I’m already regretting not saying no. Like, it wouldn’t have even been that hard. Sorry, student council members only. Oh, I’d have to run it by Shelly. The committee is already assembled. 

Instead, I’m stuck in the supply closet with the most annoying person in the school. Maybe even the world. 

“No… no…” Bec is saying as she casually tosses things from the once-meticulously-stacked boxes. “God, I thought this place was rich. Why do you have dollar store decorations?”

I pick up the plastic skeleton that she tosses to the floor. 

“First off, they’re not from the dollar store,” I huff. “Second, I don’t remember asking your opinion. I just said, ‘help me get the decorations out of the closet.’”

“Yeah, and I’m still looking for decorations worthy enough to see the light of day,” Bec retorts. 

I snatch the box from her hands, throwing in the cobwebs and streamers she took out. 

“You know what? I got it.” I sigh. “Just… get the door.”

Bec pics up another box with a shrug, muttering something about how these supplies belong at a kindergarten. I try to ignore her. She walks ahead of me and kicks the door open with her shoe. She looks kinda like an action star, especially with her combat boots and ripped jeans. I try not to stare, especially since she is holding the door open for me with her foot.

“Coming?” she asks with a raised brow. 

I blow a strand of hair out of my face and rush past her. We head towards the cafeteria, which is empty. Chairs are stacked on the tables and the trail of moisture on the floor tells me they’ve already mopped. I put my box in the corner. 

“We can stack things here for now,” I tell her. “Then, when we have all the boxes, I can load them in my car.”

“Whatever.” Bec shrugs nonchalantly.  

But she’s still making judgy faces at the decorations. I sigh, already stressed enough without her stoking the fire. 

“Since you’re obviously allergic to decorations, why don’t you just print out the song list?” I suggest, digging in my pockets for my flash drive. “It’s on here, in the folder labeled Student Council, Fall Semester, Halloween Bash, Prep, then Song list.”

“How many folders do you have?”

“It’s intuitive,” I snap. “Just… the library printers are probably still on.”

I wait for her to leave, but she slowly takes the flash drive from me. I can tell she’s thinking, but I really wish she’d hurry up already. Some of us have schedules.

“Why do you need a song list?” she asks. 

“So the DJ knows what to play,” I reply, almost adding an obviously for effect. 

She makes a face at this.

“DJ?” she repeats. “Why not just connect Spotify to the speakers then?”

I roll my eyes. 

“What’s wrong with a DJ?”

“Nothing. They’re great for boring weddings and rich kids’ sweet sixteens,” she mutters snarkily. 

“Well, we always have a DJ.” I toss my hair. “And no one’s complained yet.” I pause and add, “Besides, it adds to the atmosphere.”

She snorts.

“You’d be better off with a band,” she says. 

“Bands can only play certain songs,” I retort. “They’re limited to just a genre or two.”

“People can listen to songs on their phones anytime,” she counters. “You can’t listen to live bands anytime. That makes them special. Especially if you get a local band, you might be able to get some more free advertising.”

“We don’t need more advertising,” I say with a huff. “This is, like, the biggest fundraiser in town. Even people who don’t go to school here come and spend money.”

“What about people from other towns?” she asks. “You could really expand it from a lame high school fundraiser to—”

“It’s not lame,” I interrupt. “It’s just… ugh, you wouldn’t understand. You’re new here and can’t understand tradition.”

“I know,” her voice is slow and even, which is somehow more off-putting than her usual tone, “that if they want the same thing done year after year, then it’s pointless even having a committee. Why not just have an instruction manual for anybody to recreate it?”

“Song list,” I say firmly. “Now.”

Her brow raises, and she folds her hands across her chest. I know there are at least three security cameras in the cafeteria, but none of them can save me if she decides to strangle me.

“Please?” It comes out as more of a whine than I intend, and I clear my throat.

Before she says anything, or possibly brings her boot to my face, I turn and hurry back to the supply closet. When I come back with another box, she’s gone. I really hope she’s printing the file, and not rearranging everything on my flash drive. Maybe giving it to her was a mistake. I debate looking for her, but I still have two more boxes waiting to be brought out. 

She’s back in the cafeteria when I come out with the last box (and dust all over my navy cardigan). I brush it off as best as I can and double check my navy plaid skirt is clean. She hands me the paper wordlessly, and I put it on top of one of the boxes. 

“So what else do I have to do before I can go?” she asks. 

“I have to put these in my car.” I motion to the boxes.

So I can take them home and clean them, I almost add, but I refuse to give her any more fuel. 

“Once I have an inventory, I can figure out what decorations I need to buy,” I continue.

“Which is everything, probably,” Bec points out.

“And then buy the snacks and drinks to sell,” I cut in, trying to drown out her sass.

“Potato chips and soft drinks?” she guesses with a tilt of her head. “How do you guys make any money off of this?”

“We make a lot,” I snap.

“But how?” I’m a bit offended by the look of disbelief on her self-satisfied face. “I mean, so far it’s sounding like another boring school dance, except you invite the whole city.”

“It’s actually really fun,” I tell her, almost adding you just don’t know it yet.

“You know what’d be more fun?” she begins, but it doesn’t sound like she’s waiting for me to answer. “Get local vendors to rent booths and sell their food and drinks. Then, you just sell the space, they get free advertising, and you don’t have to worry about buying a bunch of sad snacks and portioning them out. My old community center used to do something like that every—” but then a shadow crosses her face and she falls silent.

I raise a brow and give her my most dubious look. I will not admit that it sounds fun. It’s not the way the Bash works.

“Yeah, but we’d have to find vendors,” I point out. “And have booths.”

“Booths could literally be some of these tables moved outside.” Bec gestures at the cafeteria tables. 

“Yeah, well… that’d be a hassle anyway,” I say weakly. “Now… help me move these boxes…” I see her arched brow— “please.”

She picks up a box and follows me to my car. I’ve moved it in front of the school in the car drop-off lane. I know it’s allowed because Principal Crowe said it was okay and it’s, like, 6pm already. But I still feel like I’m doing something illegal. I pop the trunk and place a box inside. 

Bec isn’t saying anything else as we move the rest of the boxes to my car. The silence is making me feel more nervous than when she was trying to redesign the Bash. I wonder if I should ask her what’s on her mind.

She doesn’t speak again until I close the trunk. 

“So… I guess that means I’m done helping?” she asks. “Since everything is already planned, I can just come by to set up on the day?”

“What?” I squeak, feeling a sense of panic. 

Which is weird, because I was literally just wishing she had never come to help. I clear my throat and glance around, like someone is spying on us.

“I mean, I still could use some help on the haunted maze,” I say. “I mean, just an extra set of eyes for what will make it really scary. But, of course, I already know what’s scary. I just need… an extra set of eyes.”

I am the world’s worst liar. I try to give Bec a confident look, but I’m pretty sure she knows I’m lying through my teeth.

“Why don’t you just have the drama club plan it?” she suggests. “You said they’re the ones acting in it anyway.”

I laugh, forgetting for a second how new she is. 

“Because they aren’t on the committee,” I reply. “I have to be in charge of everything. If something goes wrong, it’s all on me.”

“Well, I just think since they’re all actors and set designers, maybe they know what they want to do.” Bec shrugs. “And since there are more of them, there’d be plenty of ‘extra sets of eyes.’”

I flush. 

“It’s just,” I begin.

“Not how things are done,” Bec finishes with a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, I’m starting to pick up on the strong sense of tradition in you.”

I try to think of a response as she tosses her hair and pulls out her phone. 

“Well, I’ve got a curfew to make,” she says. “So… see you later.”

“Yeah,” I glance around. “Oh, um… do you need a ride?”

She tilts her head towards the parking lot.

“Got my own, thanks,” she says.