Possess

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,