While the halls of Buchanan High are usually full of metaphorical ghouls and goblins, on Halloween, we make that literal. 

My mom helps me with my costume before school, applying corpse-white makeup and attaching pointy ear prosthetics to my already-oversized ones. 

“I can’t talf through theese fangs,” I lisp, but my mom just shushes me and adjusts my collar.

“There,” she says. “Nightmare perfect.”

“It’s German expreshionithsm,” I try to get out.

Halloween is the one day I’m proud to go to Buchanan. Almost all the students show up in costume and really commit to the spirit of the holiday. This year, I’m the vampire Nosferatu, my eyes raccoon-black and my hands sharpened with long claws. I look in the mirror as my mom steps away and raise my arms like I’ve just exited my coffin.

“I vant to thuck your blood,” I say.

“Nosferatu is a silent film, right?” my mom says. “Stick to that.”

Today, I’m lucky to get a ride to school—my mom is dropping off some costume supplies at the theater department, so I don’t have to endure the mundane horror of the bus commute. Outside, the sky is a swirling grey, filled with October shadows. The clouds overhead are building, building, making everything appropriately gloomy and dreadful.

“Be careful who you suck,” my mom says as we get out of the car.

“Mom.” I leave her behind and hope to god she doesn’t run into Conner in these halls. If they greet each other, her reputation, mine, and Conner’s will be destroyed in one fell swoop.

When I walk into school, I see a huge swath of costumes: werewolves, bad superheroes, worse pop stars, a few classic sheet ghosts, and a good amount of walking corpses—including Byron.

“Byron,” I say, looking at his greenish face, covered with fake stitches. “You’re looking tho muchth better.”

He bares his teeth at me, which are blood red. Although it could just be his gingivitis.

When I get to our hallway, I see Felix in his usual Pierrot clown-inspired get-up, Bridget in princess garb, and Colleen in…rags?

“Oh no,” I say, just as she turns to face me and I see her shorn hair.

“That’s right,” Colleen says. “It’s me, Fantine. Ms. Featherworth can stop me from starring in the musical, but she can’t stop me from exercising my God-given, American right to dress up in this costume!”

“This is way too political,” Bridget says. “It’s sending shockwaves through the theater community.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what we need,” Felix says. “A real, bloody revolution.”

“Oh gosth,” I say. “Why couldn’t the play be Peter Pan or thomething stupid like that?”

“Sorry, Colleen, you know I support you,” Bridget says. “But I will deny my knowledge of this if questioned.”

It seems like the horror show is just beginning.

#

After lunch, I head to the vending machine to retrieve my biology textbook from Conner. A small part of me is nervous and excited. I wonder what he’s dressed up as. I wonder if he’ll like my costume. I wonder if he thinks big ears are sexy. And a pale complexion.

I try to shake out those feelings. It’s important to focus on reality here. This relationship, right now, is purely transactional. And it’s going to have to stay that way.

I wait by the machine, already noticing that he’s later than usual. By now, we’ve gotten our swaps down to a science.

Two minutes pass. I’m getting nervous. I’m probably already going to be late to my next period if he doesn’t show up in the next minute.

Which he doesn’t. Fucking hell. I remember that my homework assignments for bio are still stuck inside the pages of the textbook. This is the one day I really, really need it.

I peek out of the alcove, carefully, and survey the rush of students. With all the costumes, it’s hard to recognize anybody. Is that undead football player Conner? That bearded Hulk Hogan?

No. It’s not him. Anywhere.

I run through my options. I could keep waiting, and pray that he shows up. Or, I could make a risky move and meet him by the gym, where I know he’ll be getting out of class. But someone could easily figure out that there’s something going on between us if they saw that. Not that there really is anything going on. God. My head is way too turned around.

Another thirty seconds, and I’ve decided. I’ve got to go after it.

I hit the hallway, fast-walking through the crowd of monsters. I get poked in the shoulder by a spiky collar from someone dressed up as AC/DC, but I don’t let it stop me.

Angelica is in the corner, applying sparkles to her eyes, dressed as a colorful mermaid with separated fins. It seems like that would be a grisly process.

I pause, wondering if I should ask her about Conner. I know they’re friends—it’s likely that she’d know where he was for sure. But it might make her suspicious for me to inquire about a popular kid, someone so clearly out of my social league.

Time is ticking away. I can’t waste a moment. Mrs. Reynolds, my teacher next period, is going to be more pissed the longer I’m away.

“Anthelica!” I say.

She turns in confusion. “That’s not how you pronounce my name.”

“Thorry, it’s theese teef,” I say. “Do you know where Conner ith?”

“You like, for real need an interpreter,” Angelica says. “Why the fuck do you care where Conner is?”

“I thust need to talk to him, okay?”

Angelica’s distanced, wary eyes take me in.

“Interesting. Apparently the guys in gym weren’t ‘hustling’ hard enough, so they had to do extra laps. They just left for the showers.”

Showers. My new target. If I can get to Conner’s bag…

“Thank you, Anthelica,” I say and dash off.

“That’s not my name,” Angelica says after me, and before I’m gone, I catch her dubious gaze. I hope to God she’s not starting to ask questions.