Friday comes along all too quickly and before I know it, Deming and I are slowly walking up the obnoxiously tall driveway. This time, Lada answers and the first thing Deming says is, "Why the fuck is your driveway so tall?"

Lada laughs. "No idea. It was like this when we bought the house."

It feels like it got bigger since last week, but I don't think anything has really changed, except for the Halloween decorations. Fairy lights hang from the ceiling, the room smells like pumpkins. There's all sorts of pumpkin decor, and bedsheet ghosts and black cats and the coffee table in the living room has a bowl of fun sized candy. Cili is mopping the kitchen floor vigorously and Deming is noticeably confused over her presence and who she is, but doesn't say anything. "Come on, my room's upstairs."

Cili looks up. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, Lada—but would your parents really approve of you bringing a boy into your room?"

"I'm gay," Deming says.

"I'm also gay," Lada reminds her and CIli halts and flushes.

"Right. I always forget that. Carry on then." She grabs a red sticker and slaps it down on the white kitchen floor—making it look like a blood stain.

Deming and I follow Lada up to her room before Deming asks, "So, who was that...?"

"The maid," Lada responds, opening the door for us. "My parents both suck at cleaning and we can afford one. She's cool." We step into Lada's bedroom and she stretches her arms over her head. "My ex is supposed to be over to start cooking—she gets really excited over these things."

Deming nods and looks around. "Your room is very gay."

"Aw! Thanks!" Lada walks over to the closet and pulls out a hanger that holds the black dress and red stockings we bought." She points to a door slightly ajar in her bedroom. "Go change in my bathroom."

Lada's bathroom is just as nice as the rest of her house. Slowly, I unbutton the shirt I'm wearing and pull the black dress on over my head. After pulling my hair so it's not trapped between my back and the fabric, I yank off my jeans and kick off my shoes and look in a full body mirror to my right. I look good, I think. I'm glad I shaved this morning.

Once I put on the red stockings I walk out, my clothes tucked under my arm. "Wow," Deming says. "That's a good dress."

"I know, right?" Lada says. "I was a little worried about the neckline, because usually when you have a neckline like that, it relies on the person wearing it to have a bit of cleavage, but it looks great on her."

"I'm glad you didn't go with a-line. ...A-line just isn't what everyone makes it out to be."

I fiddle with the hem of the skirt before Lada gets up from her place in the bed excitedly and grasps a white sash from her dresser. "I was thinking this would be a nice addition—it took me forever to find one like I had in mind, so you basically have to wear it now."

It's a white sash with a simple red flower on it. "Okay." She claps her hands together and ties it around my waist.

"I'm not even going to focus on how I tie it because hopefully your cape will cover up how awful it is." I have to straighten out the sash when she backs off so the flower design is in front of me and not over my hip, but I do look good. Eagerly, Lada tears into the vampire costume we bought and pulls out the cape. "So, our Red Riding Hood costume lacks a hood, but..." She hands it to me and I put it on—it secures around my neck and falls a bit below my knees behind me. "....I think we did good!"

Deming nods in approval. "You did. You look great, Rozhan."

I know I keep saying I look good, but hearing it really makes me happy. Like, I'm not being self-absorbed or anything. I look good.

I run my fingers through my hair and that seems to remind Lada. "Okay, now we need to do makeup and hair..." She frowns. "What do you want to do with your hair?"

I shrug. "Dunno."

"We could straighten it," she says.

"No," I interrupt. "I know I don't want my hair straightened."

"Oh. Okay." She frowns. "I guess we should start with bruishing it or something."

"I read online," Deming says. "That with curly hair, instead of brushing it, you should use a large toothed comb—because otherwise it gets all frizzy and stuff and like, it's better? Do you know, Rozhan?"

"Not really," I admit. "I just know I went from doing nothing with my hair to growing it out, and my mother ties her hair up."

"Hm..." Lada opens a drawer and pulls out a wide toothed comb and helps me with my hair. "That's not very helpful—does she tie it up in a specific way? Is there any way you want to wear it?"

"I don't know—I just comb it and let it do it's own thing."

"I will consult the internet," Deming says, already pulling out his phone.

"I mean, you're hair is really pretty," Lada says. "But I thought you were Japanese? Aren't Japanese people known for like, shiny, straight dark hair?"

"Part Japanese," I correct. "I'm also Iranian and Native American and Kurdish. Lots of genetics going on."

She nods. "Alright." She parts my hair and takes a step back. "You know, maybe we shouldn't do anything with it—let's just...hold on..." She digs around in another drawer on her vanity and pulls out a red headband and hands it to me. "Will that work?"

I look at it and put it on. "I love it."

"Oh, so I'm looking at all these buns and braids and shit for nothing? I see." Deming puts his phone back in his pocket. "I'm not offended or anything."

Lada smiles, chirps, "You can do her makeup! ...Assuming she's okay with that, I don't know—I've never seen you wear makeup."

"It's expensive," I respond, but Deming's already grabbing a black pencil on the table. "Oh, god, don't bring that near my face."

"Yeah!" Lada agrees. "Try this one." She pushes a white marker into his hand.

"White eyeliner?" I ask. "That's a thing?"

"And it can look really good!" Deming responds. Lada's phone vibrates.

"Oh, that's my ex. She's here."

"You still on speaking terms with Dawn?" He asks.

Lada sighs. "Yeah, more or less. Still kinda awkward, though. But she's supposed to help... I'll go get her. Just don't burn down my bedroom while I'm gone."

"Sorry," Deming responds. "But I'm a flaming homosexual—things just burn down when I'm near them, it's a part of life." I don't think he really is a flaming homosexual—his aunt still asks him if he's met any girls and always forget she's gay. Maybe she's just dense?

"You'd look good in winged eyeliner!" Deming exclaims, already uncapping the marker.

"You and Lada are getting along really well."

He nods. "Kohl's friends with her—we've met a few times. She's cool." I try and hold still while he puts the eyeliner on me—I'm glad he's doing it, because I've never done it before, and I know I would be flinching non-stop, if I don't just impale my eye. Deming knows what he's doing.

"You think this plan to figure out who Upside Down Question Mark is is gonna work?" He moves onto my other eye and I almost flinch.

"I mean...maybe." I'm reluctant to say that even if it doesn't work, this might still be fun. ...Being at a party. Full of people. In a bit of a slutty costume. Where any number of things could happen... "I think I'm having second thoughts."

"No," Deming interrupts. I wait for him to say more but he doens't.

"That's it? Just 'no?'"

"No." He pulls his hand back and nods in approval at his handiwork. "You're doing this, okay? And you're gonna be just fine. You're gonna look hot, and we're gonna make some new friends, get you some confidence, and I'm gonna be there every step of the way, okay?"

I nod—I'm still kind of nervous, but I keep reminding myself Deming will be there and it really does help.

Lada comes back in. "Holy fuck, can that girl cook," she says, with absolutely no context whatsoever.

Over the next hour, Lada and Deming apply their own costumes—which is this really complicated thing they kinda  just paint onto their necks and it looks like their throats are cut. It's disturbingly realistic—then Lada just kind of throws some glitter on my face and we go help her set up everything.

For the most part, everything's done. Decorations and stuff—we help add some songs to the playlist she made, eat a bunch of fun sized candy bars and she introduces us to her ex.

"Deming, Rozhan, this is Dawn." She flicks some hair out of her face—there is the tiniest speck of red in her hair, but with the flick, it goes flying. "Dawn—Rozhan and Deming.

She looks up from the bowl she's stirring and nods—and I notice a handful of things about her. She has curly, red, short hair for one thing, and even though she's obviously white, there's a few tan lines. She's wearing baggy jeans and a flannel and there's a fake ax on the floor next to her foot. Also, and I feel like a total pervert for noticing this—she has a huge rack. Like, double d, maybe bigger. She's kind of chubby with a round face and a birthmark, just right of her nose. "Hey."

"Hi."

We stare awkwardly at each other. Lada frowns. "...The both of you are terrible at conversation, fucking hell." She checks her watch. "I'm gonna go out to the garage and grab the soda and stuff. Deming, come and help me?"

"I'm gay, I don't have the upper body strength," he says, but he's already following Lada to the garage.

"I'm also gay, and I definitely don't have the upper body strength, that's why I need your help."

Dawn looks at me. I look back. After a minute of us not saying anything, she goes back to the bowl. "So? You're Lada's friend?"

"Yep." I straighten out my headband. "Sit next to her in Chemistry. ...I make her do most of the work when we have to work together."

Dawn nods. "That's how her and I started dating. She was like, 'don't even bother. If you just let me do this by myself, I'll make sure we both pass, just pretend to work.' That girl's crazy for chemistry."

"She definitely is."

Dawn nods again—this is painful. Do I not know how to socialize? She continues stirring. "Hey, on that table over there, there's a plastic bag with cookie cutters, can you hand me the one shaped like a pumpkin?"

"Sure." The plastic bag is full of cookie cutters. They're all shaped weird—one says it's a ghost, but it's not, it's just a sad piece of metal. I go through them—there's one that looks a little more like a ghost, a star, a car, a tree, a candle stick and then finally, I find the pumpkin one.

"Thanks." She's making cookies.

"So..." I say. "You cook?"

She nods. "Yep—when I'm not on the field, I'm usually in the kitchen."

"The...field?"

She looks up at me. "...I play football."

"Oh." Well, now I feel stupid. "Cool that Scarlet Skies has a girl's football team."

"If they didn't, I wouldn't go," she responds.

"Yeah—but I remember, I went to a normal high school for like a month and they didn't have one. The girl's got volleyball and softball, and the guys got basketball and football, and everyone complained."

"That's stupid," Dawn says.

"Everyone else thought so. They might have done something about it, but I'm not sure—it was Freshman year and then I started going to Scarlet Skies, which was cool, because most of the people I knew were going to Scarlet Skies. The other high school was just dull and lonely—all the students were either average or very bitter about not getting in."

"I don't blame them." She presses the cookie cutter into the dough and then, in trying to peel the raw cookie off to put it on the cookie sheet, tears it right down the middle and glares down at it like it personally spat on each and every one of her relatives. "I'd be sad if I was average too."

Finally, Lada and Deming come back. Deming is holding a box of beer and, while struggling, is fine while Lada's holding three soda boxes. She puts them down on the table and the table looks ready to collapse. Deming sets the beer down on the floor—I notice it's not beer, it's hard cider.

"Why does your house have so many stairs?" Deming asks.

"Stairs," Lada gasps, pushing the box of cider against the wall with her foot. "Keep you in shape. I guess. It could also be cheerleading. You know—both."

Deming shakes his head. "That sucked."

"You'll-You'll be fine," she dismisses. She takes a deep breath. "How's it going, Dawn?"

She shrugs. "My cinnamon and white chocolate pumpkin cookies don't want to look like pumpkins." She tries again, and the same thing happens. "The only solution is to burn down the kitchen."

"No—we're not doing that again."

"You never like my solutions," she sighs. Slowly, she presses the cookie cutter back into it and gently lifts it up and onto the cookie sheet. When it doesn't fall apart she hisses out a "Yes," in victory. "Now I just gotta do that about sixty to seventy more times and then work on my cheesy spiders, chocolate apple cat faces, and spinach dip." She sighs. "Yeah, I'm gonna need some help."

"We have a few hours, we'll be fine!" Lada says.

When guests start arriving, we have somehow managed to help Dawn get all the cookies into the oven, Dawn assembles the cheesy spiders—which is just cream cheese rolled into a ball with shredded cheddar on top of a cracker and they look kind of cute—and I learn that I do not like spinach. I'm helping sort out the table full of snacks when Lada runs to the door, cheerfully helping people in and greeting everyone. "This is gonna be fun," Deming says next to me, grabbing a chip from a bowl and popping it into his mouth.

I try to believe him.