Possess

One
    B RIDGET STARED AT THE CLOCK on the wall and cursed its painfully slow progression toward three fifteen. Was the big hand even moving? She slipped her cell phone out of her backpack for cross-reference. Damn. Seven more minutes. It was so like a Catholic school to make Latin the last class of the day. Institutionalized Purgatory.
    “Hey,” Hector whispered from the desk in front of her. “Want to hit House of Pies after school?”
    “Maybe.” The last thing Hector needed was another slice of Triple Chocolate pie.
    “Maybe?” Hector swiveled his torso around to face her. “You got a hot date or something?”
    Before Bridget could tell Hector to shove it, Peter Kim cleared his throat. “Shut up, you guys. Sister Evangeline’s going to kill us.”
    Bridget glanced at the wizened little nun sitting motionless at her desk, engrossed in a romance novel. “Live a little, Peter. Seriously.”
    Peter’s face was pinched as he slipped his book and pen case into his backpack. “So, Bridge, are you, um, going to the library today?”
    A sly smile spread across Hector’s face. “Why, Peter? Why could you possibly be asking?”
    Peter flushed.
    “Because if she’s going and you’re going, maybe you two could go together?”
    Bridget kicked Hector’s chair with the steel toe of her boot. She’d known Peter Kim since the second grade and was painfully aware of his decade-long crush on her. And the not-so-secret delight Hector took in torturing him about it.
    “Well . . . I mean . . . ,” Peter stuttered.
    Bridget’s cell phone buzzed, saving her from yet another awkward conversation with Peter.
    “Who’s texting you at school?” Hector said, peering over her desk.
    “Um . . .” She looked down at her phone and saw the name “Matt Quinn” blazing back.
    Hector’s jaw dropped. “He has your cell phone number?”
    Crap.
    “Who?” Peter asked sharply. “Who has your—”
    “‘Coaching your brother today,’” Hector read. “‘See you after?’”
    Bridget couldn’t help but smile. She lowered her chin, hoping Hector wouldn’t catch it. Too late.
    “Oh,” he cooed. “So you do have a hot date after school. Jealous.”
    Bridget scowled. “He’s not your type.”
    “Bridget.” Peter’s cheeks burned the same color as the ridiculous red Windbreaker he always wore, and his dark brown eyes were fixed on her, holding her gaze. “Who are you seeing after school?”
    “No one,” Bridget said quickly, shoving her cell phone in her jacket pocket. “I’m not seeing anyone.”
    “The cop’s son,” Hector volunteered. “The one that sent Milton Undermeyer to—” Hector stopped short as his eye caught Bridget’s and she gave him her best “I’m going to rip your heart out through your nose” stare.
    Hector swallowed. “Sorry.”
    “The cop who sent that murderer to see Dr. Liu?” Peter’s voice was shrill. “Yeah, I doubt Bridge’s dating the guy whose dad got hers killed.”
    Bridget stiffened. It had been almost nine months since her father’s death, yet the raw ache still dug its claws into her heart every time she thought about it. Wasn’t it supposed to get better? Eventually the pain would go away, the nightmares would end, and the memories of that day fade to muted colors.
    Without realizing it, Bridget reached for the charm bracelet she’d worn around her wrist since she was seven. A First Communion gift from her dad. She traced the familiar, ornate outline of the square cross with her fingers—the weird nonsense letters and the funny scrolling symbols—then closed her hand around the charm and squeezed, letting the sharp corners of the cross dig into the flesh of her palm. She didn’t want to forget. She’d rather hold on to the pain than lose him again.
    “Dude,” Hector said, smacking Peter on the arm. “Not cool.”
    Bridget released the charm. “It’s fine.” Her voice was steady. Good.
    “Bridge,” Peter said rapidly. “I just meant—”
    The back door of the classroom flew open, and Monsignor Renault stepped into the room. Latin 201 went silent as the tall, imposing figure of the school chaplain strode quickly to Sister Evangeline’s desk, where the nun sat complacently reading her novel. When he placed a gnarled hand on her shoulder, Sister Evangeline jumped and shoved her reading material into an open drawer.
    “Monsignor Renault, what a lovely surprise,” she squeaked.
    He brought his head down and whispered something in Sister