Possess

a frightening roar. “Get out!”
    “The Emim will release us. You will feel our wrath. You cannot keep us out forever!”
    Bridget held her hands in front of her. They were hot, searing, the warmth shooting up through her wrists and arms. “Maybe.” She laughed drily. “But I can try.”
    She felt the weight of them as she threw her hands forward, concentrating on the demons themselves. “ Vade retro satana! I banish you.”
    There was a final shriek, then Bridget watched with satisfaction as a hundred dolls collapsed into silence.

Fifteen
    “S O ARE YOU GOING TO tell me what’s going on or am I going to have to start making stuff up?”
    Bridget froze midbite into her grilled cheese sandwich and slowly looked across the table at Hector. His diet snack bar and celery sticks lay untouched on top of his lunch bag. His arms were folded across his chest, and his left eyebrow kinked at a sharp angle. Uh-oh. Hector meant business.
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Really?”
    Flail. Peter must have spilled about her “official parish business” after school yesterday. How was she going to explain it?
    “You were going to tell me when that you asked hunky Matt Quinn to the Winter Formal?”
    Bridget’s whole body relaxed. Oh, that. “It just sort of—”
    “Look, if we’re going to be friends, you have to text me epic life events like this immediately. Like, within twenty seconds of the occurrence immediately. Get it? I have a reputation to maintain, and how would it look if I’m getting my information from—” He dropped his voice. “Peter?”
    Bridget winced. “You heard it from Peter?”
    “Heard it?” Hector snorted. “More like I got dragged into the insanity. He’s really freaking out.”
    “Yeah.” Bridget remembered the wild look in Peter’s eyes when he confronted her in the hallway, the angry line of his jaw when he challenged Matt in the parking lot. “I know.”
    “He cornered me in English this morning. Kept asking if I knew anything about it, rambling on and on about how you lied to him. Dude, seriously scary.”
    “Yeah,” Bridget repeated, sinking her head into her hands. “I know.”
    “I mean, not that I blame you. I’d ask Mr. Sexy Eyes Baseball Player to the dance myself if I thought I had a chance. But did you have to go and do it after you turned Peter down . . .
what was it, three times?”
    Bridget groaned. “Five.”
    “Five? Daaaaaaamn.”
    Bridget snapped her head up. “Okay, but what was I supposed to do? Go with Peter? And besides, it’s not like I asked Matt to go with me.”
    Hector pursed his lips. “Really? Then how did it happen?”
    “Um . . .” Why was everyone so intent on knowing how Matt ended up as her date to the Winter Formal? It just happened, people. Get over it.
    Hector’s eyes flicked off Bridget’s face to something behind her. He pulled his hand to his mouth. “Peter,” he said through a fake cough, a second before Peter Kim dropped his lunch tray down next to Bridget.
    “Hey, Peter,” she said, trying to sound casual. Pretty much anything out of his mouth at this point was going to be a disaster. She held her breath and waited for the worst.
    “Hector,” Peter said through clenched teeth.
    “Uh . . .” Hector’s eyes darted from Peter to Bridget, then back. “Hey, man.”
    Peter slowly unwrapped his spork-napkin packet. “How did you do on the algebra test today?”
    Oh, so that was it? Peter was going to ignore her? Bridget’s shoulders relaxed. Finally something was going her way for a freaking change.
    “Okay, I guess,” Hector said.
    Peter stabbed at his fruit compote. “Good.”
    Silence descended upon their corner of the table. Bridget amused herself by switching between Hector’s uncomfortable fidgeting and Peter’s metered eating as he slowly lifted bits of his lunch into his mouth, chewed five times, and swallowed. He was like a robot, not even registering whether he was ingesting a piece of bean-and-cheese burrito or a wilted lettuce leaf. Peter just continued to lift the spork from plate to mouth while his eyes remained fixed on the table. It was mesmerizing and horrifying at the same time.
    “Why so quiet?” Brad slid his tray down the table and climbed a gangly leg over the bench. “You guys have a fight or something?”
    “Beats the hell out of me,” Hector murmured.
    “Hello, Brad,” Peter said with the same mechanical Stepford Wives voice. “How are you