Possess

she realized that it was probably safer for Matt to think she was nervous about the stupid dance rather than it was to explain what was really going on.
    “Er, yeah. Yeah, I guess I am,” she said.
    “I’m sorry,” Matt said quickly. “I know I kind of conned you into coming. I just thought you might—”
    A loud buzz came from Bridget’s bag. She pulled out her cell phone and saw she had a text. From Peter Kim.
Are you really going to Winter Formal?
    “Anything important?” Matt asked.
    “Nope.” Just this stalker I seem to have picked up.
    Another buzz.
You are, aren’t you? Going with Matt Quinn?
    “I just thought you might enjoy the dance. Have a little fun. Smile.”
    It was equal parts sweet and pathetic. “I smile, thank you very much.”
    “Yeah.” Matt glanced in her direction. “But you should do it more. It’s cute.”
    Did Matt Quinn just call her cute?
    Buzz.
How could you, Bridge? How could you?
    Peter was starting to creep her out. Bridget needed something to distract her.
    “You won’t get in trouble with your coach?” she said, hoping this would be a topic Matt could prattle on about. “Staying out so late?”
    Matt’s shoulders relaxed. “No. Practice isn’t till noon tomorrow, and it’s optional.”
    Buzz.
He’s no good for you.
    Buzz.
AND his dad practically killed your dad.
    Buzz.
ANSWER ME, BRIDGET!
    Bridget shoved her phone into her bag. What the hell was wrong with everyone tonight?
    “How long have you played baseball?” she asked mechanically.
    “Since I moved in with my mom,” Matt said. His voice sounded enthusiastic. Finally, something he wanted to talk about that wasn’t the dance or her dad.
    “Oh, yeah?”
    “She needed something to keep me busy. Little League, pitching coaches, then Riordan.”
    Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
    “I’ve been scouted,” he continued. “Couple of colleges plus the big leagues. Could be really good for me.”
    “That’s awesome.”
    Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
    Matt shrugged. “Maybe. If I stay healthy. I could blow out my arm tomorrow and it would all go away. You never know.”
    Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
    “I guess not.”
    Matt pulled into the parking lot at St. Michael’s. Couples in sparkly dresses and ill-fitting suits trekked to the gym, and Bridget was suddenly horrified. She was at a school dance, something she’d sworn she’d never do. It was a sign of the Apocalypse.
    Matt cut the engine, then laid a hand on Bridget’s arm as she started to open her door. “Wait.”
    He slipped out of the driver’s side and walked around to open her door. The perfect gentleman. As he made his way around, Bridget flipped open her phone to read the messages she’d ignored. All from Peter.
Why would you do this?
This is all your fault.
Bridge, just give me a chance.
I’d make you happier than he could.
I’ll die without you.
Maybe you didn’t go after all? Bridge?
    Perfect. She’d managed to turn Peter Kim into a complete psychopath. The night just got better and better.
    Matt pulled the door open and offered her his hand. “Ready?”
    Bridget took an apprehensive glance at the couples lined up outside the gym, and part of her wanted to run screaming home, crawl under the covers, and hide.
    She caught Matt’s eye and he smiled. “You’ll have fun. I promise.”
    Her phone buzzed, but this time she didn’t even look at the text. She hit the mute button, shoved it in her purse, and took Matt’s outstretched hand. “Okay, but if I don’t, I’m going to kick your ass.”
    Bridget trotted beside Matt, who strode confidently across the parking lot, holding her hand firmly in his. His confidence was almost annoying, considering this wasn’t even his school, but at the same time she felt a sense of protection in it. At the very least no one would hassle her as long as she was with Matt Quinn.
    “Matt!” Bridget turned to see a vaguely familiar-looking senior. He was tall with a shaved head and goatee. Class president maybe? She had no clue.
    “Hey, Chris,” Matt said. They did the patented brosive handshake–chest bump combo. “What’s up?”
    Chris’s date wore the littlest little black dress Bridget had ever seen. If she dropped her purse and had to pick it up there’d be a Britney getting out of the limo moment. She pawed at Chris’s arm in a nauseatingly territorial display like she was afraid he was going to ditch her.
    “This is Chelsea,” Chris said. “She goes to Mercy.”
    Otherwise known as the Sluts on the