-Ezra-

Halloween comes sooner than it feels like it should-- it always creeps up on me. It's about five in the evening when Josh and I start getting dressed up as each other (dinner is pushed later so that students can get into costumes). I don't go into this with an idea of which of my outfits I want to let him wear, I mostly just thumb through the personal clothes in my side of our closet and pick out what I don't wear often but still look like 'me'.

He has his outfit for me to wear picked out way sooner than I complete mine for him. Then again, he just wears t-shirts and blue jeans, and I seem to generally put a lot more thought into what I wear.

I mean, being able to pick an outfit quickly isn't bad, and he never looks sloppy or anything, but I generally take longer to get dressed when it comes to outfits that aren't the school uniform.

I physically watch the conflict in his eyes before he adds his prized Letterman jacket to the pile of preppy clothing. He seems to know what I do: no matter how sentimental it is, it's integral to the costume if I'm gonna try to look like him.

We swap clothing piles and I go change in the hall bathroom, shutting myself in a stall and waiting for him to arrive once I'm done, so I can do his makeup.

His first comment as he walks in is, "You need to take the stupid makeup off, you know."

I roll my eyes. "I know. But you need to put it on."

"Yeah, yeah. Just clean your freaking face off."

I sigh and get to work. Lipstick first, then eye makeup, then concealer, and suddenly I look sort of normal.

Josh considers me for a moment. "You know, you don't look half bad without the people-repellent on your face."

I can't help it-- I laugh. "Thanks, I think."

"Why do you wear that stuff, anyways?"

"I like it." I shrug. "It makes me feel more confident."

"Huh."

"Yeah. Get your face over here so I can put it on."

He begrudgingly lets me handle his face, and only vocally objects at the eyeliner, which I pretty much force him to wear because 'it ties the whole look together, you have to wear it if you want to be me', to which his response is just 'I don't want to, idiot' (which is a less than stellar comeback, if I do say so myself-- which I do).

I also mess with his hair to get it to hang in his eyes as much as it can. He's given me one of his ball caps to wear, which I've used to finesse my own locks into the most typical 'jock' hairstyle I can. None of this changes the fact that my hair is black and his is brown, not to mention that our skin colors are about two shades apart because I'm white as milk, but I think we look about as much like each other as we possibly could.

I grin at him. "Lookin' good, Ezra."

He groans. "We are not doing this--"

"We're switching identities. We're also gonna switch names."

"Screw you, Josh."

"See, that's what I sound like. You're getting it!"

He chuckles. "Seriously. Also," he adds, holding up one of his legs to show off the insanely chunky (and heavy) boots I've given him, "how do you even walk in these all the time? They're so heavy."

I laugh. "After long enough, your legs get strong."

"That was not an answer."

"Come on, Mr. Football Man." I take my makeup bag and start heading out of the bathroom. "You'll get used to it."

"Really?"

"Really. Deal with it."

"You're the worst."

"Better to be the worst than too weak to walk in combat boots."

He groans again. "I hate you."

"That's a strong word."

"I don't care. I hate you."

I just laugh, tuck my makeup bag back in its place in our room, and head out to dinner, listening to his footsteps thunk behind me.