that.”
I risk a glance up at Ryan’s face. His expression is carefully blank. “That is definitely not where I imagined you were going.”
“I told you it would sound crazy.”
“Yeah,” he says. “You weren’t kidding.”
“You don’t believe me.”
He runs a hand through his perfectly imperfect hair. “Well, no. I mean, a demon? A — what did you say, a psychic vampire? I don’t even know what that means.”
“I know. Not really possible. Right?”
“Seriously? That’s more than a little crazy. I thought you were going to say maybe he was poisoning the school lunches or something.”
“Jorge was there in the library with him today. I saw, through the door. Mr. Gabriel did something to all the students. Made them . . . well, like Jorge was. All spacey and out of it and not right. I’m not making this up. I swear it.”
His face is kind of closing before me, his desire to have an explanation eclipsed by his desire to not believe in crazy things. I am watching him slipping away. I can’t let that happen.
“Ryan, I swear, I know how it sounds. But I
saw
him —”
“Saw him what? Sprout wings and fangs and dance around in the middle of a giant pentagram?”
I wince at his sarcasm. “Okay, yes, I get it. A demon librarian is not exactly something you talk about as being a real thing. But just bear with me here, just for a second. He did something to Annie, too. He’s practically brainwashed her!”
“You mean your friend who’s in Italian with us, right? That girl?”
“Yes. She’s started skipping classes, and hanging out in the library all day, and after school, and today, she —”
“Cyn, come on. Stop it.” He looks slightly concerned. And maybe a little annoyed. “I know you’re upset about this, your friend acting all different and everything, and the other kids, too, but this isn’t funny, okay? There’s got to be a rational explanation for what’s happening. What you’re doing, pretending there’s this . . . this demon stuff, it’s not helping.”
He can’t back away from our moment of shared understanding quickly enough, apparently. He was right there with me, knowing something beyond standard strangeness was going on. Right there, and then suddenly not.
“Look,” I tell him as calmly as I can. “I know how all this sounds. Do you think I don’t know how all this sounds?”
“Well, then, stop it, okay? Let’s try to think about what might
really
be going on.”
Suddenly I am very mad at him.
“Dammit, Ryan, open your eyes. What kind of rational explanation could possibly account for what’s happening to everyone? What do you think was wrong with Jorge just now? Do you think all the other students are involved in some elaborate prank, that they’re all just faking?”
He is taken aback by my outburst. “Well, no. And it’s not, I mean, it’s not like it’s
everyone
. . .”
“Not yet.”
“Cyn, come on. You can’t really expect me to believe —”
I get up off the bench. He’s right, of course. Why should I expect him to believe this? To believe me? He doesn’t know me. I’m just the awkward girl who tackles him in hallways and stares at him in Italian and at rehearsal.
“Come with me. Right now. I’ll prove it.” I hold out my hand.
He stares up at me, bewildered. “Prove what? How? What are you talking about?”
I’m getting so sick of that question.
“Just come with me. You’ll be able to tell, I’m sure of it. There’s something wrong with him.”
“Him who?”
I want to shake him. “The
librarian.
Just come up and talk to him and you’ll see.” I suddenly realize that Annie is probably up there right now, too. “My friend — Annie — she’s been spending a lot of time with him. I know that he’s been doing something to her. Something really bad. I thought I could talk to her, make her see it, but she won’t listen to reason anymore. Maybe, if you came with me, together, we could . . .”
He