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again next week.” She holds out her hand and waits for me to shake it. 
    I start to reach for her, but instead I bolt from the couch. I don’t do handshakes anymore. They can cause your life to be hell. Literally. 
          
          
          
          

Chapter Four
    Today is the first day of the fall semester, and I haven’t talked to Stew since the night in the tree house a week ago. I’ve wanted to call, but my pride won’t let me. Besides, he owes me an apology, not the other way around.
    The steering wheel glides with ease under my hands as I turn onto the street campus is on. I’ve been extra careful with my driving – I don’t want to wreck the car a week after getting it - so I look both ways at the stop sign. I don’t see anything coming, so I cautiously accelerate. Out of nowhere a black, sports coupe zooms into the intersection. I slam on the brakes. My hair flies in my face, the sound of screeching tires echoing in my ears. When my car grinds to a stop, my neck whips back a little. 
    I watch the black car streak past me, missing me by inches. I punch the horn and curse under my breath. The driver is concealed behind black-tinted glass, and for a second, I entertain the idea of chasing down the driver and beating the crap out of them. 
    I run my fingers through my hair, an attempt to calm my nerves. Reality sets in and my anger turns to rationality. It’s probably not wise to track down a stranger and scream at them for nearly killing you. It could be a three hundred pound raging crack-head with a gun. God knows I don’t want to start my eternity any sooner than I have to.  
    I whip my custom, bright green Focus into the empty parking lot and put the near crash out of my mind. A tingle trickles down my spine as I eye the practice field for our school’s football team. Passing Stew and pretending I don’t still have feelings for him will be hell. My insides quiver, and if I’d let myself, I could cry all day over him. Instead, I decided it’s better to just ignore him.
    My teeth grind together. Next time I get involved with a guy I’ll make sure he likes me for me. If there is a next time, that is.  
    With a sigh, I throw my satchel over my shoulder and trudge through the parking lot. Not much has changed over the summer. Capital University’s campus still looks exactly the same as it did the last time I was here, this past spring.
    “Wonder if I should waste what little bit of time I have left in this place?” I question myself quietly. I check my vanishing life lines to see how much they’ve changed. They fade a little more each day. Last night I did some research on the internet about life lines and demonic soul possession. There wasn’t one site that was even remotely helpful—probably because most people don’t live through demonic encounters. But I did order some holy water and a bag of salt from a demon hunter website. One can never be too prepared when their soul’s at stake. 
    A couple of sites mentioned winning your soul back after a demonic deal, but basically they said I’d have to make another deal with the demon that currently owns it. No way do I want to make anymore deals with that little shit. Shivers erupt through me. He could be anywhere, just waiting to pounce on me like a lion does its prey.
    “Hey! Wait up!” I hear someone call, but I don’t stop. No one ever talks to me. Well, at least not in public. My reputation as a certifiable nutcase precedes me.
    “Hey!” the male voice calls again. It’s closer this time, and there’s a light touch on my elbow.
    I glare down at the hand on my elbow and then allow my eyes travel up the tattooed arm of the brown-haired guy holding it. He’s cute in that bad boy, biker kind of way.
    My eyes narrow. 
    He immediately releases me and holds his hands up, palms out. “Sorry,” he says.
    He’s hot and all, but I doubt he’s here to ask me out. Most people at school never actually talk to me – unless you