Chapter 33
The cemetery was alive in the strangest way tonight, lit by flickering tea lights and the orange glow of carved pumpkins nestled between mossy headstones.
Someone has strung fake cobwebs between the bare branches of the twisted trees, and a Bluetooth speaker blasts music from a half-buried cooler near the oldest crypt.
I wander a little away from the main crowd, stepping carefully over uneven ground.
The crunch of dead leaves follows every step.
Just beyond the tall angel statue near the fence line, I spot Archer.
He stands half in shadow, nursing a drink, black clothes blending into the night like he belongs to it.
I approach with my arms crossed, giving him a once-over. “Wow. Bold choice tonight.”
He looks over lazily, raising a brow. “That so?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “You really went all-out. I didn’t even recognize you.”
He doesn’t reply, just watches me, like he already knows I’m was about to say something stupid.
I squint at him, tapping my fingers against my arm. “Wait, don’t tell me. I’ve got it. You’re dressed as that guy from our public relations class.”
His brow lifts just a little. “Should I be offended?”
“No, no. He’s iconic. You know, he sits next to me? Kinda broody. Very mysterious. Always looks like he’s silently judging everyone.”
Archer humors me with a slow nod. “Sounds familiar.”
“What’s his name again?” I ask, dragging it out like I’m really trying to remember. “He always wears black, never smiles, smells like bergamot. Oh!” I grin. “That’s right. It’s you.”
He lets out a low laugh, quiet and amused. “You think you’re funny.”
“I know I am,” I say, chin lifted. “You should see my Yelp reviews.”
He shakes his head a little, but the smile lingers. “You do talk a lot in that class.”
“I’ve got a lot to say,” I respond, shrugging.
Before we can continue our conversation, Silas tears through the darkness, foam hot dog costume flapping like its was trying to escape his body.
“Make way for the snack of the century!” he shouts. “I’m long and salty, and everyone wants me!”
He vanishes behind a row of headstones, leaving only a few confused partygoers and the smell of cheap beer in his wake.
Archer stares after him. “That’s... something.”
“Yeah.” I sigh, chuckling.
He silently hands me his drink.
I take it with a quiet “Thanks,” sipping something fruity.
Across the way, Morella is twirling dramatically in her fur coat, her black-and-white curls bouncing as she laughs at something Rafe says. His spotted Dalmatian onesie looks about two seconds from being abandoned behind a gravestone.
I nudge Archer lightly with my elbow. “You could’ve at least worn a name tag. Something ironic, like ‘Tax Evasion’ or ‘Emotional Baggage.’ You’d win best costume easily.”
He breathes a laugh and shakes his head. “I’ll remember that for next year.”
We are clustered near the tall crypt at the back of the cemetery, where someone has dragged over a couple of folding chairs and a busted-up bench.
Candles flicker inside glass jars set along the stone ledge, and smoke curls from a half-extinguished incense stick someone stuck in a crack between bricks.
Rafe leans back against the crypt wall, arms crossed, the hood of his Dalmatian onesie down and bunched at his shoulders.
He looks miserable. Morella sits cross-legged on top of a cooler, her faux fur coat pools around her, as she talks animatedly with her hands while Archer stands nearby, occasionally chiming in.
Their conversation buzzes somewhere just above me, something about college applications, maybe. I catch a few words here and there. “Out-of-state,” “early admission,” “portfolio review.” It all feels like static in my ears.
A gust of wind tugs my skirt against my legs and stirs the leaves at my feet. I focus on the sound of them scraping over stone, trying to stay present.
From somewhere deep in the cemetery, Silas’s voice echoes through the trees:
“Hey there, I'd love to stick this weiner between your buns!”
Laughter erupts near one of the lantern-lit graves.
Their conversation rolls along without me. Something about P.E. class and how none of them had taken it since sophomore year.
I glance at Archer. He is half-turned toward the others, but his eyes flick to me briefly. I quickly look away and fiddle with my dress, twisting the fabric between my fingers.
Somewhere closer this time, Silas calls out again:
“Do tombstones count as buns? ‘Cause I’ve got a graveyard dog ready for action!”
Morella groans. “I swear, he’s gonna make me hate hotdogs.”
Rafe mutters, “Too late.”
I manage a small smile, but it fades fast.
The cemetery is alive with motion and music and voices, but I feel like a ghost tonight. Half-here, half in California.
Their chatter fades into the background again, and I sink a little further into myself. The cold air bites at my cheeks now, and I don’t know if the flush on my skin is from the cider in Archer’s cup or the quiet, creeping exhaustion I haven’t managed to shake all night.
Gravel crunches, signaling new guests have joined our group.
Even before I turn, I know it’s Maddison.
The easy atmosphere snaps taut like a rubber band pulled too far.
Morella’s posture straightens instinctively.
Rafe’s jaw tightens. Archer’s expression doesn’t change, but he shifts slightly closer to the group.
Maddison’s voice rings out through the cemetery with that sweet, venomous tilt she always manages to lace into it. “Well, this is cozy.”
She is dressed as a devil. Classic red horns, glossy lipstick, tight dress that probably cost more than my entire closet. Victoria and Chelsea trail behind her. One of the football guys follows too, wearing a letterman jacket over a skeleton onesie.
Morella is the first to speak. “Aw, look, the gates of Hell really are open tonight.”
Maddison smiles. “Hello Morella. Cute…” She looks Morella up and down. “Costume.” Her smile turns to a frown.
Morella rolls her eyes so hard all I see is white.
Behind us, Silas’s voice rings out again, from who knows where. “You bring the buns, I’ll bring the wiener!”
Morella closes her eyes slowly. “We’re really doing that all night, huh?”
“Apparently,” Archer mutters.
Maddison hasn’t even looked at me yet, but I could feel her awareness sweeping over the group, calculating, and deciding if I was worth commenting on tonight.
Her gaze lands on Archer next. “You didn’t dress up?” she asks, tilting her head. “Or is this the ‘I’m too deep for costumes’ look?”
Archer doesn’t answer.
Maddison turns slightly and finally meets my eyes. Her smile widens like she’d been waiting for this. “Oh, Liv. Cute shoes. I think I saw those at the thrift store downtown.”
“They were the last pair,” I said, voice even. “Sorry you missed them.”
Morella let out a single, delighted, “Ha.”
Maddison’s smile doesn’t falter, but something in her eyes tightens. “Anyway,” she says, smoothing the front of her dress, “we just wanted to say hi. It’s so nice seeing everyone together. Really brings a tear to my eye.”
“I think that’s the smoke machine,” Rafe deadpans.
“Ugh.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and turns, walking off into the fog with her entourage trailing behind.
No one in the group speaks but from somewhere behind the mausoleum, “Hey baby, did you bring the mustard? Cause this wieners feeling naked!” I see Silas run behind some gravestones, the top of his costume catching on some low hanging branches.
He swats at them like a kid trying to not get his face wiped by his mom.
This time, I actually laugh.
Morella grins at me. “God, I love when you don’t hold back.”
The Populars don’t leave like we had hoped they would. Maddison and her friends linger nearby . She makes little circuits around the cemetery, stopping to greet people like she is the unofficial hostess of the dead.
After not nearly enough time she trots back to our little circle.
“Raaaaafe,” she says, stretching his name out like taffy, “you’re still wearing that ridiculous onesie? I thought you had taste.”
He doesn’t rise to it. “You know I match Morella every year.”
“Well, take it off ,” she says. “I know you’d look better naked.”
Morella’s head snaps up so fast her curls bounce. “Excuse you?”
“I’m just saying,” Maddison replies with a shrug. “No need to waste a good costume on a guy who looks better without one.”
Rafe looks away, jaw ticking once, and says nothing.
Victoria, leans into Archer’s space. Twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “So, Archer. Still too cool for Halloween?”
He gives her the kind of look that could frost glass. “Still trying that line?”
She giggles anyway, swaying a little closer. “Just saying. You could pull off anything. You’ve got the face for it.”
My stomach flips, and I question why. I feel anger rise up in my chest. Maddison’s eyes flick between us and she smiles.
“Oh,” she says, too loudly, “Liv. You okay? You’ve gone so quiet.”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to unclench my teeth.
“You sure?” She tilts her head, feigning concern. “I just wasn’t sure if you were upset that all of Silas’ attention isn’t on you tonight.”
My face went hot. I glance at Archer and find him looking back at me, but that only made it worse.
Morella stands up. “Alright. That’s enough.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say, already backing away. “I’m gonna go for a walk. The air is too stuffy here.”
“Liv,” Morella starts.
“I’ll be back,” I mumble.
I make my way back to the parking lot and to Rafe’s SUV. I open the back door and grab my phone off the seat. Unlocking the screen I go to my recents and click on Evans contact. Leaning up against the seat I sigh. He picks up after the second ring.