumphant grin. "He was dancing with Lana when he—"
"Lana?" Taylor asked from the back seat. "Who's that?"
There was a sour taste in my mouth. "Never mind," I said, pressing my head into the car window and wishing I could vanish into thin air like Lana had.
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Lana may have been gone, but her presence was everywhere.
Scattered grains of salt littered my bedroom floor. The receipt for her red party dress was crumpled on my bed. And while she had vanished from every Facebook photo, she still appeared in that single Polaroid picture we had taken at the dance, her dark eyes glittering as if she were watching me—laughing at me—through the plastic. I couldn't bear to look at it, and ended up crumpling it up and shoving it in my pocket.
I couldn't sleep. All I did was lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I had gotten everything so wrong. How was I fooled so many times? I thought, replaying every interaction over the last few days: every hug, every squeeze, every apology. I had thought I had figured her out—I was dead wrong.
