Free Hellhole by Gina Damico

something.”
    â€œI know, but this is important! I have a big problem!”
    â€œThis song ends in about two minutes, so unless your problem can be solved in that amount of time, or unless you spontaneously develop the ability to hit a high C, you best be scramming.”
    â€œTell me everything you know about Satan!” he shouted, unfortunately doing so just as the chorus cut out to allow for a solo. A very large woman looked down at him with confusion and a fierce desire to kick his scrawny ass.
    â€œSatan?” Audie repeated, incredulous. “Like, the devil?”
    â€œNo, Steve Satan, hairstylist to the stars. Yes, the devil!”
    Audie looked adorably lost. “What makes you think I’d know anything about the devil?”
    â€œI don’t know.” Max’s mom had never been religious, so his views on what happened at church were somewhat spotty. He knew that some places gave out free wine, while others made you play with snakes. He was unclear on pretty much everything else. “Isn’t it part of the package deal that comes with all of this?” He gestured at the altar, inadvertently getting his hand caught in the hem of another woman’s robe and feeling a little more leg than necessary.
    Audie looked scandalized. “Max, are you okay? Did something happen to you? You smell like bacon.”
    â€œI’m fine,” Max said. “Come on, anything at all. I need it for a . . . school project. I just remembered it’s due tomorrow and I’m desperate.”
    â€œFor school? What class?”
    Max didn’t always think well under pressure, which is why he was so impressed with himself for being able to remember that neither Audie nor any of her friends were in his section of—“Calculus.”
    The self-congratulations faded rapidly.
    She stared at him. “Calculus. You need to know about Satan for math class.”
    â€œYeah,” he said, swallowing. “I’m trying to, uh, disprove him. Using . . . derivatives.”
    Audie rubbed her temples. She’d officially become only minorly exuberant. “Max,” she said, “you’re giving me a headache.”
    â€œAre you sure it’s not the singing? It’s really loud—”
    â€œYou need to go.” She began to shove him away from the bleachers. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, or why on earth you need to know about Satan at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning, but it’s called Wikipedia. Look it up.”
    â€œI
can’t—”
He fell to the floor with a thud. “Aud, please. Anything you can tell me will help,” he said, pulling himself back up and talking to the back of her legs. “Anything at all.”
    She squatted back down with a huff. “Lore Nedry,” she said. “That’s the best I can do.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œRemember her from elementary school? She switched to Westbury Prep after sixth grade, then last year transferred back to Eastville High. There were rumors that she’s a Satan worshipper, or used to be. She wore all black, and Chuck Bryant told me she kept a dead rat tacked up in her locker. Give her a ring, I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to chat with you. Now
get.
Out.
”
    The voices of the chorus rose to a deafening pitch, and even Max could tell that they’d reached the final notes of the song. He stumbled toward the back door that he’d slunk in through and exited into the unseasonably humid morning air.
    Max knew he had no right to be upset with Audie, seeing as how he’d burst into her house of worship and demanded some really strange information from her and all, but he was generally quite frustrated with the world at the moment and didn’t know who else to take it out on. “Gee, thanks, Aud,” he said out loud, kicking a rock as he shuffled back down the street. “What am I supposed to do, just call her up