"Why, hello, Blondie. Is this seat taken? No? Great."

I didn't have to guess who had bothered to wear combat boots to Literature Club under her school uniform. I'd felt the thick, rubbery soles hitting the crumbling tile floor and knew it was Shion just by the sheer hubris in each footfall.

"Mind if I sit here, then?" Shion smirked, pulling up a chair.

She took another breath. "We finally get to do something together at school! Nice, huh?"

I casually nodded.

On one hand, yeah, it was cool getting to hang out with her during club. We didn't have any overlapping classes thanks to Crescent Moon's schedule being assembled by what I can only assume is a caffeinated raccoon with a dartboard. But then I thought of Inego waiting in the Helen Keller Performing Arts Center for Guitar Club, and I hated myself a little.

I barely had time to settle in before the club's vibe turned from "light academic discourse" to "verbal bloodsport."

Fushineko-sensei, perched lazily on the edge of her desk like a judgmental gargoyle, had pulled out a copy of Pride and Prejudice when Shion rolled her eyes and groaned.

Inwardly, I wanted to cradle myself. The feline whine in Fushineko-sensei's voice was like an auditory migraine.

But the showstopper happened when Shion casually said the sentence that made the temperature drop ten degrees.

"I'm just saying," she said, already lounging with her combat boots on the table like it was her house, "Jane Austen reads like someone who loves the smell of her own farts."

A loud, offended inhale came from across the room. That was when I first got a good look at Kanae—dark hair perfectly curled, uniform sharp enough to cut glass, and an expression like she'd just bitten into a lemon made of spite.

"You take that back," Kanae said, her voice clipped and chilly. "Jane Austen was a master of subtlety, wit, and social commentary."

Shion tilted her head.

Kanae continued, unimpressed. "Of course, I shouldn't expect everyone to catch that."

Shion's eyes gleamed like she'd just found a new chew toy. "Subtlety? You mean like that genius premise she does: 'What if marriage, but with snark'? Real revolutionary."

We watched Fushineko-sensei bring her hand up to her mouth, stifling a laugh.

"Girls," Fushineko-sensei said. "If you're going to argue like this, please continue."

Kanae's jaw tightened. She looked like she was trying not to reach into her bag and throw a hardcover Persuasion at Shion's head.

"You just don't get her," Kanae snapped. "Maybe you should stick to something more your speed. Like… Goosebumps."

And that's when it happened. That was the insult that broke the dam.

Before Shion could fire back, I put my hand on her leg.

"I got this," I said.

And before I realized what I was doing, I stood up, pointed my finger at Kanae, and began talking much more forcefully than I intended.

"I don't know what your deal is, but I'm not about to sit back and let you talk trash about Goosebumps. R. L. Stine wasn't Tolstoy, but he wasn't trying to be. That's the point."

Fushineko-sensei's ears slicked back and her pupils grew wide. She leaned over to one of the other students and whispered for them to make popcorn.

Kanae looked stunned, so I pressed forward.

"You know what Goosebumps was? It was accessible, and it hooked an entire generation of kids on reading and horror, and even thirty years later, we're still feeling the ripple of Goosebumps."

I heard Shion snickering beside me, but Kanae's open-mouthed stare told me I was on the right track.

"It took Eerie, Indiana, Are You Afraid of the Dark, and Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and found a prime-time spot for them, and somehow the damn thing didn't just work, it flourished. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Goosebumps, so it might not have been Shakespeare, but it was good enough."

Stolen novel; please report.

I could hear Fushineko-sensei purring, and it made me want to squirm in my chair because it reminded me of Natsumi from earlier.

"And one more thing: R. L. Stine was out there, mole on his forehead and everything, being totally honest about what he was doing. Can you say the same thing, Kanae?"

Then I felt Shion's cold fingers touch my hand.

"Whoa, easy there, tiger," she whispered to me.

Kanae blinked. Fushineko-sensei, who'd spent the last few minutes licking her paw, looked mildly impressed.

Fushineko-sensei finally chimed in.

"Goosebumps?" she asked, dusting chalk off her sleeve.

She raised an eyebrow, looking around the room at the dozen of us.

"Well, since you're so passionate about Fear Street's younger, dumber brother, let's talk about Goosebumps." Fushineko-sensei's voice reminded me of someone speaking at a funeral.

"It's horror with training wheels. At best," the nekomata's voice whined.

"Everything that Goosebumps did, Are You Afraid of the Dark was doing better. At least on television. As for the books? Who cares. This is Literature Club. Not wannabe drama fiction, Kazeyama-san."

Kanae pushed her pink and blue-framed glasses back on the bridge of her nose and raised an eyebrow at me.

Fushineko-sensei yawned, covered her mouth lazily, then continued.

"You're a terrible, sweaty little outcast with a mouth that sputters like a clogged faucet. However, you clearly love garbage culture, and you have an uncanny way of expressing it. At least that's something."

She snorted, dismissively.

"You're holding the saddest hand that I've ever seen the gods deal someone, but you should make the most of it."

She casually hummed for a second, thinking to herself.

"Have you considered being a critic?" she asked.

I shook my head: I hadn't.

Beside me, I heard Shion take a breath. Then, she covered her mouth to stifle laughter.

Fushineko-sensei rolled her eyes.

"Let's face it. You're not going to be good at making anything. You have no talent with your grades, but at least you're loud."

Kanae sniffed and went back to scribbling in her notes.

She looked pissed-off.

Shion leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head.

"You're my favorite teacher, Fushineko-sensei."

Fushineko-sensei barely looked up.

"Of course I am, but I'm bored now, and I'm going to the Get Graped Vape Shop before it closes. Literature Club is over for this evening."

Shion leaned in, her voice low and amused.

"Ryu Kazeyama, you're my hero…"

Then she smirked.

"You're kind of hot when you talk about trashy books about haunted cameras and masks."

I stood up, red-faced, grabbed my bookbag, and already regretted all of it.

Kanae huffed and started furiously scribbling in her annotated edition of Emma. Probably writing something like "Ryu Kazeyama: defender of mediocrity."

I didn't care.

I saw the only literature I really wanted to discuss with someone. And it was a damn reference book.

The sun was already casting long shadows over Crescent Moon Academy, and I had to get to Shin'yume-sou for my part time job.

A few seconds after I'd stepped outside Withers Hall, into the cool night air, and I smelled it again. Lemon and ginger.

I looked around, expecting to see Murasaki, swaying and bouncing towards me like trouble, but there was nothing.

I took a slow breath, reaching out and feeling for any telltale Murasaki vibrations.

Nothing.

But someone was coming up to me fast.

"Hey, Blondie!" Shion said. "You going somewhere? You're not trying to deprive a girl from her supper, are you?"

I gave Shion a quick glance, almost wanting to lean over and smell her to see if, for whatever reason, she'd started wearing it.

But I knew she wasn't. I would've smelled it in Literature Club.

Then Kanae stepped out in the hallway, framed by two other students from Fushineko-sensei's class. Both Shion and I could practically feel the tension rise.

Kanae casually smiled at Shion and handed her a piece of folded paper.

"What's this?" Shion asked, staring at the paper in the girl's outstretched hand.

The two girls behind Kanae giggled.

"I told you she'd be too scared to take it," Kanae said, amused.

Shion rolled her eyes and snatched the folded paper. "Fine, whatever. I'll read this stupid thing."

Kanae raised an eyebrow as Shion opened the note. "You'd better," she said.

I saw Shion's eyes grow wide.

Then, whatever was written on the paper began to glow. My own eyes grew as the paper turned to ashes in Shion's hands.

She twitched and froze in place. Her hands were still outstretched, holding nothing where the paper had been a second before.

Kanae smirked as the other two girls burst into laughter.

"Careful what you read, bitch," she said.

My anger flared up inside me, and I was about to step forward to do something when Fushineko-sensei stepped into the hallway and saw Shion frozen like a statue.

She sighed, turned towards Kanae with a bored expression and then spoke with the same energy usually reserved for a broken kitchen appliance.

"You're an Onmyōji, congratulations," the nekomata said. "No wonder you joined Literature Club, but I can't let you leave Shion like that. Put her back the way she was, Fudehara-san."

Kanae crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Fine… but I much prefer her like this."

She took out a quill from one of her sleeves and a jar of ink from a small pouch next to her plaid black skirt. One of her friends handed her a stiff notepad for her to write on.

Meanwhile, I walked over to Shion. She never blinked, but her eyes were unnaturally still, focused downward. I swore, if I pushed her hard enough, she'd tumble over in the same pose.

"Shion?" I asked.

Kanae looked up for a second. I saw her grin, biting her tongue between her teeth with a mischievous smirk.

I hated this juvenile back-and-forth high school drama.

But at least Kanae wasn't trying to goad Shion into a fist fight. Yet.

"Today, Fudehara-san," Fushineko-sensei whined. "I swear, if I'm late to Get Graped Vape, I'll—"

"Is Shion going to be okay?" I asked.

The way Fushineko-sensei lazily turned her eyes to me made me feel even angrier, like I'd just tossed a turd onto the dinner table, and she was going to scold me for it.

"YES, Kazeyama-san, Kurozawa-san will be fine as soon as—"

"Oh no," Kanae said with mock horror.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm out of the specific ink I need," she shrugged. "Oops."

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