He scanned the rows dramatically as if he were seeing the demons out there right now, shading his eyes, playing to the crowd.
“I challenge anyone who is in league with Satan,” Christian called. “Any of his representatives, any of his emissaries here on earth, any of them, to get up on this stage right now and you pray to your God and I’ll pray to mine and we’ll see who’s more powerful.”
More ironic cheering, and then Christian stopped. He kept staring into the audience, and Abby realized he was looking right at Gretchen. He stared for a long minute, and everyone started to get uncomfortable. The happy buzz in the auditorium quieted. When he finally spoke again, the room was silent.
“I see your demon, young lady,” he said, taking the microphone from his brother. “I see the demon holding you down. I see it making you hurt the ones you love. I challenge it. You think you’re strong, Demon? You think you’re strong? Say it with me. You think you’re strong, but my God is stronger. Demon, begone! You think you’re tough, well my God is tougher! Demon, begone!”
With that, he drew back a fist and drove it into the cinderblock. It didn’t crack—it exploded. A shower of gray sand bloomed and Christian shoved his arms into the air in a V for victory, his right hand bright red.
Everyone erupted into frenzied applause and ecstatic mayhem.
It was the craziest, weirdest, lamest, funniest assembly ever. As students gossiped on the way out about whether the Lemon Brothers had part-time jobs as Chippendale strippers, Abby made her way around the auditorium to the back, where the Lemon Brothers’ van was parked in the dirt patch next to the side door.
The van’s rear doors were open, and Christian was sitting on the bumper while Jonah rubbed Icy Hot on his red forearms and swollen hand. The other three brothers were packing their props into the van, carrying milk crates out of the auditorium, hauling out trash bags stuffed with the plastic dropcloth wrapped around the cinderblock fragments and watermelon pulp.
“Excuse me?” Abby said.
Jonah and Christian looked up. Jonah smiled big beneath his blond mustache.
“Are you here to dedicate your life to Christ?” he asked. “Or do you want an autograph? We’ve got a mailing list.”
“Um,” Abby said. “I wanted to talk to him?”
She pointed at Christian.
“I don’t think I can sign anything,” Christian apologized, holding out his right hand. His fist looked raw. “That last cinderblock did a number on me.”
“No, I wanted to ask about what you said. About the girl with the demon? She’s my best friend. I wanted to know what you saw.”
“He didn’t see anything,” Elijah said, passing in front of her with two sledgehammers, one in each hand.
“I have the gift of discernment,” Christian huffed.
“You couldn’t discern your hand in front of your face,” Elijah said, throwing the sledgehammers into the back of the van with loud bangs.
“He’s just jealous,” Christian said, turning back to Abby. “I saw a demon haunting your friend. A demon in the shape of a great owl, with his dark shadow obscuring her face.”
“Show’s over,” Jonah said, stepping in front of Christian. “We’ve got to get out of here. They’re not paying us to pack up. Here, have one of our pamphlets, and tell all your friends about the Lemon Brothers Faith and Fitness Show.”
Abby took the Xeroxed flier and backed away, keeping her eyes on Christian for as long as possible.
I see the demon holding you down. I see it making you hurt the ones you love.
She wasn’t alone anymore.
Dancing in the Dark
“Fifteen celery sticks,” Margaret said, writing 15 Ce in her spiral notebook. “Twelve carrot sticks,” 12 Ca. “Eight slices of apple,” 8 A Sl. “Twenty-five grapes,” 25 Gr. “Two milkshakes,” 2 MS.
Gretchen’s German milkshakes had melted Margaret to a molten core of hotness. A knife had wicked away her soft curves and now she had dramatic cheekbones. Her hair was thicker, her eyes brighter.
“Wallace can’t keep his hands off of me,” she bragged, sitting Indian-style in the October sunshine on the Lawn.
Winter was late, and the grass was packed. Circles of girls ate their yogurts and the boys in Juggling Club flashed pins over their heads, making them squeal. Hacky sacks bounced between boys. Bocce players stood with their hands in their pockets, watching one another’s bowls. Some seniors were down at the far end playing touch football in their T-shirts.
Sunglasses were on, sweaters were off, shirts were unbuttoned. Everyone was basking in the sun, growing tan and juicy. Humors were good, tolerance was high, laughter was easy, and Margaret was beautiful. Now she could pull off a black dress at winter semiformal, something only a few of the skinniest senior girls would ever dare. In Charleston, you wore solid colors or prints; black was considered too urban. If you were going to wear black, you really had to own it. Margaret could, and she owed it all to Gretchen.
“Seriously,” Margaret said, closing her food notebook and stretching her legs in front of her, sunglasses aimed at the sky. “If he keeps dogging me, I’m going to be preggo by January.”
“We’ll all be so proud,” Glee said.
“One day you’ll grow up, too,” Margaret said. “And then you’ll experience the mature pleasures of boning.”
“That reminds me,” Gretchen said, sitting up.
She’d been lying on her back, Wordly Wise held in the air as she raced through the lessons. Their English class was on Chapter Four. Gretchen was doing the crossword puzzle at the end of Chapter Twenty-One. Her bookbag was shoved under her head as a pillow, the end unzipped, and when she raised herself on her elbows her books spilled out, the paisley daybook sliding to the edge of the jumble. Abby couldn’t take her eyes off it.
“Here,” Gretchen said, and she handed a folded piece of paper to Glee. “It’s from Father Morgan. About vestry.”
“Oo,” Margaret said. “Bone note.”
Glee ignored her and slipped it into her books.
“Do you have any more of that milkshake I could try?” Glee asked Gretchen.
Gretchen wrinkled her nose underneath her sunglasses.
“My dad got ticked my mom wasn’t drinking them,” she said. “He threw out the box.”
“Is there—” Glee started.
“Mine,” Margaret said. “Whatever’s left is mine.”
In Biology class, Abby raised her hand and asked to use the bathroom. She didn’t have to go; she just needed to smell fresh air for a minute. They were dissecting fetal pigs, and the vinegar fumes made her queasy.
Voices droned behind each closed door as she passed them in the dim hall. The door to Madame Millicent’s French classroom was open and she could hear chalk tapping the board as Madame explained something to students who didn’t care. Abby didn’t know where she was going until she stopped at Gretchen’s locker.
Out of curiosity, she tried the combination. It had always been Abby’s birthday, the same way Abby’s locker combination had always been Gretchen’s birthday. She spun the combination to 12-01-72 and lifted the latch. It didn’t budge. Hurt, Abby decided she was
going to make this work. Gretchen couldn’t keep secrets from her.
She thought for a second, then spun the combination to 05-12-73, Gretchen’s birthday. The latch lifted with a clack, the door swung open, and the first thing she saw was Gretchen’s daybook sitting on top of her textbooks. Before she could reconsider, Abby grabbed it and ran for the parking lot.
Gretchen would guess her combination in a flash, so Abby’s only hope was the Dust Bunny. She avoided classroom windows, reached her car in two minutes flat, and hid the book under the driver’s seat. Then she raced back to class, caught her breath outside the door, and went back inside. Teachers never commented on how long girls stayed in the bathroom, especially when they took their purses.