Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER
THIRTY-THREE
Jae
As Halloween approaches, the lone pumpkins on front steps turn into families of jack-o’-lanterns. Skeletons perch on stone walls. Witches peek through iron gates.
But the biggest change that autumn brings is no Derek.
I don’t see him anymore, except for those brief moments when I’m walking to Free Verse and he’s running across the field with the soccer team.
I let my eyes linger for longer than they should.
Watching him run across the field, watching the ball move like it’s under his spell, makes my stomach twist in knots.
At the first meeting without him, Mrs. Aldana is careful with her words. “Derek won’t be joining us. At least for now.” I wonder how much he told her. I wonder if he has someone to talk to.
Uncle Rowan’s hard edges soften. He doesn’t nag me at dinner as much, but he sends watchful glances my way between sips of wine.
He clears his throat like he wants to say something, but when he does, it’s something that doesn’t matter to either of us.
It’s a lot warmer this fall than I’ve ever seen here.
That house down the street finally sold.
Today after dinner, which Ms. Rosette made with vegan ground beef, I head up to my room and sit on the edge of my bed. The curtains are open, and I’m looking past the yard and to that stretch of brush lining the sand. It’s still and no one is there.
Getting ready?
It’s a text from CJ. They’re all excited about the Halloween party and I haven’t even gotten a costume. Time moves so slow, I thought I had more of it.
No costume, I text back.
Just be a sexy pirate. Wear a patch or something. Text me when ur ready. Will pick you up.
I have nothing that looks like a patch, and I’m not in the mood to put something together. I throw on a dark pair of jeans, a black tee, and a black hat. At least the colors work.
Uncle Rowan is downstairs, standing in front of the bay window, his hands folded behind his back, the light from above making his brown head glow. I adjust the purse on my shoulder.
“Uncle Rowan, the poetry kids are getting together tonight. Is it okay if I go?” I pause and then add, “It’s Halloween.”
He’s quiet for a long time and I suppress a sigh. I’m turning to head upstairs when he says, “Used to be my favorite holiday.”
I stop and stare. Something about Uncle Rowan and candy doesn’t mix.
He talks over his shoulder. “It was the only time I appreciated your mama’s nosy nature. She knew exactly which houses were handing out Bible tracts and laying on hands.” He chuckles and turns to me. “You don’t want to stay home and hand out candy? Ms. Rosette bought some.”
“I’d just really like to see my friends.”
“And Derek?” His gaze is unwavering.
“He quit the club. I haven’t seen him in so long.” My voice hitches and I swallow all the emotions down, try not to sound angry. “We don’t talk. So I don’t know where he’s going to be or when. We don’t talk.”
He turns back to the window and watches a yacht race past. “Be careful,” he says. “Be back by midnight or you’ll turn into a pumpkin.”
It’s the closest thing to a joke I’ve heard him make since I moved in. I hurry out of the room before he can change his mind.
I text CJ once I get outside, and minutes later, he pulls up in his silver Honda, pizza sign on the roof. William leans over to open the back door for me and I slide in beside him, the smell inside as strong as stepping into a pizza shop.
William’s wearing a Robin Hood costume, his blond hair gathered into a shiny black ribbon. A bow and a quiver full of arrows sit on his lap.
“Why do those look real?” I ask, pointing to the arrows.
“Could turn Hunger Games in there. Or the Purge,” he says. “Someone has to protect us.” He laughs at my expression. “They’re not real.”
CJ turns around in the driver’s seat. “Hey,” he says, and I laugh at the thin circle of brown hair at the edge of his wrinkled bald cap.
“Friar Tuck?” I ask.
“That’s right.”
“So you and William coordinated?”
“Yeah. And you were there,” Swan says from the passenger seat, where a tall black hat touches the car roof. She throws a bag to me. “Thought you might need a costume, since you’ve been in la-la land lately. You’re Maid Marian.”
“Hey, thanks,” I say. “How about you, Swan? You don’t seem dressed to the theme.”
She turns around and screeches so loud, I fall back against my seat. Her lips are a deep purple, fading into black. “I’m a witch,” she cackles. “A witch! A wiiiitch!”
“Yes. She’s a witch,” William mutters. “Every year.”
“Hey, let me help you, Jae,” Swan says, her voice back to normal as she grabs a blanket at her feet.
She and William hold it up and I manage to wiggle modestly out of my clothes and into the costume.
CJ blasts Rockwell’s “Somebody’s Watching Me.
” We sing along while my stomach quivers at the thought of maybe seeing Derek and what I’ll say and if I should say anything at all.
I remember Valeria’s directed gaze. We’ll be going together. My stomach fills will new dread.
Even with our music blaring, we hear the party before we see it. A cast of decapitated characters are vaping on the front steps of a cream-colored mansion. Two girls in booty shorts and heels pass the car and catwalk to the front door. The boys outside nearly break their necks watching them pass.
“Fairies.” Swan stares out the window after them. “Oh, yeah. We’re warding off evil with wings and lots of skin.”
“I for one appreciate the effort,” CJ says as they step outside. “Very, very much.” He throws the pizza sign on his seat and slams the door shut.
I step onto the sidewalk and look down at my bloodred medieval dress. I swish the hem around my ankles, then suddenly look up toward the house, feeling eyes on me. Is it possible that our bodies are still connected, even from a distance?
I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. Derek and I were never together. Not in a way that could last. We were standing on a bridge together, never crossing over to the other side where there was something solid to stand on.
“Maid Marian?” William is in front of me, holding his elbow out. I close the car door and link my arm through his. CJ and Swan are already miles away, on the trail of fairy wings.
“I didn’t know Robin Hood was such a gentleman,” I say in an accent that doesn’t exist anywhere on earth.
“Well, he wasn’t. He owned no property. He had nothing to offer a lady like Maid Marian. Well, depending on what version of the story you like. She was a mere shepherdess in some iterations. Anyway, all Robin Hood had to give was his heart. And his arm.”
I smile. “How romantic.”
“It is Halloween, the most romantic day of the year.” He wiggles his eyebrows and squeezes my hand gently in the crook of his arm. When we pass the bludgeoned and decapitated smokers, we stand with CJ and Swan in front of the crossed scythes of two grim reapers blocking the way to the door.
“What’s up, guys,” one of them says from the shadow of his black hood.
Swan leans in toward him. “What’s up? The moon, a cauldron bright, of wishes, dreams, and terror, fright. But ’morrow brings a golden light when dawn becomes the day.”
“Did you just make that up?” CJ nearly wails, his voice high in disbelief as the black hood leans away from her.
“Freestyle.” Swan shrugs. “Maybe I was a rapper in my past life.”
The scythes separate and the other grim reaper rushes to open the front door for us. “Have fun, guys,” he says in the most nasally voice. “Happy Halloween.”
Inside, the room is a steam oven, and EDM is blaring from speakers in the ceiling.
A small group is bouncing their heads and various body parts in some sort of rhythm.
I try not to judge because how does one dance to EDM anyway?
But then I see a flash of white, and someone dressed as the creepy girl from The Ring is shuffling so fast, I can barely catch their feet. They must be gliding on ice.
“Whoa.” I nod along, lost in their flow, until Swan tugs on my hand and pulls me down the hall.
In the kitchen, William, his quiver slung onto his back, is playing eeny-meeny-miny-mo with three kegs, settling on one that empties out a dark red liquid. He smells the drink and flinches, scrunching his nose. “When in Rome,” he says, holding his nose and tipping the cup back.
CJ reaches for a box of orange juice and pours a cup for himself. “One of us has to be responsible,” he says.
“Not me!” Swan opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of vodka.
“I didn’t think you guys would drink,” I say.
“Because we write poetry?” Swan asks with exaggerated offense. “You should read more biographies, love. Imo gave me my first taste of soju when I was ten.” She pours herself a shot. “Come, gentlemen, I hope we shall drink down all unkindness,” she says, quoting Shakespeare.
“I drink to the general joy o’ the whole table,” William adds.
“Let my liver rather heat with wine than my heart cool with mortifying groans,” Swan says.
CJ snorts. “O thou invisible spirit of wine! If thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!”
“I got in town on Monday, Tuesday rolling drunk, Wednesday morning, I pawned my trunk,” I say.
They all blink back.
“Langston Hughes.”
Swan cackles for real—not witchy this time—then takes a drink, winces, and clears her throat. “Wanna try?” she asks me.
“If I did, you would never see me again.” I draw a finger across my throat. The last thing I need is showing up drunk to Uncle Rowan’s house.
Swan nods. “Let’s dance, bitches,” she says, grabbing William with one hand, me with the other, and pulling us into a pack of undulating bodies.
“CJ!” I call over the ruckus, and I see the flashing strobe light beam off his plastic bald cap as he makes his way to us.
I try to relax my shoulders. I bounce around like the others, not sure if I’m doing the right moves.
Or if there are any. Swan doesn’t seem to care about the genre we’re listening to.
She bends over and twitches her hips from side to side.
I guess you can twerk to anything if you really try.
William is doing the funky chicken behind her.
“Join me, Maid Marian!” he shouts, his head and shoulders jutting in and out. So I give in to the funky chicken. By the time “Monster Mash” is playing, I’ve lost all inhibition.
Just then I see a heavily made-up Captain Jack Sparrow making his way through the crowd of unfamiliar faces. Miguel is unrecognizable except for the eyebrow ring that glimmers in the flashing lights.
“Easy!” he shouts when he sees me, and slings his arm over my shoulders. The liquid in his cup is dark brown and he slurs his words. “Nice t’see ya here. Once in a while you nerds shprise me.”
I jerk my head away from his sharp breath and wiggle out from under him. “Well, Valeria invited us, so …”
“Vvvlaria?” he slurs. “My sister?” He laughs loud. “I told her not to do that but she loves to have fun.”
I glance over my shoulder, scanning the room. CJ is watching us with a frown, superhero fists on hips. But no Valeria.
“Is Derek here?” I ask.
Miguel wiggles his eyebrows. “Derek’s a little busy right now, but I’m free.”
He leans his head in close and I step back. He steps close again. “Why don’t you show me how you treat the guys in the boys’ bathroom?” His liquor-tainted breath is hot against my cheek. His eyebrow ring winks. “Show me.”
I shove my hands against his sweaty shirt.
He staggers, falls into the sofa against the wall.
His drink sloshes over and he curses, and then, eyes rolled back, he laughs.
No one seems to notice this in all the chaos, except CJ.
He grabs my hand and tries to pulls me. But the sight of Miguel, red mouth agape, eyes smudged with liner and squeezed shut in pure mirth, makes me glance at the quiver full of arrows on William’s back.
“You look like you have murder on your mind,” CJ says into my ear. “It’s okay.” He pulls hard on my hand.
“No, it’s not.”
“You’re right, it’s not. But let it go. He’s not worth it.”
Swan stops dancing. Her head whips around. “Everything okay?” she yells.
I nod, not wanting to ruin the night for everyone else.
But just then, the music stops and there’s a communal groan. People look around, confused, shout, Where’s the music? Turn it back on!
And then there’s the strangest sound.
Wails. So out of place. So disorienting. Loud, grating wails that claw against the skin.
Valeria materializes from around the corner, and I almost laugh at her giant onesie and bonnet and bib. A pacifier the size of her arm. Her friends Cindy and Kiley, similarly dressed, follow behind, giddy and giggling. And they’re walking toward the dance floor.
They’re walking toward our group.
They’re walking toward me.