Possess (5 page)

Seven

B
RIDGET PLANTED HER FOREHEAD AGAINST
her locker as she slowly dialed the combination. She felt deflated. First Father Santos showed up as her new history teacher, then Monsignor basically told her that she’d be stuck hearing demons for the rest of her life. Hell, getting grounded was like the best part of her week.

She banged her head rhythmically.
Bam, bam, bam
. Yeah, it was all perfectly wonderful, her life at the moment. What else could happen? What else could possibly go wrong?

“What was that all about?”

Bridget snapped her head up to find Hector leaning against the next locker, arms folded across his chest, eyebrows raised. She’d made it to Latin class just in time and had darted out as soon as the bell rang, avoiding conversation with Hector and Peter. She just wasn’t in the mood.

“Um . . .” Had he seen her coming out of Monsignor’s office? She wasn’t sure how she could explain that one away.

“Are you in trouble with the new history teacher already? Is that why you ditched me after class?” Hector continued.

Bridget let out a breath. Oh,
that
. She opened her locker door casually. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing? You looked like you’d seen a ghost when he asked to talk to you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Bridget positioned her locker door so Hector couldn’t see her face. Not a ghost, silly. He just wants to know how I can exorcise demons.

“Well?” Hector prodded.

“Your eyeliner is smudged,” she lied, hoping to change the subject.

“No, it’s not.” He waited for a moment, just like her mom did when she was expecting a lie but hoping for the truth. “Why are you acting all weird?”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “I’m not acting weird.” I am weird.

“Then what did he want?”

Bridget peered at Hector through the slats in her locker door. “You don’t want to know.”

He grabbed the door and swung it open so he could see her face. “Try me.”

Bridget pursed her lips, weighing her options. On the one hand, she could just lie to him. He’d know, of course, but he’d also let it go. Hector avoided confrontation like it was a herpes flare-up. On the other hand, if there was anyone she
should
tell, anyone who would believe her, be on her side no matter what, it would be her best friend.

She took a deep breath. “He wants to talk to me before school tomorrow,” she said, dropping her voice. “About this thing I can do.” Wow, did she really just explain her freaky new exorcism skills as “this thing I can do”? Like she was going to tie a cherry stem into a knot with her tongue or show off a double-jointed thumb?

Hector turned his head to the side. “What
thing
?”

Hope you can handle this, Hector. “I can, like, kinda hear things. Voices that aren’t there.”

It wasn’t until the words came out of her mouth that she realized how utterly and completely lame they sounded.

Hector shook his head; the gelled spikes of his hair stood firm and immovable. “Fine, Ghost Whisperer, don’t tell me. You walking by the library, or do you have to go straight home?”

Bridget blinked. He thought she was being a smartass. Not that she blamed him. It was probably for the best.

She hauled out the last of her books and swung her backpack over one shoulder. “C’mon, I’ll walk you as far as the park.”

Hector and Bridget dodged the last stragglers in the hallways and headed out into the dull, gray afternoon. Heavy fog had rolled in—again—blotting out the rays of the sun. It didn’t help her mood.

“I love this weather,” Hector cooed, zipping up his black Misfits hoodie.

“Blech. Hate it.”

Peter was sitting on the front steps; he popped to his feet as soon as he saw them. “Hey, Bridge,” he said, jogging up. “Can I walk you home?”

Hector camouflaged a laugh by pretending to sneeze.

Shocking. Peter Kim waiting to escort her home. Prince Not-So-Charming was always at the ready. Was this really all she had to look forward to in her dating life? Bridget sighed. “Yeah, whatever.”

A swift elbow to the ribs from Hector knocked her off balance. “Look,” he said, nodding toward a group of girls swarming in front of a red pickup truck across the street. “Isn’t that your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” Peter squeaked.

Matt saw her before Bridget had a chance to retreat back inside. “Bridget!” he yelled. His
Teen Beat
fan club turned their heads in unison.

“Dammit,” she said under her breath.

“But I thought you said he wasn’t your—”

“Shut up, Peter!” Hector and Bridget said.

Matt crossed the street, his admirers following in his wake. He still wore his Archbishop Riordan Prep uniform—black polo shirt and khaki pants—with his purple-and-gold varsity jacket zipped halfway up. His floppy sandy blond hair blew across his forehead in the afternoon breeze.

“Hey,” he said, walking right up to her. “I want to talk to you.”

Bridget rolled her eyes. “Can’t. I have to get home.” She started to walk away. “I’m grounded, or haven’t you heard?”

Matt followed. “Bridge, I want to explain.”

Bridget whirled on him with every intention of letting rip a string of profanities that would make Chris Rock blush, but his eyes—those hazel eyes she remembered from her dad’s funeral—caught her off guard. So full of concern. They riveted her to the pavement and froze the snarky words in her throat.

It only lasted a moment.

“Matt!” A head of perfectly curled auburn hair emerged from the gaggle of girls behind him. The others parted for her like the Red Sea with Moses. She stood before Bridget, hands on her hips, emerald green eyes fixed on Matt’s face. Bridget hated those eyes. She swore Alexa Darlington wore colored contacts to make her eyes that green. And Bridget was pretty sure that wasn’t the nose she’d punched back in sixth grade. Alexa was definitely vain enough for a nose job. And rich enough.

“Matt, weren’t you going to take me for a ride in your new truck?” It was not so much a question, as a command. “I don’t have all day.”

She must get up at five in the morning to get her hair rolled perfectly. Who does that?

Matt dropped his eyes and shifted toward his ex-girlfriend. “Alexa, I . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t remember offering.”

Alexa swiveled her hips in a wholly unnatural way and snaked toward him, placing a manicured hand on Matt’s chest. “Sure you did. We were talking about the past . . . and the future and you mentioned your truck—”

Bridget had heard enough. The idea that Matt might be thinking about getting back together with Alexa made her stomach churn. “Later,” she said, turning on her heel.

Matt’s hand gripped her arm. “Bridget, wait.”

She froze but didn’t turn around. She didn’t want to see Alexa standing there behind him. “What? What is it? Don’t you have better things to do?”

“I’m sorry, Bridge. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

Alexa emitted a noise that sounded startlingly like a dog’s growl. With a sigh, Bridget turned around. She didn’t get the territorial display. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Alexa had dumped Matt before the start of the school year, effectively making him the most sought-after high school bachelor in town. So why Alexa cared about Bridget was beyond her understanding. Wasn’t she dating some college douchebag anyway?

The green eyes narrowed on Bridget. “What are you staring at?”

Could she be any more of a
Mean Girls
stereotype? Unbelievable. Bridget rolled her eyes. “A harpy, apparently.”

“A what?”

“Seriously, crack a book once in awhile.” Bridget shook free of Matt’s grip and stalked down the street before Alexa could get in one of her standby “You’re ugly” or “You’re lame” comebacks.

“Jesus, Bridge,” Hector panted, trotting up alongside. “Why not just commit hari-kari on the front lawn? That was social suicide back there.”

Like she had a social life. “Don’t care.”

“Bridget, slow down.” Peter, with his overloaded backpack plus the four textbooks cradled in his arms, struggled after them.

“Maybe if you weren’t taking twenty classes so you can graduate early, you could actually keep up.”

Peter’s eyes welled up. Ugh, why was everyone such a pain in the ass today?

A car horn made her jump. Matt’s truck pulled alongside, pacing her.

“Bridge,” Matt said through the open window. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“Nope.”

“Please?” He smiled, exposing perfect rows of sparkling white teeth.

Bridget stopped and Matt slammed on the brakes. “Why don’t you drive Alexa home? You guys looked pretty cute and cuddly back there.”

Matt flinched. “There’s nothing going on between Alexa and me.”

Bridget shrugged, trying to look casual. “Don’t care.”

“Liar,” Hector said under his breath.

“Come on, let me give you a ride home.” Matt leaned over to the passenger window. “Please?”

Bridget thought of Alexa and set her jaw. “What part of ‘no’ do you not understand?”

“Bridge,” Hector whispered from behind her. “Let the man drive you home. Maybe he’ll give me a lift too.”

“Walking to the library,” she said out of the corner of her mouth, “is the only exercise you get.”

“I have a bad back.”

“You have a lazy ass.”

Hector rested his chin on her shoulder. “Do it for me, lady.”

“Well?” Matt asked.

Yep, this clinched it. The day was made of fail.

“Fine. But my friends need a ride to the library.”

Matt’s face lit up, then clouded again immediately as Peter went straight to the passenger door, yanked it open, and started to climb in.

“Dude,” Matt said, giving Peter a frat-boy-in-training staredown. “No.”

Hector grabbed his friend by the backpack and dragged Peter to the truck bed. “This way, lover boy. Haven’t you always wanted to ride in the back of a truck?”

Bridget stared out the window and tried to ignore Matt’s fidgeting while they waited for the light to change. In thirty seconds he had adjusted his rearview mirror, turned on the radio, checked his cell phone, readjusted the mirror, and changed the radio station. Twice. Now Coldplay was blasting through the subwoofers. Really? Coldplay? Holy crap, this was her own personal nightmare: trapped in a pickup truck with Matt Quinn and Coldplay. Add some spiders and a porcelain doll or two, and she’d be curled up on the floor of the cab in the fetal position.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

She refused to look at him. “There are a lot of things I can forgive, but bad taste in music isn’t one of them.”

“Coldplay?”

Bridget wrinkled her nose.

“Will you forgive me if I change the station?”

“I’ll try.”

Matt switched to the local indie station as the light changed. “Perfect. So you forgive me for getting you grounded. Awesome.”

Bridget swore under her breath. She had walked right into that one.

“You know,” he said, turning onto Sunset Boulevard. “You know, if you weren’t so much trouble, I wouldn’t worry about you.”

“If I weren’t so much trouble?”

“Yeah.”

“And how would you know anything about my life?”

Matt shrugged.

“Because unless you’ve been talking to the two dorks in the back of your truck, I’m guessing you don’t know jack about it.”

“I’ve heard about where you go on the weekends. Clubs and stuff.”

Clubs and stuff? She and Hector hit the occasional concert south of Market or in Berkeley, but it was hardly “stuff”—and not on her mom’s radar. What the hell was he talking about?

Bridget shifted her hips to face him and immediately noticed the flush spreading up his neck. Suddenly she knew exactly who had been spreading the rumors about her. Bridget dug her fingernails into the faux leather seat. That bitch.

“For your information, the only words Alexa Darlington’s spoken to me since the sixth grade are the ones you witnessed this afternoon, and as far as her or you knowing anything about my life, let’s just say you’re both clueless, okay?”

“But that’s what I mean.”

“Right. I’m sure you’d be perfectly happy if I spent my time beerbonging it at the football team’s latest blowout. Or perhaps you’d prefer it if I just partied with Kappa Sig like your ex-girlfriend? You’d be comfortable with that, right? Because that’s the world you know? As long as I’m letting some college sophomore ply me with Keystone, it’s all good.”

Matt’s tanned face flushed a deep shade of scarlet, and Bridget knew she’d hit close to home. But she didn’t care. She was tired of everyone sticking their noses in her business. She’d done fine for years without Matt Quinn in her life, and just because her dad was dead didn’t mean she needed any help from Mr. Perfect Grades, Perfect Body, Starting Pitcher, no matter how cute he looked when he smiled.

How cute he looked when he smiled? Whoa, did she really just think that?

A movement from the flatbed caught her eye, and she saw Peter’s face plastered against the cab’s window, his quick breaths fogging up the glass. Peter always seemed to be watching her these days. It was getting a little creepy.

Matt slammed on the brakes, and Bridget snickered as Hector rolled into Peter. Matt rapped his knuckles against the cab window. “Library.”

The shock absorbers bounced as two bodies scrambled over the tailgate—first Hector’s fumbling, then Peter’s slow, careful tread. Peter’s face was at her window instantly, trying to ask a question through the glass, but Matt didn’t wait; he peeled away from the curb with an ear-shattering tire squeal.

As they drove in silence, Bridget stole a glance at Matt. His mouth was clamped tight, the muscles of his jawline bulging out from below his sculpted cheek, and his eyebrows were scrunched low. He ran his hand through his sandy blond hair, and the longish strands stood up straight for a split second before flopping down over his ear.

“I worked with your brother yesterday,” Matt said, switching gears.

Bridget softened. Sammy was her Achilles heel.

Her brother was hardly an athlete and cared about sports about as much as Bridget cared about Latin class. But Sammy got teased mercilessly about being horrible at sports, and Bridget had comforted the devastated eight-year-old on more than one occasion. Enter Matt Quinn to the rescue.