by Sarah Sutton
Contents
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
CONNECT WITH ME ON SOCIAL MEDIA
WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?
OUT OF MY LEAGUE
IF THE BROOM FITS
Copyright © 2020 Golden Crown Publishing, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, organizations, businesses, places, events, and incidents portrayed in it are either the work of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
For information, contact:
http://www.sarah-sutton.com
Cover Design © Designed with Grace
Image © DepositPhotos – golyak
ISBN: 978-1-7342322-4-0
First Edition: October 2020
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Kids were cute and all, but so flipping loud.
Especially around sugar cookies and an inflatable bounce house.
Two little fairies with purple wings fluttered past me while doing that laugh-scream thing kids did, making a beeline for the bouncy castle that took up so much real estate in the backyard. A dragon, a mermaid, and a robot were hot on the fairies’ heels, chasing them to the plastic deathtrap. The robot’s pipe-cleaner antennas flapped around as the boy hurried along to catch up, his cardboard head bumping with the movement.
I shouldn’t have been judging his costume so much. My costume wasn’t so spectacular, either. In fact, it really, really itched, and I felt really, really stupid. The sheer sleeves didn’t mix well with the October air. Goosebumps freckled my skin, and I had to fight the urge to cross my arms.
“Princesses are supposed to smile, Blaire Beverly.”
Being told to smile made me want to do the opposite, especially when someone used my full name. I turned to find who’d spoken. “Then why aren’t you smiling, Gram?”
My grandmother swatted at me with her free hand, perfectly balancing the tray of orange refreshments in the other. She’d woven her graying dark hair into an intricate braid, tied into a knot at the base of her neck, though a few strands escaped. “I’ve got enough wrinkles for you to know that I smile. Can you try to be cheerier?”
Cheeriness felt a little more than elusive at this point, and she shouldn’t have been talking. She got to wear pants—I had to wear a blue-and-white dress that made me feel more like an imposter than a princess. The corset wrapped around my ribs made it hard to breathe, let alone be cheery.
I forced my lips to stretch to prove my less-than-authentic merriment, but the sticky lip gloss made me cringe. “How can anyone be cheery in these shoes? Did you have to get actual glass slippers, Gram?”
Gram rolled her eyes at me. “It isn’t my fault you picked heels that are too small.”
Fine, I had picked the shoes that were a size too small for my feet. On accident. And maybe they weren’t actually made of glass, but something pretty dang close. Something equally torturous. I’d officially lost feeling in my toes an hour ago.
“Where’s your tray?” Gram finally took note of my empty hands. “You’re supposed to be serving the bacon-wrapped pieces of ham. Mrs. Wilson wanted those passed out for the kids, remember?”
I looked down at my hands, at the lines of black that still edged around my nails. Gram had made me scrub off my polish on the way over here, which had been a feat in the tiny catering truck, but a few traces still remained. “Donnie went to get another one for me.”
Gram raised one of her silvery eyebrows, and though she meant to be scolding, she couldn’t totally eclipse the sliver of amusement. “You gave him your shoe sob story too, didn’t you?”
I feigned indifference. “Does it matter?”
“Princesses are selfless, Blaire.” She readjusted her grip on the tray, careful not to spill a drop of liquid as she walked away.
“I’m not a princess,” I called after her. Quite frankly, I never wanted to hear the word princess again. See, Gram loved this kind of thing—parties, people, mingling. She lived for moments like this and couldn’t wait to fill her day planner with costume parties.
Oh, and Gram loved Halloween. Whereas, me? I hated it. Vehemently. Passionately.
Don’t get me started.
Gram owned a catering business called Costumed Catering. It’d been her baby for nearly three years, and in a tight community like ours, it thrived. Especially in October, because no town loved Halloween more than the Village of Hallow. No, they hadn’t named the village after the holiday, but one might’ve thought so with how insane everyone got around this time of year.
And by insane, I meant crazy. We’d done ten costume parties so far this month, and it was only the seventeenth of October.
And at how many of those parties had I been a princess? Ding, ding, ding—all ten of them.
The sheer veils attached to my sleeves caught in the wind, billowing behind me. One might think after all the times I’d been forced to play this princess role I’d have gotten good at it. Good at faking that smile, at wearing the heels from hell. Honestly, I doubt I’d have much of a problem with dressing up if I got to be something cool, like a witch or a ghost.
But no, I had to be a pretty, pretty princess. Ugh.
“One tray of hors d’oeuvres for the lady,” a light voice said, and a silver platter appeared at my right, full of crescent rolls and mini hot dogs. “Now, don’t eat all of them this time or Gram’s going to figure it out.”
Freckle-faced Donnie and I made up the crew of Gram’s Costume Catering business, or at least we were the face. My step-uncle John manned the food truck parked on the street, making more trays of food whenever we needed them. John had married my dad’s sister, Aunt Aimee, when Donnie and I were in the eighth grade, officially implanting both him and Donnie into this crazy, partially messed up family. Though the messed up side only affected my life.
There used to be one other honorary member of Costume Catering, but I pushed that thought from my head.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the tray from Donnie. He wore a costume too, fully decked out as a pirate. He even had a parrot on his shoulder, one he’d duct-taped to the puffy shoulder pad. He’d gelled his black hair up into wild spikes, and though one would assume he designed it like that for his costume, he actually loved wearing his hair crazy. “I’ll tell her a bunch of the little demons jumped me and devoured them all.”
“Lower your voice,” Donnie murmured quickly, glancing around at whoever stood closest to us. One might’ve thought I’d said a curse word or something. “One of the big demons will hear you and chew you out for it.”
“These moms don’t scare me,” I told him, spotting where the majority of them stood near the “punch” table. Their costumes were almost nicer than their kids’, as if more time had been spent on them than the fairies and the robot. “Besides, they’re already on their fifth round of mimosas—they probably don’t even know which kid is theirs.”
Donnie took a large step away from me as if he could distance himself from my words. “You need a censor. Someone to go around and go ‘beep’ to cut you off. I’m surprised Gram still lets you on the front side of things.”
That made me smile, but I tried to keep it small as I looked down at him. “I think you’re finally starting to uncover my evil plan, Donnie.”
He reached up and pressed his fingers to his lips, something he did frequently when he grew nervous. His parrot wobbled with the movement, almost falling off. “Your plan of, what? Offending the entire population of Hallow? I mean, you’ve already offended about half already, right?”
“I would’ve said three-quarters,” I told him, glancing down at the silver tray. If I angled it just right, my reflection gazed back at me, a whole lot of blonde and blue and chiffon. “I’m not trying to hurt people’s feelings. It just, you know, happens. People can be crybabies.”
“Who’s a crybaby?” asked a little girl at my feet, stopping at my words. She was dressed like a scarecrow, her blue eyes wide as she watched me. I would’ve guessed she was four or five, but all short kids looked the same to me. “My brother calls me a crybaby, but I’m not one,” she said, tone wobbling as her lower lip popped out. “I’m a big girl.”
“You are a big girl.” I passed my tray off to Donnie, who gave me a look that said don’t crush her dreams, please. Ignoring him, I bent down in front of the little scarecrow. Her red plaid shirt went down way past her fingers, so I pushed the material up and out of the way so I could hold her hands. “Definitely not a crybaby,” I told her with the gentlest voice I could muster. “Bigger than me, I’d say.”
“But you’re really big.” Her eyes went to Donnie, who clutched the tray nervously. “You’re bigger than him.”
I nearly snorted. “You’re right, I am tall. But just because I’m tall doesn’t mean you’re not bigger than me.” I gave a little gasp. “I have an idea. I can use my magic and make you a super-big girl.”
The little girl didn’t look impressed. “Princesses don’t have magic.”
This time, I did snort. “I’m a special kind of princess, one with magical powers.” I dropped my voice, looking at her drawn-on freckles and straw woven through her hair. “You have to close your eyes.”
After a moment of deciding whether or not to trust me, she pinched her eyes shut. “Will it hurt?”
“Of course not.” I placed both of my hands on either side of her head, the straw in her hair bending under my touch. Wiggling my fingers, I tapped magic against her skull, all over. Her forehead, her temples, on the crown of her hair. After a second, I pulled back. “It worked!”
Stubby baby teeth greeted me when the little girl grinned, mega-bright and excited. She pressed her tiny hands over her head, eyes round. “I feel it! I’m so much bigger—your magic worked! I got to tell Daddy!” She hurried off in the direction of the moms and dads, her run a little uneven with her hands on her head.
I rose to my feet, wincing as the shoes bit into my squished toes.
“See,” Donnie muttered, and handed me back the tray, “why are you so nice to kids? You go all ‘ooh, magic, ooh’ on them, and it wins them over. I thought kids annoyed you.”
“You can still be annoyed by someone and still love them.” I glanced at him. “I love you, don’t I?”
Donnie gave me an unamused glare.
“Kids still have all their hopes and dreams,” I said, watching as the scarecrow nudged the leg of a man in dark navy scrubs, a man who hadn’t turned from laughing with his friends. “Those dreams are perfect. I don’t want to be the one to crush them.”
I knew a thing or two about crushed dreams, especially when it came to family. A pinching sensation took home in my heart the longer I watched the little girl trying to gather the attention of her father, the longer he continued to ignore her.
The pain became so sharp that it nearly knocked all the air from my lungs. “Come on,” I told Donnie, pulling my gaze away. “These things won’t serve themselves.”
The August before I’d started high school, my mother had passed away. It’d been from a freak thing—a virus that had attacked her immune system—and it’d taken her quickly. So quickly that I hadn’t had time to fully wrap my brain around the fact that she’d been sick. Neither Dad nor I saw it coming.
My dad, though, had taken it worse. He’d gone from a great dad to a barely functioning human being. The absence of Mom’s light from our lives had thrown us into total darkness, and we couldn’t find the end of the tunnel.
Until Gram had stepped in. She came over and made sure we’d gotten up for the day, helped us cook dinner, taken me back-to-school shopping. For almost two months, things had been okay. Dad and I had learned how to somewhat function together again with a little piece missing. It’d still been hard—hard to crack jokes Mom would’ve laughed at, hard to acknowledge the space she filled in our lives would always be empty.
Even though it’d been painful, I’d thought things would be okay. Time heals all wounds, as they said.
Until, late in the night on October 30th two years ago, Dad had left. Left Hallow and left me behind.
And now, two years later, I stared at the front of my ugly orange locker door, thinking good riddance.
I kicked the corner of the door, popping the hinge that liked to stick shut, and getting a good glimpse into my mess of a locker.
It served as a catch-all for crap. Everyone else had those organizing things for their lockers, or the metal shelves to keep their books off the floor, but I didn’t. I thrived in this self-made disorder.
I’d crammed three jackets inside, two of which were crumpled on the bottom underneath textbooks and old homework worksheets. I’d used a galaxy-themed tape to stick magazine clippings to the metal sides, their corners peeling after only a month of hanging.
Chaotic. Just as I liked it.
“A double chocolate espresso for my favorite girl,” Donnie announced as he came up to my locker, offering a teal-colored coffee cup. The logo from our favorite coffee shop, Crushed Beanz, glared in black script on the side. “I may or may not have had a sip. And then died a little inside as my soul shriveled to dust.”
“That’s because you’re used to the frou-frou of pumpkin spice,” I told him, hanging my backpack on one of the hooks and taking the cup. The scent of coffee hit my nose, eliciting a shiver down my spine. “Soul-crushing coffee is my favorite.”
“Makes sense.” Donnie brought his own cup to his lips and sipped, loudly. His denim jacket swamped him, a few sizes too big, and he had to roll the sleeves up to expose his hands. The gel in his hair shined under the hallway lights. “You’re lucky I drive past Crushed Beanz on my way into school.”
I couldn’t help but agree with him on that. Coffee before school was a tradition, started last spring, and the idea of giving up that caffeine boost before school made me want to cry.
Only Donnie never used to get the coffee before school. No, that job had belonged to someone else.
I took a long drink from my espresso, heat filling my mouth. I’d need the buzz to survive today—or at least survive until lunch. And I had to drink it fast. Mr. Miller—our first period teacher—didn’t allow outside drinks into his classroom. No coffee. The monster.
“Incoming,” Donnie said under his breath, and my body locked up at his tone, heart stopping before jumpstarting at full speed.
I turned and faced the inside of my locker, gaze tracing where screws kept it fastened together, where my galaxy tape began to peel, where my backpack hung on a crooked hook. If I looked at all these things for the next few minutes, I’d be fine. T
he moment would pass. I couldn’t turn and look. I couldn’t turn and…
I looked.
I couldn’t deny the compulsion, a familiarity that two weeks couldn’t erase. So, yeah, I lifted my chin and peeked over my shoulder, uncaring of the consequences.
Hallow divided its love between two things—Halloween and high school football. Our school’s team wasn’t anything too stellar, but last year when they’d made the playoffs, the entire community had rallied. I could still remember the excitement behind that final game, and even though we’d lost, the celebration had lasted nearly a week.
Seeing a few guys from the football team walk down the hallway now, though, didn’t elicit nearly the same amount of excitement. Not until I saw who spearheaded the pack.
Once upon a time, I’d fallen in love with Lucas Avery, and things had been perfect. He was the kind of guy who would order extra French fries and let me steal some from his plate. The kind of guy who’d bring me chicken soup when I didn’t feel good, without even being asked. The kind of guy who’d known my coffee order by heart. His eyes would crinkle at the corners, his left cheek would dimple ever so slightly, and his mouth—oh, his mouth—would curl into this smile that left my knees weak. Heartthrob Lucas Avery, a dream come true.
Once upon a time, we’d been happy. Until I shattered that dream like glass.
Lucas walked down the hall now with his friends in tow as if in slow motion, a blue T-shirt hugging his shoulders, worn denim jeans cuffed at the ankles. He’d kept his espresso-colored hair cropped, barely long enough to run my fingers through. Now it swept a little into his eyes as he walked, and I knew without looking that those eyes were blue. Dark, dark blue.
