Havoc by Jeff Sampson

Spencer had seen them as well. Not to mention I’d touched one.
    So, much like the werewolf books, these proved absolutely useless. I was back to knowing nothing. Again.
    I shut the book I’d been reading and shoved it away. Beside me, Spencer had four books open, but he wasn’t looking at any of them. Instead he leaned on his elbows and stared into space. Dalton read his own book, brow furrowed in concentration.
    â€œSo we sure they’re not ghosts?” he asked.
    â€œI have no idea,” I muttered.
    â€œOne of my books talks about alien abduction,” Spencer whispered, snapping to attention. “So that could still be it.”
    â€œI guess,” I said.
    He leaned close to me, concerned. “You don’t seem thrilled.”
    â€œI’m not.” Slouching in my chair, I crossed my arms. “On TV, it’s always easy to find some book in, like, the dungeon area of a library that has all the detailed answers. Just find yourself a middle-aged British man with a head for ancient lore and, bam, problem solved. But all of these are just collections of myths. That doesn’t help at all.”
    â€œDoes our library?” Dalton asked.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œDoes it have a dungeon?”
    I suppressed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure those type of libraries only exist in, like, small New England towns or something. Unless Ms. Levine has some sort of secret lair.”
    â€œOh.” He nodded knowingly. “Gotcha.” He glanced up at Ms. Levine, back at her desk. She offered a smile and a wave, and he quickly turned away.
    A shadow hovered over the table. I snorted in a breath and shoved myself back from the table, ready to toss back my chair and run for it, Ms. Levine be damned. If the shadowmen were here—
    But darting my head to look up, I saw that this shadow was thankfully the normal type. Megan stood there with tall, brooding Patrick beside her. He of the black hair and the English accent and the mysterious stare. I remembered the awkward conversation we’d had in a convenience store when I thought he might be the werewolf that turned out to be Spencer. And watching him half-undressed through his bedroom window when I thought he was the killer instead. Turned out he was neither.
    Heat rushed to my cheeks. I hoped he wouldn’t remember me.
    â€œHey Emily,” Megan said casually. “And friends.”
    Spencer grinned at her. “Hey!”
    â€œHi,” I said, slamming my books shut. “What are you up to?”
    She shrugged. “Patrick and I are doing some research for some homework assignment Mr. Philbrick gave us.”
    â€œYeah,” Patrick said.
    I nodded slowly. “Oh. Neat.”
    It was at once way too casual and much too awkward. My two worlds, colliding. I wanted to recede into my hoodie until I disappeared.
    Megan crossed her arms and gestured at the books with her chin. “So what are you three doing? Secret projects?”
    â€œJust research,” Dalton said. “Though I think we were supposed to talk about the party tomorrow, too. You’re Megan, right?” He held out a hand.
    Megan looked Dalton up and down, then held out her own hand, limp. Dalton shook it anyway.
    â€œA party, huh?” Megan said. “How fun.”
    â€œDo you want to come?” Spencer asked.
    I sat up straight. What were these two doing? Did they not understand stealth? We were supposed to be scoping out Dalton’s dad’s office; we weren’t really going to be partying.
    â€œNo,” I said. “Megan hates parties. Too much of a crowd for—”
    â€œI’d love to come.” Megan strung her arm through Patrick’s. He looked down at her, his expression bored. “And Patrick, too. Actually, you know what, I’ll do you one better: I’ll get you a band.”
    Dalton perked up at that. “A band? Cool. Anyone I know?”
    â€œNot yet!” Alarmingly perky, Megan