‘You,’ Heather said, in a deep voice that was nothing like her normal cheerleader chirp, ‘are going to be sorry now.’

The water in the fountain suddenly reached boiling point. Giant waves of it began sloshing over the side of the basin. The jets, which normally bubbled a mere four feet into the air, suddenly shot up to ten, twenty feet, cascading back down into a bubbling, steaming cauldron. The birds in the treetops took off as one, their wings momentarily blocking out the light from the moon.

I had a funny feeling Heather was serious. What’s more, I had a feeling she could do it, too. Without even lifting a finger.

And I had confirmation of that fact when suddenly, Junipero Serra’s head was whipped from his statue’s body. That’s right. It just snapped off as easily as if the solid bronze it was made out of was actually spun candy. Noiselessly, too, she broke it off. The head hung in the air for a moment, its look of sympathetic compassion transformed from the bizarre angle at which it hung over my face into a demonic sneer. Then, as I stood there, transfixed, staring at the way the floodlights winked against the metal ball, I saw it dip suddenly . . .

Then plunge towards me, hurtling so fast it was only a blur in the night sky, like a comet, or a—

I didn’t get a chance to think what else it reminded me of because a split second later something heavy hit me in the stomach and sent me sprawling to the dirt, where I lay, looking up at the starry sky. It was so pretty. The night was so black, and the stars so cold and far off and twinkly—

‘Get up!’ A man’s voice sounded harshly in my ear. ‘I thought you were supposed to be good at this!’

Something exploded in the dirt just an inch from my cheek. I turned my head and saw Junipero Serra’s head grinning obscenely at me.

Then Jesse was yanking me to my feet and pulling me towards the breezeway.

Eleven

We made it back into Mr Walden’s classroom. I don’t know how, but we did it, the statue’s head hurtling after us the whole way, the velocity with which it was travelling causing it to whistle eerily, as if Father Serra were screaming. The head collided with all the force of a cannonball against the heavy wooden door, just as we slammed it closed behind us.

‘Jesus Cristo,’ Jesse sputtered, as we leaned, panting, with our backs pressed up against the door as if with our sheer weight, we could keep her out – Heather, who could walk through walls if she wanted to. ‘“I can take care of myself,” you said. “I’ll just have to get rid of her first,” you told me. Right!’

I was trying to catch my breath, think what to do. I had never seen anything like that. Never. ‘Shut up,’ I said.