I walked to Megan’s house after school. She was in her room, painting her nails black. A red Gatorade bottle sat on her nightstand. I knew, without wanting to know, that it wasn’t Gatorade.
I wanted to believe her. I’d been her best friend since we traded juice boxes in fourth grade, back when she cried over a dead salamander. But three days ago, I’d watched the Satanists from the next town over drag her into their van after the indie band’s show. I’d watched the fire. I’d watched her walk out of the woods, naked and smiling, while the band’s trailer burned behind her. Jennifer--s Body -2009-
“Don’t tell,” she whispered. “Or I’ll start with your boyfriend.” The next morning, Chip was late for first period. By third period, his car was still in the lot, but he wasn’t. I found his letterman jacket behind the bleachers. It was wet. Not with rain—with something that had a pulse recently. I walked to Megan’s house after school
“You’re bleeding,” I said, pointing at a dark drip from her nostril. I knew, without wanting to know, that it wasn’t Gatorade
“You brought scissors to a demon fight?” she laughed.