Sure enough, a pair of angels walk the school grounds below, accompanied by the school’s Headmaster and Superintendent. The Old Timer stares through the glass, his black eyes wide as saucers. His voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Ghouls and angels?”

Angels rarely visit Purgatory outside of Arena matches, let alone go for strolls with ghouls. My mind spins with the possibilities, returning again and again to the same thought: this little distraction puts worm soufflé time on hold! I can’t help but grin.

“What in blazes are angels doing here?” The Old Timer twirls his handlebar moustache with bony fingers, his ebony eyes lost in thought.

Cissy half-raises her arm. “Sir, class is almost over.” We’ve got fifteen minutes, but Cissy uses new math.

With his eyes still locked on the window, the Old Timer dreamily waves his hand. “You’re all dismissed.”

Cissy grips my wrist. “We’re going to your house after school.” She drags me toward the door. “This is an official emergency. We’ve got to talk.”

My upper lip curls. One guess what she wants to chat about.

3

The entire ride home, Cissy fiddles with Betsy’s radio and grills me about every millisecond of my interaction with Zeke. It’s amazing how many details she thinks are important. ‘Did he look directly into your eyes when he asked that question?’ ‘Were his arms crossed over his chest like this?’ And, of course, there’s the ever-popular ‘Did he ask you about me?’ When I run out of answers, I start making stuff up. It’s easier that way.

Cissy’s eyes flare with a bit of red. “Did he give you his smoldering look?” She’s created an elaborate filing system for Zeke’s goo-goo eyes. Blech. This boy-crazy crap makes me a little nuts. Not only because it’s dumb, repetitive, and a total waste of time, but also because part of me wishes I’d felt that way. Maybe once.

“Smoldering look.” I smack my lips. “What do you mean?”

Her eyes blaze red. “You know exactly what I mean. He gives you that look all the time. Zeke so likes you and you could care less. It’s not fair.”

I grip the steering wheel tighter and brainstorm ways to change the subject. There are two Cissys. One is my sweet friend with a big heart who can’t help but take care of oddballs like me. The other’s an obsessive nut job who goes demon-eyed with envy over whatever’s the object of her desire. Like Zeke. “Put the brakes on your inner demon, Cissy girl. Do you want to miss this chance?”

“What chance?” Cissy slumps into the seat, kicking her foot onto the dashboard. “You’ll be at the party too. Let’s be honest. He won’t notice I exist.”

“Hey, now.” I can’t stand to see Cissy so down on herself. “This is like…like…”

Cissy frowns. “Like what?”