“And you’re my favorite person,” I retorted. “I want to go with you. Okay?”
He sighed, a defeated look crossing his face. I’d won, and I fought not to smile.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “It’s a date.” And then he spun around, heading for English 3.
I grinned, my nerves immediately relaxing. I was no doubt taking Noah away from a promising night with another girl, so I’d have to do something to make it up to him.
Walking into Pre-Calculus, I hooked my bag on the back of my chair in the front row and pulled out my book, setting it on the desk. My friend Claudia planted herself in the seat next to me, meeting my eyes and smiling, and I immediately sat down and started writing my name on the blank piece of paper that Mr. Fitzpatrick had set down on everyone’s desk. Friday classes always started with a pop quiz, so we knew the drill.
Students hurried into the room, the girls’ green and blue plaid skirts swaying, and most of the boys’ ties already loosened. It was nearly the end of the day.
“Did you hear the news?” someone said behind us, and I jerked my head around to see Gabrielle Owens leaning over her desktop.
“What news?” Claudia asked.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, excitement crossing her face. “They’re here,” she told us.
I glanced at Claudia and then back at Gabrielle, confused. “Who’s here?”
But then Mr. Fitzpatrick came in, booming in his large voice, “Take a seat everyone!”, and Claudia, Gabrielle, and I immediately faced the front of the room and straightened, ending our conversation.
“Please sit down, Mr. Dawson,” the teacher instructed to a student in the back as he came to stand behind his desk.
They’re here? I leaned back in my chair, trying to figure out what she meant. But then I looked up, spotting a girl jogging to the front of the room and handing Mr. Fitzpatrick a note.
“Thank you,” he responded, opening it up.
I watched him read it and saw his expression turn from relaxed to agitated, his lips pressing together and his eyebrows narrowing.
What was going on?
They’re here. What did that…?
But then my eyes widened and flutters hit my stomach.
THEY’RE HERE. I opened my mouth, sucking in a quick breath, fire and fever making my skin tingle. Butterflies filled my stomach, and I clenched my teeth, holding back the smile that wanted loose.
He’s here.
I raised my eyes slowly, looking at the clock and seeing that it was nearly two in the afternoon.
And it was October thirtieth, the night before Halloween.
Devil’s Night.
They were back. But why? They’d already graduated—more than a year ago, so why now?
“Please make sure you have your name on your paper,” Mr. Fitzpatrick instructed, an edge to his voice, “and solve the three problems on the board.” He switched on the projector, not wasting any time as the problems flashed on the Smartboard ahead of us.
“Turn it face down when you’re finished,” he called out. “You have ten minutes.”
I gripped the pencil, my entire body buzzing with nerves and anticipation as I tried to concentrate on the first problem dealing with quadratic functions.
But it was fucking hard. I glanced at the clock again. Any minute…
I bowed my head and forced myself to focus, my pencil digging into the wooden desk underneath as I blinked my eyes, bringing them into focus on my task. “Find the vertex of the parabola,” I whispered to myself.
I quickly worked through the problem, moving from one thing to the other, knowing that if I stopped for a second, I’d be distracted.
If the vertex of the parabola has coordinates…I kept going.
The graph of a quadratic function is a parabola, which opens up if…
And I kept working, finishing one, two, and moving through number three.
But then I heard soft music, and I instantly froze.
My pencil hovered over my work as the sound of a faint guitar riff drifted through the loudspeakers. It got louder and louder, and I stared at my paper, heat stirring inside my chest.
Whispers sounded around the room, followed by a few excited giggles, and then the soft beginning of the song over the speakers gave way to a violent onslaught of drums, guitars, and a fast, sharp, heart-pounding mania. I tightened my fingers around my pencil.
Slipknot’s The Devil In I blared through the classroom—and, I assumed, the rest of the school, as well.
“I told you!” Gabrielle burst out.
I popped my head up, watching as students raced out of their seats for the door.
“Are they really here?” someone damn-near squealed.
Everyone crowded around the classroom door, peering out the small window at the top, trying to catch a glimpse of them coming down the hallway. But I stayed in my seat, adrenaline rippling through my body.
Mr. Fitzpatrick’s chest heaved with a sigh as he folded his arms over his chest and turned away, no doubt waiting for it to be over.
The music pounded, and the thrilled chatter from the other students filled the room.
“Where—oh, there they are!” a girl shouted, and I heard pounding coming from the hallway, sounding like fists beating on lockers, getting closer and closer.
“Let me see!” another student argued, pushing others aside.
A girl popped up on her tiptoes. “Move!” she ordered someone else.
But then everyone suddenly backed up. The doors swung open, and the students fanned out like a ripple in a lake.
“Oh, shit,” I heard a boy whisper.
Slowly, everyone spread out, some falling back into their seats while others remained standing. I gripped my pencil with both hands, my stomach flipping like a roller coaster as I watched them slowly step into the classroom, eerily calm and in no hurry.