My Best Friend's Exorcism(24)

Margaret and Abby rolled their eyes at each other, and then Margaret went to watch Wallace’s band practice while Abby and Gretchen walked out to the parking lot. Abby noticed Gretchen flinch again.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The flashbacks are getting worse,” Gretchen said.

“Didn’t Andy say that was totally normal?” Abby asked.

“Andy doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Gretchen said, and Abby’s heart soared. “It’s been like someone’s touching the back of my neck all day long. And it’s happening more. Every second it’s, like, touch-touch-touch.”

They crossed the street and walked between the mossy oaks that guarded the gate to the student parking lot, kicking rocks, the sharp white gravel poking through the soles of their shoes. Most of the cars were already gone, and the Bunny sat at the end, all alone.

“Like this?” Abby asked, extending one finger and poking Gretchen in the shoulder. Poke.

“It’s not funny,” Gretchen said. “I couldn’t sleep last night. The second I got tired, hands started touching my face and pulling on my legs. I turned on the lights and they stopped, then I started falling asleep and they were touching me again.”

“It’ll wear off soon,” Abby assured her. “It’s been less than forty-eight hours. This stuff can’t stay in your system forever.” She managed to sound confident, as if she was an expert on the half-life of hallucinogenic drugs.

Gretchen hitched her bookbag strap higher on one shoulder. “If I don’t get some sleep tonight, I’m going to go nuts. My entire face hurts.”

Abby poked her in the shoulder again, and Gretchen swatted her hand away.

It was just another Monday to Abby.

She didn’t know it was the beginning of the end.





One Thing Leads to Another


“Some of you seniors may have seen this at parties,” said Coach Greene, standing at the podium in front of the upper school assembly, holding a green glass bottle. “The manufacturer calls it ‘Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler,’ but the Charleston County Police Department calls it ‘rape juice.’”

Sitting next to Abby, Gretchen jerked forward, flinching. She turned to see who had touched her, but of course nobody had. Hushed whispering and snickers broke out behind them: Wallace Stoney and his football buddy sidekicks, John Bailey and Malcolm Zuckerman (who had taken to calling himself Nuke for some unknown reason).

“It tastes sweet,” Coach Greene continued. “It costs about a dollar, and in hot weather, if you’re not careful, you’ll drink three or four of them without even noticing. But do not be fooled. Each one of these contains more alcohol than a can of beer. If you’re a young woman, these make it very easy to put yourself in a situation where that which is most precious to you could be permanently ruined. Y’all know what I’m talking about.”

She took a dramatic pause and scanned the audience, daring a single student to make a single joke. Laughter was lethal when you were being told something For Your Own Good.

“Some things that are broken cannot be fixed,” Coach Greene said. “Sometimes it only takes one mistake to ruin what cannot be repaired, be it your reputation, your family’s good name, or your . . . most . . . valuable . . . gift.”

Abby wanted to lean over and whisper it to Gretchen in solemn tones: Your . . . Most . . . Valuable . . . Gift. It had the potential to become something they said to each other all the time, like “Nik Nak Woogie Woogie Woogie,” the love cry of the Koala Bear, or “Hefty, Hefty, Hefty . . . wimpy, wimpy, wimpy” from the television commercial. But ever since she’d dropped into the shotgun seat of the Dust Bunny that morning, Gretchen had been bleary-eyed and miserable, all herking, jerking raw nerves.

Invisible hands had been touching her all night, she’d told Abby. Touching her face, tapping her shoulders, stroking her chest. She’d laid in her bed for hours, holding completely still, praying the flashbacks would stop while tears ran down her temples and pooled in her ears. Around 2 a.m., Gretchen snuck the cordless phone into her bedroom, called Andy, and talked to him for two hours until she finally fell asleep. When she woke at dawn, she was excited that she’d managed to sleep for two solid hours. Then she felt a hand brush her stomach and she ran into the bathroom and threw up.

“I cannot tell you the number of students who come into my office crying,” Coach Greene said from the podium on the big blond-wood stage at the front of the auditorium. “You don’t know how valuable something is until it’s gone.”

Abby wondered if maybe Gretchen was exaggerating. How long could flashbacks really last? But it seemed real. Earlier that morning, Gretchen had fallen asleep in U.S. History, which made Mr. Groat rap on her desk and moan through his mustache that maybe she’d find the front office more interesting.

“This is your future I’m talking about, people,” Coach Greene shouted. “A little bit of carelessness and you could ruin it permanently. Like that!”

She snapped her fingers and they sounded like bones breaking. Coach Greene paused to let the import of her remarks sink in. A sheen of sweat coated her upper lip.

The massive air-conditioning system rumbled on and shoved cold air out the ceiling vents. Someone on the other side of the auditorium coughed. In the silence, Gretchen jerked forward again, making her chair rattle. Abby shot her a look. Gretchen’s right shoulder was twitching like someone was pushing it again and again, joggling it back and forth. Abby never prayed in chapel but right now she prayed that Coach Greene didn’t notice the disruption.