The faint murmuring of Monday morning lectures droned on from behind the rows of closed classroom doors. Westland High felt smaller somehow, like last year’s shoes. Being within its four walls pinched and suffocated Quinn. She’d outgrown its fluorescent-lit hallways full of idle gossip and meaningless social-ladder climbing. What was once the center of her whole life was now nothing but a pointless exercise in fake smiles and faker friendships. Nothing about it felt normal.
Quinn’s mother had been as good as her word, going so far as to sit in on her appointment with Mr. Medina, the school counselor. After an hour of listening to two adults arguing and strategizing the best way to get Quinn back on track and across that stage in June, without even so much asking her how she felt, she was released back into the wild with a kiss on the cheek from her mother and a new, easier schedule from Mr. Medina. Out with the advanced placement classes and in with an extra elective. Quinn didn’t care. Her phone buzzed as she left Mr. Medina’s office, and she pulled it from her pocket.
Caleb: Good luck today. You can do this! I’ll have a punching bag ready for you after school though, just in case.
She smiled at the text from Caleb. Over the last few days, they’d grown closer, sharing demon stories while training together at the gym. It was the one thing she looked forward to. Spending time with Caleb had become her safe haven, the only place in the world she could truly be herself. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what it would have been like if she had put her trust in Aaron instead of pushing him away.
Quinn: Thanks, Meathead. Can you put a picture of my counselor’s face on it?
In some ways, Caleb reminded her of Aaron. Caring, loyal, willing to put himself in danger for those he cared about, but there was a cynical sarcasm there too that reminded her of herself. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him. Maybe she should feel guilty for that, but she didn’t. Aaron was her first priority. She’d made that clear to Caleb, and he accepted it, or at least pretended to.
Caleb: done. See you at three, Blondie. And don’t forget the new gloves.
Replacing the phone in her pocket, she adjusted her backpack, took a deep breath, and started walking. She was supposed to be making her way to third period English, but instead found herself stuck in the middle of the long language arts corridor. The squeak of her boots on linoleum slowed as she approached a row of lockers on the right. There was no way to avoid it.
Hugging her literature book to her chest, she tried to ignore the instinct to run. She didn’t want to look, but his locker called to her, a lantern against the gray concrete walls, and her feet ignored a plea to keep walking. Condolence cards still clung to the face of the dark purple metal, a rainbow of printed flowers and serene landscapes. On the wall above it hung a sign dotted with hundreds of signatures. In giant red letters it said:
Gone but not forgotten. Westland High will miss you.
Scanning the cards, she read the touching messages full of platitudes. People who hadn’t even known Aaron poured out their grief in a barrage of meaningless words for a boy few had taken the time to get to know. Wasn’t she as guilty as they were? She wiped a tear with the back of her hand.
A few feet to her left marked the spot where Aaron saved her from fainting. Everyone had called him Superman and sang his praises, all but Quinn. Like a fool, she had called out for Jeff, ignoring the best thing that could have happened to her. There wasn’t a moment when she didn’t wish she could go back in time and change that very instant when she woke up in his arms. Now Aaron only lived inside her head, a ghost in the machine.
The corners of her textbook dug into her chest as she tried to suppress the memory of Aaron smiling at her, laughing with Marcus.
An exit sign flashed red above the door at the end of the hallway. In less than ten seconds, she could be through it and out into the parking lot before anyone knew she was gone. Why should she stay? Nothing here mattered. High school was nothing but a lie, a farce, and she didn’t want to be a part of it anymore. Everyone had written him off, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t do this, act like everything was all right, move forward with her life. The whole show of it brought bile to her throat.
Her vision narrowed then stretched as dizziness spiraled around her head. Suddenly, her literature book became a ten-ton brick in her arms. She couldn’t hold onto it any longer, and it slipped through her grasp, thudding on the hard linoleum below.
Struggling to catch her breath, she wrenched the confining scarf away from her neck and searched for something to steady herself. Her sweaty palm found the cool metal of Aaron’s locker door, and she closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to stave off the drowning feeling.
Touching something of his had a calming effect, and her heart stopped throwing punches at her rib cage. She couldn’t help picturing Aaron standing with her, a soothing hand on hers, green eyes dancing as he leaned in for a kiss. Regret ripped at the hole he’d left inside her, and she couldn’t hold back the flood.
An icy chill ran up Quinn’s spine, and she stiffened as the light touch of a phantom finger brushed the tears from her cheek. Her eyes flew open and scanned the hallway. The human realm appeared empty, but her senses picked up slight vibrations, dark disturbances clinging to the shadows, that made her stomach clench.
Aaron’s combination lock clanged against the metal frame, as if someone knocked a hand against it. Quinn startled and backed away, her breath coming in sharp bursts as the temperature dropped. An intense feeling of being watched overcame her. Blinking, she watched the lock vibrate, the dial inching to the right until it landed on the number two. A click indicated it had hit the right spot. The dial spun to the left, faster this time, reaching twenty-seven. Another click, and a spin back to the right. When it stopped on seven, the curved shackle popped out of the case and the padlock fell to the ground with an echoing bang.
“Aaron?” she whispered.
The door inched open, and Quinn held her breath, hoping he would appear to her the way he had at the cemetery. She turned in a slow circle, looking for any signs of his manifestation, but if it was him, he remained hidden. It must be him. Quinn whipped around as the door squeaked open another centimeter.
“Aaron, is that you?” she whispered again, an invocation.
In response, the door swung wide as if caught in a gust of wind, banging against the adjoining locker, causing her to flinch.
She stared at the open compartment and twisted a short strand of hair around her finger. Nobody had taken the time to empty its contents, and the inside lay untouched, exposing a piece of Aaron she hadn’t taken a chance to know. Such a personal space, the inside of a locker, and she was anxious about invading it without him there. There were the usual textbooks, and a collage of pictures and poetry scrawled in his messy hand were stuck to the sides with a collection of small black and white magnets.
Aaron smiled at her, one arm around Jenna, the other around Cade. They stood in front of a drum set in what looked like a garage. His guitar hung from his shoulder, and he looked as happy as she’d ever seen him.
Jealousy bit at Quinn’s heart as she thought of dark-haired, beautiful, and no-nonsense Jenna singing with Aaron, wrapping her arms around him in a hug, kissing in the bleachers. There was nothing between them but friendship, but maybe if they were together before that day he rescued Quinn in the hallway, he never would have fallen for her, never would have been at the river that night, would still be alive.
The other picture showed Marcus and Aaron standing back to back, arms folded across their chests, baseball caps on backwards, sporting a pair of fake mustaches with you-know-you-want-some-of-this smirks. An overwhelming need to possess that picture gripped her. Was this what Aaron wanted her to find? She looked left, then right, to make sure her crime wasn’t observed.
When she moved the magnet that held it in place, her sleeve caught on the tip of a spiral notebook. Jerking her arm up and back, the small black binder tumbled to the floor and landed at her feet with a thump. Her hands trembled as she bent to pick up the journal. The handwriting was distinctly Aaron’s, a slanted mix of block and cursive. So that’s why Marcus and Josh couldn’t find it. They’d both been through his room half a dozen times looking for it. Quinn had checked the ruins of St. Angeles in case it had been hidden there, and Marcus had even begged Jenna to have a look around her garage. They’d all given up, but here it was. Nobody even thought to look in his locker.
“Aaron, is this what you wanted me to find?”
Nausea tugged at her gut. Even with her guard up, she sensed the change in the atmosphere as something hungry and corrupt approached. The temperature dropped ten degrees in less than a second. Quinn’s breath came out in a white mist, as if she were standing in a winter storm instead of in the middle of a warm building. This wasn’t Aaron.
A powerful demon entered the hallway, cutting a long knife-like shadow across the floor. It had been manipulating her, playing with her mind.
Behind it walked a girl, red hair like fire blazing in long disheveled curls. Kerstin stared at Quinn, eyes completely jet black, her face full of malice. Her lips curled into a snarl, making the hair on the back of Quinn’s neck prickle and burn.
“Welcome back, Quinn Perfect,” Kerstin purred with a not quite human voice. “We’ve been waiting for you.”